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Duke.

      “A thief, perhaps,” sneered Guerchard.

      “Like himself.… And then, if you wish to know what I think, he must have found his fiancee rather trying,” said the Duke, with his charming smile.

      “After all, it’s pitiful—heartrending, you must admit it, that, on the very eve of his marriage, he was such a fool as to throw off the mask. And yet at bottom it’s quite logical; it’s Lupin coming out through Charmerace. He had to grab at the dowry at the risk of losing the girl,” said Guerchard, in a reflective tone; but his eyes were intent on the face of the Duke.

      “Perhaps that’s what one should call a marriage of reason,” said the Duke, with a faint smile.

      “What a fall!” said Guerchard, in a taunting voice. “To be expected, eagerly, at the Princess’s tomorrow evening, and to pass the evening in a police-station…to have intended in a month’s time, as the Duke of Charmerace, to mount the steps of the Madeleine with all pomp and to fall down the father-in-law’s staircase this evening—this very evening”—his voice rose suddenly on a note of savage triumph—“with the handcuffs on! What? Is that a good enough revenge for Guerchard—for that poor old idiot, Guerchard? The rogues’ Brummel in a convict’s cap! The gentleman-burglar in a gaol! For Lupin it’s only a trifling annoyance, but for a duke it’s a disaster! Come, in your turn, be frank: don’t you find that amusing?”

      The Duke rose quietly, and said coldly, “Have you finished?”

      “Do you?” cried Guerchard; and he rose and faced him.

      “Oh, yes; I find it quite amusing,” said the Duke lightly.

      “And so do I,” cried Guerchard.

      “No; you’re frightened,” said the Duke calmly.

      “Frightened!” cried Guerchard, with a savage laugh.

      “Yes, you’re frightened,” said the Duke. “And don’t think, policeman, that because I’m familiar with you, I throw off a mask. I don’t wear one. I’ve none to throw off. I am the Duke of Charmerace.”

      “You lie! You escaped from the Sante four years ago. You are Lupin! I recognize you now.”

      “Prove it,” said the Duke scornfully.

      “I will!” cried Guerchard.

      “You won’t. I am the Duke of Charmerace.”

      Guerchard laughed wildly.

      “Don’t laugh. You know nothing—nothing, dear boy,” said the Duke tauntingly.

      “Dear boy?” cried Guerchard triumphantly, as if the word had been a confession.

      “What do I risk?” said the Duke, with scathing contempt. “Can you arrest me?… You can arrest Lupin…but arrest the Duke of Charmerace, an honourable gentleman, member of the Jockey Club, and of the Union, residing at his house, 34 B, University Street…arrest the Duke of Charmerace, the fiance of Mademoiselle Gournay-Martin?”

      “Scoundrel!” cried Guerchard, pale with sudden, helpless fury.

      “Well, do it,” taunted the Duke. “Be an ass.… Make yourself the laughing-stock of Paris…call your coppers in. Have you a proof—one single proof? Not one.”

      “Oh, I shall get them,” howled Guerchard, beside himself.

      “I think you may,” said the Duke coolly. “And you might be able to arrest me next week…the day after tomorrow perhaps…perhaps never…but not tonight, that’s certain.”

      “Oh, if only somebody could hear you!” gasped Guerchard.

      “Now, don’t excite yourself,” said the Duke. “That won’t produce any proofs for you.… The fact is, M. Formery told you the truth when he said that, when it is a case of Lupin, you lose your head. Ah, that Formery—there is an intelligent man if you like.”

      “At all events, the coronet is safe…tonight—”

      “Wait, my good chap…wait,” said the Duke slowly; and then he snapped out: “Do you know what’s behind that door?” and he flung out his hand towards the door of the inner drawing-room, with a mysterious, sinister air.

      “What?” cried Guerchard; and he whipped round and faced the door, with his eyes starting out of his head.

      “Get out, you funk!” said the Duke, with a great laugh.

      “Hang you!” said Guerchard shrilly.

      “I said that you were going to be absolutely pitiable,” said the Duke, and he laughed again cruelly.

      “Oh, go on talking, do!” cried Guerchard, mopping his forehead.

      “Absolutely pitiable,” said the Duke, with a cold, disquieting certainty. “As the hand of that clock moves nearer and nearer midnight, you will grow more and more terrified.” He paused, and then shouted violently, “Attention!”

      Guerchard jumped; and then he swore.

      “Your nerves are on edge,” said the Duke, laughing.

      “Joker!” snarled Guerchard.

      “Oh, you’re as brave as the next man. But who can stand the anguish of the unknown thing which is bound to happen?… I’m right. You feel it, you’re sure of it. At the end of these few fixed minutes an inevitable, fated event must happen. Don’t shrug your shoulders, man; you’re green with fear.”

      The Duke was no longer a smiling, cynical dandy. There emanated from him an impression of vivid, terrible force. His voice had deepened. It thrilled with a consciousness of irresistible power; it was overwhelming, paralyzing. His eyes were terrible.

      “My men are outside…I’m armed,” stammered Guerchard.

      “Child! Bear in mind…bear in mind that it is always when you have foreseen everything, arranged everything, made every combination…bear in mind that it is always then that some accident dashes your whole structure to the ground,” said the Duke, in the same deep, thrilling voice. “Remember that it is always at the very moment at which you are going to triumph that he beats you, that he only lets you reach the top of the ladder to throw you more easily to the ground.”

      “Confess, then, that you are Lupin,” muttered Guerchard.

      “I thought you were sure of it,” said the Duke in a jeering tone.

      Guerchard dragged the handcuffs out of his pocket, and said between his teeth, “I don’t know what prevents me, my boy.”

      The Duke drew himself up, and said haughtily, “That’s enough.”

      “What?” cried Guerchard.

      “I say that that’s enough,” said the Duke sternly. “It’s all very well for me to play at being familiar with you, but don’t you call me ‘my boy.’”

      “Oh, you won’t impose on me much longer,” muttered Guerchard; and his bloodshot, haggard eyes scanned the Duke’s face in an agony, an anguish of doubting impotence.

      “If I’m Lupin, arrest me,” said the Duke.

      “I’ll arrest you in three minutes from now, or the coronet will be untouched,” cried Guerchard in a firmer tone.

      “In three minutes from now the coronet will have been stolen; and you will not arrest me,” said the Duke, in a tone of chilling certainty.

      “But I will! I swear I will!” cried Guerchard.

      “Don’t swear any foolish oaths!… There are only two minutes left,” said the Duke; and he drew a revolver from his pocket.

      “No, you don’t!” cried Guerchard, drawing a revolver in his turn.

      “What’s the matter?” said the Duke, with an

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