Guerchard shrugged his shoulders, and went quietly out of the room.
The Duke sat down in an easy chair, frowning and thoughtful. Suddenly there struck on his ears the sound of a loud roaring and heavy bumping on the stairs, the door flew open, and M. Gournay-Martin stood on the threshold waving a telegram in his hand.
M. Formery and the inspector came hurrying down the stairs behind him, and watched his emotion with astonished and wondering eyes.
“Here!” bellowed the millionaire. “A telegram! A telegram from the scoundrel himself! Listen! Just listen:”
“A thousand apologies for not having been able to keep my promise about the coronet. Had an appointment at the Acacias. Please have coronet ready in your room to-night. Will come without fail to fetch it, between a quarter to twelve and twelve o’clock.”
“Yours affectionately,”
“ARSÈNE LUPIN.”
“There! What do you think of that?”
“If you ask me, I think he’s humbug,” said the Duke with conviction.
“Humbug! You always think it’s humbug! You thought the letter was humbug; and look what has happened!” cried the millionaire.
“Give me the telegram, please,” said M. Formery quickly.
The millionaire gave it to him; and he read it through.