“We shall see him to-night,” said Guerchard.
“To-night?” said the Duke.
“Of course we shall; for he will come to steal the coronet between a quarter to twelve and midnight,” said Guerchard.
“Never!” said the Duke. “You don’t really believe that he’ll have the cheek to attempt such a mad act?”
“Ah, you don’t know this man, your Grace ... his extraordinary mixture of coolness and audacity. It’s the danger that attracts him. He throws himself into the fire, and he doesn’t get burnt. For the last ten years I’ve been saying to myself, ‘Here we are: this time I’ve got him! ... At last I’m going to nab him.’ But I’ve said that day after day,” said Guerchard; and he paused.
“Well?” said the Duke.
“Well, the days pass; and I never nab him. Oh, he is thick, I tell you.... He’s a joker, he is ... a regular artist”—he ground his teeth—“The damned thief!”
The Duke looked at him, and said slowly, “Then you think that to-night Lupin—”
“You’ve followed the scent with me, your Grace,” Guerchard interrupted quickly and vehemently. “We’ve picked up each clue together. You’ve almost seen this man at work.... You’ve understood him. Isn’t a man like this, I ask you, capable of anything?”
“He is,” said the Duke, with conviction.