“I got this from M. Formery,” said Guerchard, holding up the paper.
“Well,” said the Duke. “What is it?”
“It’s a warrant, your Grace,” said Guerchard.
“What! ... A warrant! ... Not for the arrest of Mademoiselle Kritchnoff?”
“Yes,” said Guerchard.
“Oh, come, it’s impossible,” said the Duke. “You’re never going to arrest that child?”
“I am, indeed,” said Guerchard. “Her examination this afternoon was in the highest degree unsatisfactory. Her answers were embarrassed, contradictory, and in every way suspicious.”
“And you’ve made up your mind to arrest her?” said the Duke slowly, knitting his brow in anxious thought.
“I have, indeed,” said Guerchard. “And I’m going to do it now. The prison van ought to be waiting at the door.” He looked at his watch. “She and Victoire can go together.”
“So ... you’re going to arrest her ... you’re going to arrest her?” said the Duke thoughtfully: and he took a step or two up and down the room, still thinking hard.