Guerchard stood staring, staring at the photograph.
The Duke ran down the stairs, and said goodbye to the millionaire’s guests. After they had gone, M. Gournay-Martin went quickly up the stairs; Germaine and the Duke followed more slowly.
“My father is going to the Ritz to sleep,” said Germaine, “and I’m going with him. He doesn’t like the idea of my sleeping in this house to-night. I suppose he’s afraid that Lupin will make an attack in force with all his gang. Still, if he did, I think that Guerchard could give a good account of himself—he’s got men enough in the house, at any rate. Irma tells me it’s swarming with them. It would never do for me to be in the house if there were a fight.”
“Oh, come, you don’t really believe that Lupin is coming to-night?” said the Duke, with a sceptical laugh. “The whole thing is sheer bluff—he has no more intention of coming to-night to steal that coronet than—than I have.”
“Oh, well, there’s no harm in being on the safe side,” said Germaine. “Everybody’s agreed that he’s a very terrible person. I’ll just run up to my room and get a wrap; Irma has my things all packed. She can come round to-morrow morning to the Ritz and dress me.”
She ran up the stairs, and the Duke went into the drawing-room. He found Guerchard standing where he had left him, still frowning, still thinking hard.
“The family are off to the Ritz. It’s rather a reflection on your powers of protecting them, isn’t it?” said the Duke.
“Oh, well, I expect they’d be happier out of the house,” said Guerchard. He looked at the Duke again with inquiring, searching eyes.
“What’s the matter?” said the Duke. “IS my tie crooked?”
“Oh, no, no; it’s quite straight, your Grace,” said Guerchard, but he did not take his eyes from the Duke’s face.