“Well, you will be fresh to go to the Princess’s to-morrow night.” said Germaine petulantly. “You didn’t get any sleep at all last night, you couldn’t have. You left Charmerace at eight o’clock; you were motoring all the night, and only got to Paris at six o’clock this morning.”
“Motoring all night, from eight o’clock to six!” muttered Guerchard under his breath.
“Oh, that will be all right,” said the Duke carelessly. “This interesting affair is to be over by midnight, isn’t it?”
“Well, I warn you that, tired or fresh, you will have to come with me to the Princess’s to-morrow night. All Paris will be there—all Paris, that is, who are in Paris.”
“Oh, I shall be fresh enough,” said the Duke.
They went out of the drawing-room and down the stairs, all four of them. There was an alert readiness about Guerchard, as if he were ready to spring. He kept within a foot of the Duke right to the front door. The detective in charge opened it; and they went down the steps to the taxi-cab which was awaiting them. The Duke kissed Germaine’s fingers and handed her into the taxi-cab.
M. Gournay-Martin paused at the cab-door, and turned and said, with a pathetic air, “Am I never to sleep in my own house again?” He got into the cab and drove off.
The Duke turned and came up the steps, followed by Guerchard. In the hall he took his opera-hat and coat from the stand, and went upstairs. Half-way up the flight he paused and said:
“Where shall we wait for Lupin, M. Guerchard? In the drawing-room, or in M. Gournay-Martin’s bedroom?”
“Oh, the drawing-room,” said Guerchard. “I think it very unlikely that Lupin will look for the coronet in M. Gournay-Martin’s bedroom. He would know very well that that is the last place to find it now.”