“What do I risk?” said the Duke, with scathing contempt. “Can you arrest me? ... You can arrest Lupin ... but arrest the Duke of Charmerace, an honourable gentleman, member of the Jockey Club, and of the Union, residing at his house, 34 B, University Street ... arrest the Duke of Charmerace, the fiance of Mademoiselle Gournay-Martin?”
“Scoundrel!” cried Guerchard, pale with sudden, helpless fury.
“Well, do it,” taunted the Duke. “Be an ass.... Make yourself the laughing-stock of Paris ... call your coppers in. Have you a proof—one single proof? Not one.”
“Oh, I shall get them,” howled Guerchard, beside himself.
“I think you may,” said the Duke coolly. “And you might be able to arrest me next week ... the day after to-morrow perhaps ... perhaps never ... but not to-night, that’s certain.”
“Oh, if only somebody could hear you!” gasped Guerchard.
“Now, don’t excite yourself,” said the Duke. “That won’t produce any proofs for you.... The fact is, M. Formery told you the truth when he said that, when it is a case of Lupin, you lose your head. Ah, that Formery—there is an intelligent man if you like.”
“At all events, the coronet is safe ... to-night—”
“Wait, my good chap ... wait,” said the Duke slowly; and then he snapped out: “Do you know what’s behind that door?” and he flung out his hand towards the door of the inner drawing-room, with a mysterious, sinister air.
“What?” cried Guerchard; and he whipped round and faced the door, with his eyes starting out of his head.