“This is merely an imitation.” said the Duke, with a gentle laugh.
“Hell and damnation!” howled Guerchard. “Bonavent! Dieusy!”
The door flew open, and half a dozen detectives rushed in.
Guerchard sank into a chair, stupefied, paralyzed; this blow, on the top of the strain of the struggle with the Duke, had broken him.
“Gentlemen,” said the Duke sadly, “the coronet has been stolen.”
They broke into cries of surprise and bewilderment, surrounding the gasping Guerchard with excited questions.
The Duke walked quietly out of the room.
Guerchard sobbed twice; his eyes opened, and in a dazed fashion wandered from face to face; he said faintly: “Where is he?”
“Where’s who?” said Bonavent.
“The Duke—the Duke!” gasped Guerchard.