“Here! where are you going to? Wait here,” said Charolais quickly. “Take a chair; sit down.”
Bonavent sat down with a very stolid air, and Charolais looked at him doubtfully, in two minds whether to leave him there alone or not. Before he had decided there came a thundering knock on the front door, not only loud but protracted. Charolais looked round with a scared air; and then ran out of the room and down the stairs.
On the instant Bonavent was on his feet, and very far from stolid. He opened the door of the smoking-room very gently and peered in. It was empty. He slipped noiselessly across the room, a pair of clippers ready in his hand, and cut the wires of the telephone. His quick eye glanced round the room and fell on the pocket-book on the table. He snatched it up, and slipped it into the breast of his tunic. He had scarcely done it—one button of his tunic was still to fasten—when the bedroom door opened, and Lupin came out:
“What do you want?” he said sharply; and his keen eyes scanned the porter with a disquieting penetration.
“I’ve brought a letter to the Duke of Charmerace, to be given into his own hands,” said Bonavent, in a disguised voice.
“Give it to me,” said Lupin, holding out his hand.
“But the Duke?” said Bonavent, hesitating.
“I am the Duke,” said Lupin.
Bonavent gave him the letter, and turned to go.
“Don’t go,” said Lupin quietly. “Wait, there may be an answer.”