“Stand back—hands up!” cried Lupin, in a terrible voice, raising his right hand high above his head. “You know what this is ... a bomb.... Come and collar me now, you swine! ... Hands up, you ... Guerchard!”
“You silly funks!” roared Guerchard. “Do you think he’d dare?”
“Come and see!” cried Lupin.
“I will!” cried Guerchard. And he took a step forward.
As one man his detectives threw themselves upon him. Three of them gripped his arms, a fourth gripped him round the waist; and they all shouted at him together, not to be a madman! ... To look at Lupin’s eyes! ... That Lupin was off his head!
“What miserable swine you are!” cried Lupin scornfully. He sprang forward, caught up the kit-bag in his left hand, and tossed it behind him into the lift. “You dirty crew!” he cried again. “Oh, why isn’t there a photographer here? And now, Guerchard, you thief, give me back my pocket-book.”
“Never!” screamed Guerchard, struggling with his men, purple with fury.
“Oh, Lord, master! Do be careful! Don’t rile him!” cried Bonavent in an agony.
“What? Do you want me to smash up the whole lot?” roared Lupin, in a furious, terrible voice. “Do I look as if I were bluffing, you fools?”
“Let him have his way, master!” cried Dieusy.