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.
"Get out, you funk!" said the Duke, with a great laugh.
"Hang you!" said Guerchard shrilly.
"I said that you were going to be absolutely pitiable," said the Duke, and he laughed again cruelly.
