wounded?” cried Victoire.
“No,” said Arsène Lupin.
The front-door bell rang out again, startling, threatening, terrifying.
The note of danger seemed to brace Lupin, to spur him to a last effort.
He pulled himself together, and said in a hoarse but steady voice: “Your waistcoat, Charolais.… Go and open the door…not too quickly…fumble the bolts.… Bernard, shut the book-case. Victoire, get out of sight, do you want to ruin us all? Be smart now, all of you. Be smart!”
He staggered past them into his bedroom, and slammed the door. Victoire and Charolais hurried out of the room, through the anteroom, on to the landing. Victoire ran upstairs, Charolais went slowly down. Bernard pressed the button. The doors of the lift shut and there was a slow whirring as it went down. He pressed another button, and the book-case slid slowly across and hid the opening into the lift-well. Bernard ran out of the room and up the stairs.
Charolais went to the front door and fumbled with the bolts. He bawled through the door to the visitors not to be in such a hurry at that hour in the morning; and they bawled furiously at him to be quick, and knocked and rang again and again. He was fully three minutes fumbling with the bolts, which were already drawn. At last he opened the door an inch or two, and looked out.
On the instant the door was dashed open, flinging him back against the wall; and Bonavent and Dieusy rushed past him, up the stairs, as hard as they could pelt. A brown-faced, nervous, active policeman followed them in and stopped to guard the door.
On the landing the detectives paused, and looked at one another, hesitating.
“Which way did he go?” said Bonavent. “We were on his very heels.”
“I don’t know; but we’ve jolly well stopped his getting into his own house; and that’s the main thing,” said Dieusy triumphantly.
“But are you sure it was him?” said Bonavent, stepping into the anteroom.
“I can swear to it,” said Dieusy confidently; and he followed him.
Charolais came rushing up the stairs and caught them up as they were entering the smoking-room:
“Here! What’s all this?” he cried. “You mustn’t come in here! His Grace isn’t awake yet.”
“Awake? Awake? Your precious Duke has been galloping all night,” cried Dieusy. “And he runs devilish well, too.”
The door of the bedroom opened; and Lupin stood on the threshold in slippers and pyjamas.
“What’s all this?” he snapped, with the irritation of a man whose sleep has been disturbed; and his tousled hair and eyes dim with exhaustion gave him every appearance of being still heavy with sleep.
The eyes and mouths of Bonavent and Dieusy opened wide; and they stared at him blankly, in utter bewilderment and wonder.
“Is it you who are making all this noise?” said Lupin, frowning at them. “Why, I know you two; you’re in the service of M. Guerchard.”
“Yes, your Grace,” stammered Bonavent.
“Well, what are you doing here? What is it you want?” said Lupin.
“Oh, nothing, your Grace…nothing…there’s been a mistake,” stammered Bonavent.
“A mistake?” said Lupin haughtily. “I should think there had been a mistake. But I take it that this is Guerchard’s doing. I’d better deal with him directly. You two can go.” He turned to Charolais and added curtly, “Show them out.”
Charolais opened the door, and the two detectives went out of the room with the slinking air of whipped dogs. They went down the stairs in silence, slowly, reflectively; and Charolais let them out of the front door.
As they went down the steps Dieusy said: “What a howler! Guerchard risks getting the sack for this!”
“I told you so,” said Bonavent. “A duke’s a duke.”
When the door closed behind the two detectives Lupin tottered across the room, dropped on to the couch with a groan of exhaustion, and closed his eyes. Presently the door opened, Victoire came in, saw his attitude of exhaustion, and with a startled cry ran to his side.
“Oh, dearie! dearie!” she cried. “Pull yourself together! Oh, do try to pull yourself together.” She caught his cold hands and began to rub them, murmuring words of endearment like a mother over a young child. Lupin did not open his eyes; Charolais came in.
“Some breakfast!” she cried. “Bring his breakfast…he’s faint…he’s had nothing to eat this morning. Can you eat some breakfast, dearie?”
“Yes,” said Lupin faintly.
“Hurry up with it,” said Victoire in urgent, imperative tones; and Charolais left the room at a run.
“Oh, what a life you lead!” said Victoire, or, to be exact, she wailed it. “Are you never going to change? You’re as white as a sheet.… Can’t you speak, dearie?”
She stooped and lifted his legs on to the couch.
He stretched himself, and, without opening his eyes, said in a faint voice: “Oh, Victoire, what a fright I’ve had!”
“You? You’ve been frightened?” cried Victoire, amazed.
“Yes. You needn’t tell the others, though. But I’ve had a night of it…I did play the fool so…I must have been absolutely mad. Once I had changed the coronet under that fat old fool Gournay-Martin’s very eyes…once you and Sonia were out of their clutches, all I had to do was to slip away. Did I? Not a bit of it! I stayed there out of sheer bravado, just to score off Guerchard.… And then I…I, who pride myself on being as cool as a cucumber…I did the one thing I ought not to have done.… Instead of going quietly away as the Duke of Charmerace…what do you think I did?… I bolted…I started running…running like a thief.… In about two seconds I saw the slip I had made. It did not take me longer; but that was too long—Guerchard’s men were on my track…I was done for.”
“Then Guerchard understood—he recognized you?” said Victoire anxiously.
“As soon as the first paralysis had passed, Guerchard dared to see clearly…to see the truth,” said Lupin. “And then it was a chase. There were ten—fifteen of them on my heels. Out of breath—grunting, furious—a mob—a regular mob. I had passed the night before in a motor-car. I was dead beat. In fact, I was done for before I started…and they were gaining ground all the time.”
“Why didn’t you hide?” said Victoire.
“For a long while they were too close. They must have been within five feet of me. I was done. Then I was crossing one of the bridges.… There was the Seine…handy…I made up my mind that, rather than be taken, I’d make an end of it…I’d throw myself over.”
“Good Lord!—and then?” cried Victoire.
“Then I had a revulsion of feeling. At any rate, I’d stick it out
