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.
"Why, he's gone!" said Bonavent.
Guerchard staggered to his feet and cried hoarsely, frantically: "Stop him from leaving the house! Follow him! Arrest him! Catch him before he gets home!"
CHAPTER XX
LUPIN COMES HOME
The cold light of the early September morning illumined but dimly the charming smoking-room of the Duke of Charmerace in his house at 34 B, University Street, though it stole in through two large windows. The smoking-room was on the first floor; and the Duke's bedroom opened into it. It was furnished in the most luxurious fashion, but with a taste which nowadays infrequently accompanies luxury. The chairs were of the most comfortable, but their lines were excellent; the couch against the wall, between the two windows, was the last word in the matter of comfort. The colour scheme, of a light greyish-blue, was almost too bright for a man's room; it would have better suited a boudoir. It suggested that the owner of the room enjoyed an uncommon lightness and cheerfulness of temperament. On the walls, with wide gaps between them so that they did not clash, hung three or four excellent pictures. Two ballet-girls by Degas, a group of shepherdesses and shepherds, in pink and blue and white beribboned silk, by Fragonard, a portrait of a woman by Bastien-Lepage, a charming Corot, and two Conder fans showed that the taste of their fortunate owner was at any rate eclectic. At the end of the room was, of all curious things, the opening into the well of a lift. The doors of it were open, though the lift itself was on some other floor. To the left of the opening stood a book-case, its shelves loaded with books of a kind rather suited to a cultivated, thoughtful man than to an idle dandy.
Beside the window, half-hidden, and peering through the side of the curtain into the street, stood M. Charolais. But it was hardly the M. Charolais who had paid M. Gournay-Martin that visit at the Chateau de Charmerace, and departed so firmly in the millionaire's favourite motor-car. This was a paler M. Charolais; he lacked altogether the rich, ruddy complexion of the millionaire's visitor. His nose, too, was thinner, and showed none of the ripe acquaintance with the vintages of the world which had been so plainly displayed on it during its owner's visit to the country. Again, hair and eyebrows were no longer black, but fair; and his hair was no longer curly and luxuriant, but thin and lank. His moustache had vanished, and along with it the dress of a well-to-do provincial man of business. He wore a livery of the Charmeraces, and at that early morning hour had not yet assumed the blue waistcoat which is an integral part of it. Indeed it would have required an acute and experienced observer to recognize in him the bogus purchaser of the Mercrac. Only his eyes, his close-set eyes, were unchanged.
Walking restlessly up and down the middle of the room, keeping out of sight of the windows, was Victoire. She wore a very anxious air, as did Charolais too. By the door stood Bernard Charolais; and his natural, boyish timidity, to judge from his frightened eyes, had assumed an acute phase.
"By the Lord, we're done!" cried Charolais, starting back from the window. "That was the front-door bell."
"No, it was only the hall clock," said Bernard.
"That's seven o'clock! Oh, where can he be?" said Victoire, wringing her hands. "The coup was fixed for midnight.... Where can he be?"
"They must be after him," said Charolais. "And he daren't come home." Gingerly he drew back the curtain and resumed his watch.
"I've sent down the lift to the bottom, in case he should come back by the secret entrance," said Victoire; and she went to the opening into the well of the lift and stood looking down it, listening with all her ears.
"Then why, in the devil's name, have you left the doors open?" cried Charolais irritably. "How do you expect the lift to come up if the doors are open?"
"I must be off my head!" cried Victoire.
She stepped to the side of the lift and pressed a button. The doors closed, and there was a grunting click of heavy machinery settling into a new position.
"Suppose we telephone to Justin at the Passy house?" said Victoire.
"What on earth's the good of that?" said Charolais impatiently. "Justin knows no more than we do. How can he know any more?"
"The best thing we can do is to get out," said Bernard, in a shaky voice.
"No, no; he will come. I haven't given up hope," Victoire protested. "He's sure to come; and he may need us."
"But, hang it all! Suppose the police come! Suppose they ransack his papers.... He hasn't told us what to do … we are not ready for them.... What are we to do?" cried Charolais, in a tone of despair.
"Well, I'm worse off than you are; and I'm not making a fuss. If the police come they'll arrest me," said Victoire.
"Perhaps they've arrested him," said Bernard, in his shaky voice.
"Don't talk like that," said Victoire fretfully. "Isn't it bad enough to wait and wait, without your croaking like a scared crow?"
She started again her pacing up and down the room, twisting her hands, and now and again moistening her dry lips with the tip of her tongue.
Presently she said: "Are those two plain-clothes men still there watching?" And in her anxiety she came a step nearer the window.
"Keep away from the window!" snapped Charolais. "Do you want to be recognized, you great idiot?" Then he added, more quietly, "They're still there all right, curse them, in front of the cafe.... Hullo!"
"What is it, now?" cried Victoire, starting.
"A copper and a detective running," said Charolais. "They are running for all they're worth."
"Are they coming this way?" said Victoire; and she ran to the door and caught hold of the handle.
"No," said Charolais.
"Thank goodness!" said Victoire.
"They're running to the two men watching the house … they're telling them something. Oh, hang it, they're all running down the street."
"This way? … Are they coming this way?" cried Victoire faintly; and she pressed her hand to her side.
"They are!" cried Charolais. "They are!" And he dropped the curtain with an oath.
"And he isn't here! Suppose they come.... Suppose he comes to the front door! They'll catch him!" cried Victoire.
There came a startling peal at the front-door bell. They stood frozen to stone, their eyes fixed on one another, staring.
The bell had hardly stopped ringing, when there was a slow, whirring noise. The doors of the lift flew open, and the Duke stepped out of it. But what a changed figure from the admirably dressed dandy who had walked through the startled detectives and out of the house of M. Gournay-Martin at midnight! He was pale, exhausted, almost fainting. His eyes were dim in a livid face; his lips were grey. He was panting heavily. He was splashed with mud from head to foot: one sleeve of his coat was torn along half its length. The sole of his left-hand pump was half off; and his cut foot showed white and red through the torn sock.
"The master! The master!" cried Charolais in a tone of extravagant relief; and he danced round the room snapping his fingers.
"You're wounded?" cried Victoire.
"No," said Arsene 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 to the end. I gave myself another minute… one more minute—the last, and I had my revolver on me… but during that minute I put forth every ounce of strength I had left … I began to gain ground … I had them pretty well strung out already … they were blown too. The knowledge gave me back my courage, and I plugged on … my feet did not feel so much as though they were made of lead. I began to run away from them … they were dropping behind … all of them but one … he stuck to me. We went at a jog-trot, a slow jog-trot, for I don't know how long. Then we dropped to a walk—we could run no more; and on we went. My strength and wind began to come back. I suppose my pursuer's did too; for exactly what I expected happened. He gave a yell and dashed for me. I was ready for him. I pretended to start running, and when he was within three yards of me I dropped on one knee, caught his ankles, and chucked him over my head. I don't know whether he broke his neck or not. I hope he did."
"Splendid!" said Victoire. "Splendid!"
"Well, there I was, outside Paris, and I'm hanged if I know where. I went on half a mile, and then I rested. Oh, how sleepy I was! I would have given a hundred thousand francs for an hour's sleep—cheerfully. But I dared not let myself sleep. I had to get back here unseen. There were you and Sonia."
"Sonia? Another woman?" cried Victoire. "Oh, it's then that I'm frightened … when you get a woman mixed up in your game. Always, when you come to grief … when you really get into danger, there's a woman in it."
"Oh, but she's charming!" protested Lupin.
"They always are," said Victoire drily. "But go on. Tell me how you got here."
"Well, I knew it was going to be a tough job, so I took a good rest—an hour, I should think. And then I started to walk back. I found that I had come a devil of a way—I must have gone at Marathon pace. I walked and walked, and at last I got into Paris, and found myself with still a couple of miles to go. It was all right now; I should soon find a cab. But the luck was dead against me. I heard a man come round the corner of a side-street into a long street I was walking down. He gave a yell, and came bucketing after me. It was that hound Dieusy. He had recognized my figure. Off I went; and the chase began again. I led him a dance, but I couldn't shake him off. All the while I was working my way towards home. Then, just at last, I spurted for all I was worth, got out of his sight, bolted round the corner of the street into the secret entrance, and here I am." He smiled weakly, and added, "Oh, my dear Victoire, what a profession it is!"
CHAPTER XXI
THE CUTTING OF THE TELEPHONE WIRES
The door opened, and in came Charolais, bearing a tray.
"Here's your breakfast, master," he said.
"Don't call me master—that's how his men address Guerchard. It's a disgusting practice," said Lupin severely.
Victoire and Charolais were quick laying the table. Charolais kept up a running fire of questions as he did it; but Lupin did not trouble to answer them. He lay back, relaxed, drawing deep breaths. Already his lips had lost their greyness, and were pink; there was a suggestion of blood under the skin of his pale face. They soon had the table laid; and he walked to it on fairly steady feet. He sat down; Charolais whipped off a cover, and said:
"Anyhow, you've got out of the mess neatly. It was a jolly smart escape."
"Oh, yes. So far it's all right," said Lupin. "But there's going to be trouble presently—lots of it. I shall want all my wits. We all shall."
He fell upon his breakfast with the appetite but not the manners of a wolf. Charolais went out of the room. Victoire hovered about him, pouring out his coffee and putting sugar into it.
"By Jove, how good these eggs are!" he said. "I think that, of all the thousand ways of cooking eggs, en cocotte is the best."
"Heavens! how empty I was!" he said presently. "What a meal I'm making! It's really a very healthy life, this of mine, Victoire. I feel much better already."
"Oh, yes; it's all very well to talk," said Victoire, in a scolding tone; for since he was better, she felt, as a good woman should, that the time had come to put in a word out of season. "But, all the same, you're trying to kill yourself—that's what you're doing. Just because you're young you abuse your youth. It won't last for ever; and you'll be sorry you used it up before it's time. And this life of lies and thefts and of all kinds of improper things—I suppose it's going to begin all over again. It's no good your getting a lesson. It's just thrown away upon you."
"What I want next is a bath," said Lupin.
"It's all very well your pretending not to listen to me, when you know very well that I'm speaking for your good," she went on, raising her voice a little. "But I tell you that all this is going to end badly. To be a thief gives you no position in the world—no position at all—and when I think of what you made me do the night before last, I'm just horrified at myself."
"We'd better not talk about that—the mess you made of it! It was positively excruciating!" said Lupin.
"And what did you expect? I'm an honest woman, I am!" said Victoire sharply. "I wasn't brought up to do things like that, thank goodness! And to begin at my time of life!"
"It's true, and I often ask myself how you bring yourself to stick to me," said Lupin, in a reflective, quite impersonal tone. "Please pour me out another cup of coffee."
"That's what I'm always asking myself," said Victoire, pouring out the coffee. "I don't know—I give it up. I suppose it is because I'm fond of you."
"Yes, and I'm very fond of you, my dear Victoire," said Lupin, in a coaxing tone.
"And then, look you, there are things that there's no understanding. I often talked to your poor mother about them. Oh, your poor mother! Whatever would she have said to these goings-on?"
Lupin helped himself to another cutlet; his eyes twinkled and he said, "I'm not sure that she would have been very much surprised. I always told her that I was going to punish society for the way it had treated her. Do you think she would have been surprised?"
"Oh, nothing you did would have surprised her," said Victoire. "When you were quite a little boy you were always making us wonder. You gave yourself such airs, and you had such nice manners of your own—altogether different from the other boys. And you were already a bad boy, when you were only seven years old, full of all kinds of tricks; and already you had begun to steal."
"Oh, only sugar," protested Lupin.
"Yes, you began by stealing sugar," said Victoire, in the severe tones of a moralist. "And then it was jam, and then it was pennies. Oh, it was all very well at that age—a little thief is pretty enough. But now—when you're twenty-eight years old."
"Really, Victoire, you're absolutely depressing," said Lupin, yawning; and he helped himself to jam.
"I know very well that you're all right at heart," said Victoire. "Of course you only rob the rich, and you've always been kind to the poor.... Yes; there's no doubt about it: you have a good heart."
"I can't help it—what about it?" said Lupin, smiling.
"Well, you ought to have different ideas in your head. Why are you a burglar?"
"You ought to try it yourself, my dear Victoire," said Lupin gently; and he watched her with a humorous eye.
"Goodness, what a thing to say!" cried Victoire.
"I assure you, you ought," said Lupin, in a tone of thoughtful conviction. "I've tried everything. I've taken my degree in medicine and in law. I have been an actor, and a professor of Jiu-jitsu. I have even been a member of the detective force, like that wretched Guerchard. Oh, what a dirty world that is! Then I launched out into society. I have been a duke. Well, I give you my word that not one of these professions equals that of burglar—not even the profession of Duke. There is so much of the unexpected in it, Victoire—the splendid unexpected.... And then, it's full of variety, so terrible, so fascinating." His voice sank a little, and he added, "And what fun it is!"
"Fun!" cried Victoire.
"Yes … these rich men, these swells in their luxury—when one relieves them of a bank-note, how they do howl! … You should have seen that fat old Gournay-Martin when I relieved him of his treasures—what an agony! You almost heard the death-rattle in his throat. And then the coronet! In the derangement of their minds—and it was sheer derangement, mind you—already prepared at Charmerace, in the derangement of Guerchard, I had only to put out my hand and pluck the coronet. And the joy, the ineffable joy of enraging the police! To see Guerchard's furious eyes when I downed him.... And look round you!" He waved his hand round the luxurious room. "Duke of Charmerace! This trade leads to everything … to everything on condition that one sticks to it ....I tell you, Victoire, that when one cannot be a great artist or a great soldier, the only thing to be is a great thief!"
"Oh, be quiet!" cried Victoire. "Don't talk like that. You're working yourself up; you're intoxicating yourself! And all that, it is not Catholic. Come, at your age, you ought to have one idea in your head which should drive out all these others, which should make you forget all these thefts.... Love … that would change you, I'm sure of it. That would make another man of you. You ought to marry."
"Yes … perhaps … that would make another man of me. That's what I've been thinking. I believe you're right," said Lupin thoughtfully.
"Is that true? Have you really been thinking of it?" cried Victoire joyfully.
"Yes," said Lupin, smiling at her eagerness. "I have been thinking about it—seriously."
"No more messing about—no more intrigues. But a real woman … a woman for life?" cried Victoire.
"Yes," said Lupin softly; and his eyes were shining in a very grave face.
"Is it serious—is it real love, dearie?" said Victoire. "What's she like?"
"She's beautiful," said Lupin.
"Oh, trust you for that. Is she a blonde or a brunette?"
"She's very fair and delicate—like a princess in a fairy tale," said Lupin softly.
"What is she? What does she do?" said Victoire.
"Well, since you ask me, she's a thief," said Lupin with a mischievous smile.
"Good Heavens!" cried Victoire.
"But she's a very charming thief," said Lupin; and he rose smiling.
He lighted a cigar, stretched himself and yawned: "She had ever so much more reason for stealing than ever I had," he said. "And she has always hated it like poison."
"Well, that's something," said Victoire; and her blank and fallen face brightened a little.
Lupin walked up and down the room, breathing out long luxurious puffs of smoke from his excellent cigar, and watching Victoire with a humorous eye. He walked across to his book-shelf, and scanned the titles of his books with an appreciative, almost affectionate smile.
"This is a very pleasant interlude," he said languidly. "But I don't suppose it's going to last very long. As soon as Guerchard recovers from the shock of learning that I spent a quiet night in my ducal bed as an honest duke should, he'll be getting to work with positively furious energy, confound him! I could do with a whole day's sleep—twenty-four solid hours of it."
"I'm sure you could, dearie," said Victoire sympathetically.
"The girl I'm going to marry is Sonia Kritchnoff," he said.
"Sonia? That dear child! But I love her already!" cried Victoire. "Sonia, but why did you say she was a thief? That was a silly thing to say."
"It's my extraordinary sense of humour," said Lupin.
The door opened and Charolais bustled in: "Shall I clear away the breakfast?" he said.
Lupin nodded; and then the telephone bell rang. He put his finger on his lips and went to it.
"Are you there?" he said. "Oh, it's you, Germaine.... Good morning.... Oh, yes, I had a good night—excellent, thank you.... You want to speak to me presently? … You're waiting for me at the Ritz?"
"Don't go—don't go—it isn't safe," said Victoire, in a whisper.
"All right, I'll be with you in about half an hour, or perhaps three-quarters. I'm not dressed yet … but I'm ever so much more impatient than you … good-bye for the present." He put the receiver on the stand.
"It's a trap," said Charolais.
"Never mind, what if it is? Is it so very serious?" said Lupin. "There'll be nothing but traps now; and if I can find the time I shall certainly go and take a look at that one."
"And if she knows everything? If she's taking her revenge … if she's getting you there to have you arrested?" said Victoire.
"Yes, M. Formery is probably at the Ritz with Gournay-Martin. They're probably all of them there, weighing the coronet," said Lupin, with a chuckle.
He hesitated a moment, reflecting; then he said, "How silly you are! If they wanted to arrest me, if they had the material proof which they haven't got, Guerchard would be here already!"
"Then why did they chase you last night?" said Charolais.
"The coronet," said Lupin. "Wasn't that reason enough? But, as it turned out, they didn't catch me: and when the detectives did come here, they disturbed me in my sleep. And that me was ever so much more me than the man they followed. And then the proofs … they must have proofs. There aren't any—or rather, what there are, I've got!" He pointed to a small safe let into the wall. "In that safe are the coronet, and, above all, the death certificate of the Duke of Charmerace … everything that Guerchard must have to induce M. Formery to proceed. But still, there is a risk—I think I'd better have those things handy in case I have to bolt."
He went into his bedroom and came back with the key of the safe and a kit-bag. He opened the safe and took out the coronet, the real coronet of the Princesse de Lamballe, and along with it a pocket-book with a few papers in it. He set the pocket-book on the table, ready to put in his coat-pocket when he should have dressed, and dropped the coronet into the kit-bag.
"I'm glad I have that death certificate; it makes it much safer," he said. "If ever they do nab me, I don't wish that rascal Guerchard to accuse me of having murdered the Duke. It might prejudice me badly. I've not murdered anybody yet."
"That comes of having a good heart," said Victoire proudly.
"Not even the Duke of Charmerace," said Charolais sadly. "And it would have been so easy when he was ill—just one little draught. And he was in such a perfect place—so out of the way—no doctors."
"You do have such disgusting ideas, Charolais," said Lupin, in a tone of severe reproof.
"Instead of which you went and saved his life," said Charolais, in a tone of deep discontent; and he went on clearing the table.
"I did, I did: I had grown quite fond of him," said Lupin, with a meditative air. "For one thing, he was so very like one. I'm not sure that he wasn't even better-looking."
"No; he was just like you," said Victoire, with decision. "Any one would have said you were twin brothers."
"It gave me quite a shock the first time I saw his portrait," said Lupin. "You remember, Charolais? It was three years ago, the day, or rather the night, of the first Gournay-Martin burglary at Charmerace. Do you remember?"
"Do I remember?" said Charolais. "It was I who pointed out the likeness to you. I said, 'He's the very spit of you, master.' And you said, 'There's something to be done with that, Charolais.' And then off you started for the ice and snow and found the Duke, and became his friend; and then he went and died, not that you'd have helped him to, if he hadn't."
"Poor Charmerace. He was indeed grand seigneur. With him a great name was about to be extinguished.... Did I hesitate? … No.... I continued it," said Lupin.
He paused and looked at the clock. "A quarter to eight," he said, hesitating. "Shall I telephone to Sonia, or shall I not? Oh, there's no hurry; let the poor child sleep on. She must be worn out after that night-journey and that cursed Guerchard's persecution yesterday. I'll dress first, and telephone to her afterwards. I'd better be getting dressed, by the way. The work I've got to do can't be done in pyjamas. I wish it could; for bed's the place for me. My wits aren't quite as clear as I could wish them to deal with an awkward business like this. Well, I must do the best I can with them."