“Well, at any rate, if he does come he won’t find the diadem,” said M. Gournay-Martin, in a tone of triumph. “I’m taking it with me—I’ve got it here.” And he held up his bag. “You are?” said the Duke. “Yes, I am,” said M. Gournay-Martin firmly. “Do you think it’s wise?” said the Duke. “Why not?” said M. Gournay-Martin. “If Lupin’s really made up his mind to collar that coronet, and if you’re so sure that, in spite of all these safeguards, he’s going to make the attempt, it seems to me that you’re taking a considerable risk. He asked you to have it ready for him in your bedroom. He didn’t say which bedroom.” “Good Lord! I never thought of that!” said M. Gournay-Martin, with an air of sudden and very lively alarm. “His Grace is right,” said Guerchard. “It would be exactly like Lupin to send that telegram to drive you out of the house with the coronet to some place where you would be less protected. That is exactly one of his tricks.” “Good Heavens!” said the millionaire, pulling out his keys and unlocking the bag. He opened it, paused hesitatingly, and snapped it to again. “Half a minute,” he said. “I want a word with you, Duke.” He led the way out of the drawing-room door and the Duke followed him. He shut the door and said in a whisper: “In a case like this, I suspect everybody.” “Everybody suspects everybody, apparently,” said the Duke. “Are you sure you don’t suspect me?” “Now, now, this is no time for joking,” said the millionaire impatiently. “What do you think about Guerchard?” “About Guerchard?” said the Duke. “What do you mean?” “Do you think I can put full confidence in Guerchard?” said M. Gournay-Martin. “Oh, I think so,” said the Duke. “Besides, I shall be here to look after Guerchard. And, though I wouldn’t undertake to answer for Lupin, I think I can answer for Guerchard. If he tries to escape with the coronet, I will wring his neck for you with pleasure. It would do me good. And it would do Guerchard good, too.” The millionaire stood reflecting for a minute or two. Then he said, “Very good; I’ll trust him.” Hardly had the door closed behind the millionaire and the Duke, when Guerchard crossed the room quickly to Germaine and drew from his pocket the photograph of Victoire and the young man. “Do you know this photograph of his Grace, mademoiselle?” he said quickly. Germaine took the photograph and looked at it. “It’s rather faded,” she said. “Yes; it’s about ten years old,” said Guerchard. “I seem to know the face of the woman,” said Germaine. “But if it’s ten years old it certainly isn’t the photograph of the Duke.” “But it’s like him?” said Guerchard. “Oh, yes, it’s like the Duke as he is now—at least, it’s a little like him. But it’s not like the Duke as he was ten years ago. He has changed so,” said Germaine. “Oh, has he?” said Guerchard. “Yes; there was that exhausting journey of his—and then his illness. The doctors gave up all hope of him, you know.” “Oh, did they?” said Guerchard.