“And there was nobody there to help you repair it?” said Guerchard. “No; M. Gournay-Martin could not let me have his chauffeur to drive me to Paris, because he was keeping him to help guard the château. And of course there was nobody on the road, because it was two o’clock in the morning.” “Yes, there was no one,” said Guerchard slowly. “Not a soul,” said the Duke. “It was unfortunate,” said Guerchard; and there was a note of incredulity in his voice. “My having to repair the car myself?” said the Duke. “Yes, of course,” said Guerchard, hesitating a little over the assent. The Duke dropped the end of his cigarette into a tray, and took out his case. He held it out towards Guerchard, and said, “A cigarette? or perhaps you prefer your caporal?” “Yes, I do, but all the same I’ll have one,” said Guerchard, coming quickly across the room. And he took a cigarette from the case, and looked at it. “All the same, all this is very curious,” he said in a new tone, a challenging, menacing, accusing tone. “What?” said the Duke, looking at him curiously. “Everything: your cigarettes ... the salvias ... the photograph that Bonavent found in Victoire’s prayer-book ... that man in motoring dress ... and finally, your break-down,” said Guerchard; and the accusation and the threat rang clearer. The Duke rose from his chair quickly and said haughtily, in icy tones: “M. Guerchard, you’ve been drinking!” He went to the chair on which he had set his overcoat and his hat, and picked them up. Guerchard sprang in front of him, barring his way, and cried in a shaky voice: “No; don’t go! You mustn’t go!” “What do you mean?” said the Duke, and paused. “What DO you mean?” Guerchard stepped back, and ran his hand over his forehead. He was very pale, and his forehead was clammy to his touch: “No ... I beg your pardon ... I beg your pardon, your Grace ... I must be going mad,” he stammered. “It looks very like it,” said the Duke coldly. “What I mean to say is,” said Guerchard in a halting, uncertain voice, “what I mean to say is: help me ... I want you to stay here, to help me against Lupin, you understand. Will you, your Grace?” “Yes, certainly; of course I will, if you want me to,” said the Duke, in a more gentle voice. “But you seem awfully upset, and you’re upsetting me too. We shan’t have a nerve between us soon, if you don’t pull yourself together.” “Yes, yes, please excuse me,” muttered Guerchard. “Very good,” said the Duke. “But what is it we’re going to do?” Guerchard hesitated. He pulled out his handkerchief, and mopped his forehead: “Well ... the coronet ... is it in this case?” he said in a shaky voice, and set the case on the table. “Of course it is,” said the Duke impatiently. Guerchard opened the case, and the coronet sparkled and gleamed brightly in the electric light: “Yes, it is there; you see it?” said Guerchard. “Yes, I see it; well?” said the Duke, looking at him in some bewilderment, so unlike himself did he seem.