“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. “Oh, go on talking, do!” cried Guerchard, mopping his forehead. “Absolutely pitiable,” said the Duke, with a cold, disquieting certainty. “As the hand of that clock moves nearer and nearer midnight, you will grow more and more terrified.” He paused, and then shouted violently, “Attention!” Guerchard jumped; and then he swore. “Your nerves are on edge,” said the Duke, laughing. “Joker!” snarled Guerchard. “Oh, you’re as brave as the next man. But who can stand the anguish of the unknown thing which is bound to happen? ... I’m right. You feel it, you’re sure of it. At the end of these few fixed minutes an inevitable, fated event must happen. Don’t shrug your shoulders, man; you’re green with fear.” The Duke was no longer a smiling, cynical dandy. There emanated from him an impression of vivid, terrible force. His voice had deepened. It thrilled with a consciousness of irresistible power; it was overwhelming, paralyzing. His eyes were terrible. “My men are outside ... I’m armed,” stammered Guerchard. “Child! Bear in mind ... bear in mind that it is always when you have foreseen everything, arranged everything, made every combination ... bear in mind that it is always then that some accident dashes your whole structure to the ground,” said the Duke, in the same deep, thrilling voice. “Remember that it is always at the very moment at which you are going to triumph that he beats you, that he only lets you reach the top of the ladder to throw you more easily to the ground.” “Confess, then, that you are Lupin,” muttered Guerchard. “I thought you were sure of it,” said the Duke in a jeering tone. Guerchard dragged the handcuffs out of his pocket, and said between his teeth, “I don’t know what prevents me, my boy.” The Duke drew himself up, and said haughtily, “That’s enough.” “What?” cried Guerchard. “I say that that’s enough,” said the Duke sternly. “It’s all very well for me to play at being familiar with you, but don’t you call me ‘my boy.’” “Oh, you won’t impose on me much longer,” muttered Guerchard; and his bloodshot, haggard eyes scanned the Duke’s face in an agony, an anguish of doubting impotence. “If I’m Lupin, arrest me,” said the Duke. “I’ll arrest you in three minutes from now, or the coronet will be untouched,” cried Guerchard in a firmer tone. “In three minutes from now the coronet will have been stolen; and you will not arrest me,” said the Duke, in a tone of chilling certainty.