“But I will! I swear I will!” cried Guerchard. “Don’t swear any foolish oaths! ... THERE ARE ONLY TWO MINUTES LEFT,” said the Duke; and he drew a revolver from his pocket. “No, you don’t!” cried Guerchard, drawing a revolver in his turn. “What’s the matter?” said the Duke, with an air of surprise. “You haven’t forbidden me to shoot Lupin. I have my revolver ready, since he’s going to come.... THERE’S ONLY A MINUTE LEFT.” “There are plenty of us,” said Guerchard; and he went towards the door. “Funk!” said the Duke scornfully. Guerchard turned sharply. “Very well,” he said, “I’ll stick it out alone.” “How rash!” sneered the Duke. Guerchard ground his teeth. He was panting; his bloodshot eyes rolled in their sockets; the beads of cold sweat stood out on his forehead. He came back towards the table on unsteady feet, trembling from head to foot in the last excitation of the nerves. He kept jerking his head to shake away the mist which kept dimming his eyes. “At your slightest gesture, at your slightest movement, I’ll fire,” he said jerkily, and covered the Duke with his revolver. “I call myself the Duke of Charmerace. You will be arrested to-morrow!” said the Duke, in a compelling, thrilling voice. “I don’t care a curse!” cried Guerchard. “Only FIFTY SECONDS!” said the Duke. “Yes, yes,” muttered Guerchard huskily. And his eyes shot from the coronet to the Duke, from the Duke to the coronet. “In fifty seconds the coronet will be stolen,” said the Duke. “No!” cried Guerchard furiously. “Yes,” said the Duke coldly. “No! no! no!” cried Guerchard. Their eyes turned to the clock. To Guerchard the hands seemed to be standing still. He could have sworn at them for their slowness. Then the first stroke rang out; and the eyes of the two men met like crossing blades. Twice the Duke made the slightest movement. Twice Guerchard started forward to meet it. At the last stroke both their hands shot out. Guerchard’s fell heavily on the case which held the coronet. The Duke’s fell on the brim of his hat; and he picked it up. Guerchard gasped and choked. Then he cried triumphantly: “I HAVE it; now then, have I won? Have I been fooled this time? Has Lupin got the coronet?” “It doesn’t look like it. But are you quite sure?” said the Duke gaily. “Sure?” cried Guerchard. “It’s only the weight of it,” said the Duke, repressing a laugh. “Doesn’t it strike you that it’s just a trifle light?” “What?” cried Guerchard. “This is merely an imitation.” said the Duke, with a gentle laugh. “Hell and damnation!” howled Guerchard. “Bonavent! Dieusy!” The door flew open, and half a dozen detectives rushed in. Guerchard sank into a chair, stupefied, paralyzed; this blow, on the top of the strain of the struggle with the Duke, had broken him. “Gentlemen,” said the Duke sadly, “the coronet has been stolen.” They broke into cries of surprise and bewilderment, surrounding the gasping Guerchard with excited questions.