He caught a glimpse of a back vanishing through the window, and bellowed: “Hi! A man! A burglar! Firmin! Firmin!” He ran blundering down the hall, tangled his feet in the fragments of the broken chair, and came sprawling a thundering cropper, which knocked every breath of wind out of his capacious body. He lay flat on his face for a couple of minutes, his broad back wriggling convulsively—a pathetic sight!—in the painful effort to get his breath back. Then he sat up, and with perfect frankness burst into tears. He sobbed and blubbered, like a small child that has hurt itself, for three or four minutes. Then, having recovered his magnificent voice, he bellowed furiously: “Firmin! Firmin! Charmerace! Charmerace!” Then he rose painfully to his feet, and stood staring at the open windows. Presently he roared again: “Firmin! Firmin! Charmerace! Charmerace!” He kept looking at the window with terrified eyes, as though he expected somebody to step in and cut his throat from ear to ear. “Firmin! Firmin! Charmerace! Charmerace!” he bellowed again. The Duke came quietly into the hall, dressed in a heavy motor-coat, his motor-cap on his head, and carrying a kit-bag in his hand. “Did I hear you call?” he said. “Call?” said the millionaire. “I shouted. The burglars are here already. I’ve just seen one of them. He was bolting through the middle window.” The Duke raised his eyebrows. “Nerves,” he said gently—“nerves.” “Nerves be hanged!” said the millionaire. “I tell you I saw him as plainly as I see you.” “Well, you can’t see me at all, seeing that you’re lighting an acre and a half of hall with a single lamp,” said the Duke, still in a tone of utter incredulity. “It’s that fool Firmin! He ought to have lighted six. Firmin! Firmin!” bellowed the millionaire. They listened for the sonorous clumping of the promoted gamekeeper’s boots, but they did not hear it. Evidently Firmin was still giving his master’s instructions about the cars to Jean. “Well, we may as well shut the windows, anyhow,” said the Duke, proceeding to do so. “If you think Firmin would be any good, you might post him in this hall with a gun to-night. There could be no harm in putting a charge of small shot into the legs of these ruffians. He has only to get one of them, and the others will go for their lives. Yet I don’t like leaving you and Germaine in this big house with only Firmin to look after you.” “I shouldn’t like it myself, and I’m not going to chance it,” growled the millionaire. “We’re going to motor to Paris along with you, and leave Jean to help Firmin fight these burglars. Firmin’s all right—he’s an old soldier. He fought in ’70. Not that I’ve much belief in soldiers against this cursed Lupin, after the way he dealt with that corporal and his men three years ago.” “I’m glad you’re coming to Paris,” said the Duke. “It’ll be a weight off my mind. I’d better drive the limousine, and you take the landaulet.”