He ran to Guerchard’s cloak, took the card-case from the inner pocket, went to the writing-table, and sat down. He took from his waist-coat pocket the permit which Guerchard had given him, and a pencil. Then he took a card from the card-case, set the permit on the table before him, and began to imitate Guerchard’s handwriting with an amazing exactness. He wrote on the card: “Pass Mademoiselle Kritchnoff.” “J. GUERCHARD.” Sonia stood by his side, panting quickly with fear, and watched him do it. He had scarcely finished the last stroke, when they heard a noise on the other side of the opening into the empty house. The Duke looked at the fireplace, and his teeth bared in an expression of cold ferocity. He rose with clenched fists, and took a step towards the fireplace. “Your Grace? Your Grace?” called the voice of Guerchard. “What is it?” answered the Duke quietly. “I can’t see any handkerchief,” said Guerchard. “Didn’t you say it was in the left-hand corner of the little room on the right?” “I told you you’d better let me come with you, and find it,” said the Duke, in a tone of triumph. “It’s in the right-hand corner of the little room on the left.” “I could have sworn you said the little room on the right,” said Guerchard. They heard his footfalls die away. “Now, you must get out of the house quickly.” said the Duke. “Show this card to the detectives at the door, and they’ll pass you without a word.” He pressed the card into her hand. “But—but—this card?” stammered Sonia. “There’s no time to lose,” said the Duke. “But this is madness,” said Sonia. “When Guerchard finds out about this card—that you—you—” “There’s no need to bother about that,” interrupted the Duke quickly. “Where are you going to?” “A little hotel near the Star. I’ve forgotten the name of it,” said Sonia. “But this card—” “Has it a telephone?” said the Duke. “Yes—No. 555, Central,” said Sonia. “If I haven’t telephoned to you before half-past eight to-morrow morning, come straight to my house,” said the Duke, scribbling the telephone number on his shirt-cuff. “Yes, yes,” said Sonia. “But this card.... When Guerchard knows ... when he discovers.... Oh, I can’t let you get into trouble for me.” “I shan’t. But go—go,” said the Duke, and he slipped his right arm round her and drew her to the door. “Oh, how good you are to me,” said Sonia softly. The Duke’s other arm went round her; he drew her to him, and their lips met. He loosed her, and opened the door, saying loudly: “You’re sure you won’t have a cab, Mademoiselle Kritchnoff?” “No; no, thank you, your Grace. Goodnight,” said Sonia. And she went through the door with a transfigured face. CHAPTER XVIII THE DUKE STAYS