Arsene Lupin. Морис Леблан

and he said quickly, in a jerky voice: "Yes, and I know his way of acting too. During the last ten years I have learnt to unravel his intrigues—to understand and anticipate his manoeuvres… . Oh, his is a clever system! … Instead of lying low, as you'd expect, he attacks his opponent … openly… . He confuses him—at least, he tries to." He smiled a half- confident, a half-doubtful smile, "It is a mass of entangled, mysterious combinations. I've been caught in them myself again and again. You smile?"

      "It interests me so," said the Duke, in a tone of apology.

      "Oh, it interests me," said Guerchard, with a snarl. "But this time I see my way clearly. No more tricks—no more secret paths … We're fighting in the light of day." He paused, and said in a clear, sneering voice, "Lupin has pluck, perhaps, but it's only thief's pluck."

      "Oh, is it?" said the Duke sharply, and there was a sudden faint glitter in his eyes.

      "Yes; rogues have very poor qualities," sneered Guerchard.

      "One can't have everything," said the Duke quietly; but his languid air had fallen from him.

      "Their ambushes, their attacks, their fine tactics aren't up to much," said Guerchard, smiling contemptuously.

      "You go a trifle too far, I think," said the Duke, smiling with equal contempt.

      They looked one another in the eyes with a long, lingering look. They had suddenly the air of fencers who have lost their tempers, and are twisting the buttons off their foils.

      "Not a bit of it, your Grace," said Guerchard; and his voice lingered on the words "your Grace" with a contemptuous stress. "This famous Lupin is immensely overrated."

      "However, he has done some things which aren't half bad," said the Duke, with his old charming smile.

      He had the air of a duelist drawing his blade lovingly through his fingers before he falls to.

      "Oh, has he?" said Guerchard scornfully.

      "Yes; one must be fair. Last night's burglary, for instance: it is not unheard of, but it wasn't half bad. And that theft of the motorcars: it was a neat piece of work," said the Duke in a gentle, insolent voice, infinitely aggravating.

      Guerchard snorted scornfully.

      "And a robbery at the British Embassy, another at the Treasury, and a third at M. Lepine's—all in the same week—it wasn't half bad, don't you know?" said the Duke, in the same gentle, irritating voice.

      "Oh, no, it wasn't. But—"

      "And the time when he contrived to pass as Guerchard—the Great Guerchard—do you remember that?" the Duke interrupted. "Come, come- -to give the devil his due—between ourselves—it wasn't half bad."

      "No," snarled Guerchard. "But he has done better than that lately… . Why don't you speak of that?"

      "Of what?" said the Duke.

      "Of the time when he passed as the Duke of Charmerace," snapped Guerchard.

      "What! Did he do that?" cried the Duke; and then he added slowly, "But, you know, I'm like you—I'm so easy to imitate."

      "What would have been amusing, your Grace, would have been to get as far as actual marriage," said Guerchard more calmly.

      "Oh, if he had wanted to," said the Duke; and he threw out his hands. "But you know—married life—for Lupin."

      "A large fortune … a pretty girl," said Guerchard, in a mocking tone.

      "He must be in love with some one else," said the Duke.

      "A thief, perhaps," sneered Guerchard.

      "Like himself… . And then, if you wish to know what I think, he must have found his fiancee rather trying," said the Duke, with his charming smile.

      "After all, it's pitiful—heartrending, you must admit it, that, on the very eve of his marriage, he was such a fool as to throw off the mask. And yet at bottom it's quite logical; it's Lupin coming out through Charmerace. He had to grab at the dowry at the risk of losing the girl," said Guerchard, in a reflective tone; but his eyes were intent on the face of the Duke.

      "Perhaps that's what one should call a marriage of reason," said the Duke, with a faint smile.

      "What a fall!" said Guerchard, in a taunting voice. "To be expected, eagerly, at the Princess's to-morrow evening, and to pass the evening in a police-station … to have intended in a month's time, as the Duke of Charmerace, to mount the steps of the Madeleine with all pomp and to fall down the father-in-law's staircase this evening—this very evening"—his voice rose suddenly on a note of savage triumph—"with the handcuffs on! What? Is that a good enough revenge for Guerchard—for that poor old idiot, Guerchard? The rogues' Brummel in a convict's cap! The gentleman-burglar in a gaol! For Lupin it's only a trifling annoyance, but for a duke it's a disaster! Come, in your turn, be frank: don't you find that amusing?"

      The Duke rose quietly, and said coldly, "Have you finished?"

      "DO you?" cried Guerchard; and he rose and faced him.

      "Oh, yes; I find it quite amusing," said the Duke lightly.

      "And so do I," cried Guerchard.

      "No; you're frightened," said the Duke calmly.

      "Frightened!" cried Guerchard, with a savage laugh.

      "Yes, you're frightened," said the Duke. "And don't think, policeman, that because I'm familiar with you, I throw off a mask. I don't wear one. I've none to throw off. I AM the Duke of Charmerace."

      "You lie! You escaped from the Sante four years ago. You are Lupin! I recognize you now."

      "Prove it," said the Duke scornfully.

      "I will!" cried Guerchard.

      "You won't. I AM the Duke of Charmerace."

      Guerchard laughed wildly.

      "Don't laugh. You know nothing—nothing, dear boy," said the Duke tauntingly.

      "Dear boy?" cried Guerchard triumphantly, as if the word had been a confession.

      "What do I risk?" said the Duke, with scathing contempt. "Can you arrest me? … You can arrest Lupin … but arrest the Duke of Charmerace, an honourable gentleman, member of the Jockey Club, and of the Union, residing at his house, 34 B, University Street … arrest the Duke of Charmerace, the fiance of Mademoiselle Gournay- Martin?"

      "Scoundrel!" cried Guerchard, pale with sudden, helpless fury.

      "Well, do it," taunted the Duke. "Be an ass… . Make yourself the laughing-stock of Paris … call your coppers in. Have you a proof—one single proof? Not one."

      "Oh, I shall get them," howled Guerchard, beside himself.

      "I think you may," said the Duke coolly. "And you might be able to arrest me next week … the day after to-morrow perhaps … perhaps never … but not to-night, that's certain."

      "Oh, if only somebody could hear you!" gasped Guerchard.

      "Now, don't excite yourself," said the Duke. "That won't produce any proofs for you… . The fact is, M. Formery told you the truth when he said that, when it is a case of Lupin, you lose your head. Ah, that Formery—there is an intelligent man if you like."

      "At all events, the coronet is safe … to-night—"

      "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,