I hope so," said Guerchard. "But will he dare to?"

"How do you mean?" said the Duke, with a puzzled air.

"Well, you have said yourself that this is a fortress. An hour ago,
perhaps, Lupin was resolved to enter this room, but is he now?"

"I see what you mean," said the Duke, in a tone of disappointment.

"Yes; you see that now it needs the devil's own courage. He must risk
everything to gain everything, and throw off the mask. Is Lupin going
to throw himself into the wolf's jaws? I dare not think it. What do you
think about it?"

Guerchard's husky voice had hardened to a rough harshness; there was a
ring of acute anxiety in it, and under the anxiety a faint note of
challenge, of a challenge that dare not make itself too distinct. His
anxious, challenging eyes burned on the face of the Duke, as if they
strove with all intensity to pierce a mask.

The Duke looked at him curiously, as if he were trying to divine what
he would be at, but with a careless curiosity, as if it were a matter
of indifference to him what the detective's object was; then he said
carelessly: "Well, you ought to know better than I. You have known him
for ten years ...." He paused, and added with just the faintest stress
in his tone, "At least, by reputation."

The anxiety in the detective's face grew plainer, it almost gave him
the air of being unnerved; 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 ambushe