"Thank goodness!" said Victoire.
"They're running to the two men watching the house . . . they're telling them something. Oh, hang it, they're all running down the street."
"This way? . . . Are they coming this way?" cried Victoire faintly; and she pressed her hand to her side.
"They are!" cried Charolais. "They are!" And he dropped the curtain with an oath.
"And he isn't here! Suppose they come. . . . Suppose he comes to the front door! They'll catch him!" cried Victoire.
There came a startling peal at the front-door bell. They stood frozen to stone, their eyes fixed on one another, staring.
The bell had hardly stopped ringing, when there was a slow, whirring noise. The doors of the lift flew open, and the Duke stepped out of it. But what a changed figure from the admirably dressed dandy who had walked through the startled detectives and out of the house of M. Gournay-Martin at midnight! He was pale, exhausted, almost fainting. His eyes were dim in a livid face; his lips were grey. He was panting heavily. He was splashed with mud from head to foot: one sleeve of his coat was torn along half its length. The sole
