.

"Then, by God, you shall tell me!" he said fiercely. "Don't you know,
man, that Guy has been found in the Seine, robbed and drugged, and
murdered without a doubt? Do you want me to wait whilst something of the
same sort happens to her? You shall tell me where she is, Duncombe. I
say that you shall tell me!"

Duncombe hesitated.

"You can do no more than I have done," he said.

"Then at least I will do as much," Andrew answered. "I am her oldest
friend, and I have claims upon her which you never could have. Now that
she is in this terrible trouble my place is by her side. I----"

"One moment, Andrew," Duncombe interrupted. "Are you sure that it was
Guy Poynton who was found in the Seine? The height was given as five
feet nine, and Guy Poynton was over six feet."

"You should read the papers," Andrew answered shortly. "He was
identified by his sister."

"The papers said so," Duncombe answered hesitatingly; "but----"

"Look here," Andrew interrupted, "I have had enough of this playing with
facts. You have grown too complex about this business altogether,
Duncombe. Give me Phyllis Poynton's address."

"You shall have it," Duncombe answered, taking a leaf from his
pocketbook and writing. "I don't think that it will be any good to you.
I think that it is more likely to lead you into trouble. Miss Poynton is
with the Marquis and Marquise de St. Ethol. They are of the first
nobility in France. Their position as people of honor and circumstance
appears undoubted. But nevertheless, if you are allowed to see her I
shall be surprised."

The hall-porter approached them, hat in hand.

"A lady to see Monsieur," he announced to Andrew.

Andrew rose and took his companion's arm. He scarcely glanced again
towards Duncombe, who followed them out of the room. And there in the
hall awaiting them was the young lady from Vienna, quietly dressed in
black, but unmistakable with her pretty hair and perfumes. Duncombe
watched them shake hands and move away before he could recover
sufficiently from his first fit of surprise to intervene. Then a
realization of what had happened rushed in upon him. They, too, then,
had been to the Cafe Montmartre, with their obvious Anglicisms, their
clumsy inquiries--to make of themselves without doubt the jest of that
little nest of intriguers, and afterwards their tool. Duncombe thought
of the fruits of his own inquiries there, and shivered. He hurried after
the little party, who were apparently