red the
servant and looked up.

"There will be no answer to-night, Murray," he said. "Give the boy a
shilling and some supper. If he goes home by the Runton gates, tell him
to be sure and close them, because of the deer."

"Very good, sir!"

The man departed. Duncombe laid the telegram upon the table. He felt
that Andrew was waiting impatiently for him to speak.

"Well?"

"The telegram is from Spencer," Duncombe said.

"From Paris?"

"Yes."

"He has discovered something?"

"On the contrary," Duncombe answered, "he is asking me for information,
and very curious information, too."

"What does he want to know?"

"The telegram," Duncombe said slowly, "is in French. He asks me to wire
him at once the names of all the guests at Runton Place."

Andrew struck the table a mighty blow with his clenched fist.

"I knew it!" he cried. "It was her laugh, her voice. Phyllis Poynton is
there!"

Duncombe looked at his friend incredulously.

"My dear Andrew," he said, "be reasonable. The young lady and her father
in that omnibus were introduced to me by Runton himself as Mr. and Miss
Fielding. They are going to his house as his guests. Naturally,
therefore, he knows all about them. Miss Poynton, as you have told me
more than once, is an orphan."

"Common-sense won't even admit it as a matter of argument," Andrew said.
"I know that quite well. But how do you account for Spencer's telegram?"

"Remember that he is a newspaper correspondent," Duncombe said. "He has
many interests and many friends with whom he is constantly exchanging
information. It is a coincidence, I admit. But the wildest flight of
imagination could not make any more of it."

"You must be right," Andrew said quietly. "It all sounds, and is, so
convincing. But I wish that I had not heard that laugh!"

CHAPTER XV

MISS FIELDING FROM AMERICA

Duncombe leaned his gun up against a gate. A few yards away his host was
talking to the servants who had brought down luncheon. The rest of the
party were only just in sight a field or two off.

"Have a glass of sherry before lunch, George?" his host asked, strolling
towards him.

"Nothing to drink, thanks! I'd like a cigarette, if you have one."

Lord Runton produced his case, and a servant brought them matches. They
both leaned over the gate, and watched the scattered little party slowly
coming towards them.

"Who is your friend Fielding?" Duncombe asked, a little bluntly.

"Fellow from New