h from his pocket and showed it to her. She looked at
it long and earnestly.

"Yes," she admitted, "there is a likeness. It is like what I might have
been years ago. But will you tell me something?"

"Of course!"

"Why do you carry the picture of that girl about with you?"

He leaned towards her, and at that moment Lady Runton rose from her
place.

"In the winter garden afterwards," he whispered. "You have asked me the
very question that I wanted to answer!"

CHAPTER XVII

GEORGE DUNCOMBE'S LIE

There was something strange about Andrew's manner as he moved up to
Duncombe's side. The latter, who was in curiously high spirits, talked
incessantly for several minutes. Then he came to a dead stop. He was
aware that his friend was not listening.

"What is the matter with you, old chap?" he asked abruptly. "You are
positively glum."

Andrew Pelham shook his head.

"Nothing much!" he said.

"Rubbish! What is it?"

Andrew dropped his voice almost to a whisper. The words came hoarsely.
He seemed scarcely master of himself.

"The girl's voice tortures me," he declared. "It doesn't seem possible
that there can be two so much alike. And then Spencer's telegram. What
does it mean?"

"Be reasonable, old fellow!" Duncombe answered. "You knew Phyllis
Poynton well. Do you believe that she would be content to masquerade
under a false name, invent a father, be received here--Heaven knows
how--and meet you, an old friend, as a stranger? The thing's absurd,
isn't it?"

"Granted. But what about Spencer's telegram?"

"It is an enigma, of course. We can only wait for his solution. I have
wired him the information he asked for. In the meantime----"

"Well, in the meantime?"

"There is nothing to be gained by framing absurd hypotheses. I don't
mind telling you, Andrew, that I find Miss Fielding the most delightful
girl I ever met in my life."

"Tell me exactly, George, how she compares with the photograph you have
of Phyllis Poynton."

Duncombe sipped his wine slowly.

"She is very like it," he said, "and yet there are differences. She is
certainly a little thinner and taller. The features are similar, but the
hair is quite differently arranged. I should say that Miss Fielding is
two or three years older than Phyllis Poynton, and she has the air of
having travelled and been about more."

"A few months of events," Andrew murmured, "might account for all those
differences."

Duncombe laughed as he followed