is from Spencer," Duncombe said. "He is coming here."

"Here? Is he giving up the search? Has he failed, then?"

"He does not say," Duncombe answered. "He says simply that he is coming
here. He has wired for a motor to meet him at Lynn. He may be here
to-night."

A discordant laugh broke from Pelham's lips.

"What about your Miss Fielding, now?" he exclaimed. "Why do you suppose
that he is leaving Paris, and coming here? I was right. I knew that I
was right."

Duncombe stood up. His expanse of shirt-front was crumpled and battered.
His white tie was hanging down in ribbons.

"Listen, Andrew!" he exclaimed. "I am speaking of the girl by whose side
I sat to-night at dinner, who calls herself Miss Fielding, who has--in
plain words--denied that she knows anything of Phyllis Poynton. I want
you to understand this. Whatever she may choose to call herself that
shall be her name. I will not have her questioned or bullied or watched.
If Spencer comes here to do either I have finished with him. I elect
myself her protector. I will stand between her and all suspicion of evil
things."

"She has found a champion indeed!" Pelham exclaimed fiercely. "With Miss
Fielding I have nothing to do. Yet you had better understand this. If
she be Phyllis Poynton she belongs to me, and not to you. She was mine
before you heard her name. I have watched her grow up from a child, I
taught her to ride and to shoot and to swim. I have watched her
listening to the wind, bending over the flowers in her garden. I have
walked with her over the moor when the twilight fell and the mists rose.
We have seen the kindling of the stars, and we have seen the moon grow
pale and the eastern sky ablaze. I have taught her where to look for the
beautiful things of life. She has belonged to me in all ways, save one.
I am a poor, helpless creature now, George, but, by the gods, I will let
no one rob me of my one holy compensation. She is the girl I love; the
better part of myself."

"Phyllis Poynton may be all these things to you," Duncombe answered. "I
do not know her. I do not recognize her. Find her, if you can; make of
her what you will. All that I ask of you is that you divest your mind of
these senseless suspicions. Seek Phyllis Poynton where you will, but
leave alone the woman whom I love. I will not have her troubled or
annoyed by needless importunities. She says she is Miss Fielding. Then
she is Miss Fielding. It is enough for me. It must be enough fo