r you!"

"And what about Spencer?" Pelham asked grimly.

"Spencer in this matter is my servant," Duncombe answered. "If his
search for Phyllis Poynton entails his annoying Miss Fielding, then he
is dismissed. I will have no more to do with the business."

"I have heard of this man Spencer," Andrew answered. "If you think that
he is the sort of creature whom you can order about like that, I fancy
that you are mistaken. You may try to call him off, if you like, but you
won't succeed. He is searching for Phyllis Poynton, and he is coming
here. I believe that he will find her."

The windows were wide open, and both men suddenly turned round. There
was no mistaking the sound which came to them from the road outside--the
regular throb and beat of a perfectly balanced engine. Then they heard a
man's voice, cool and precise.

"Here you are, then, and a sovereign for yourself. A capital little car
this. Good night!"

The little iron gate opened and closed. A tall man in a loose
travelling-coat, and carrying a small bag, entered. He saw Duncombe
standing at the open window, and waved his hand. As he approached his
boyish face lit up into a smile.

"What luck to find you up!" he exclaimed. "You got my telegram?"

"An hour ago," Duncombe answered. "This is my friend, Mr. Andrew Pelham.
What will you have?"

"Whisky and soda, and a biscuit, please," was the prompt reply. "Haven't
upset you, I hope, coming down from the clouds in this fashion?"

"Not in the least," Duncombe answered. "You've made us very curious,
though."

"Dear me!" Spencer exclaimed, "what a pity! I came here to ask
questions, not to answer them. You've set me a regular poser, Duncombe.
By Jove! that's good whisky."

"Help yourself," Duncombe answered. "We won't bother you to-night. I'll
show you a room as soon as you've had a cigarette. Fair crossing?"

"No idea," Spencer answered. "I slept all the way. Jolly place you've
got here, Duncombe. Nice country, too."

"There is just one question," Pelham began.

"Sha'n't answer it--to-night," Spencer interrupted firmly. "I'm dead
sleepy, and I couldn't guarantee to tell the truth. And when to-morrow
comes--I'll be frank with you--I've very little to say. Pardon me, but
where does Mr. Pelham come in in this matter?"

"Pelham," Duncombe said slowly, "was a neighbor of Miss Poynton's, in
Devonshire. It was through him that I first went to Paris to search for
her."

Spencer nodded.

"Glad to meet him