us
yet."

"My dear Duncombe," Spencer said, "I may as well confess at once that
the sole interest I felt in Lord Runton's offer was that it is closely
connected with the matter we have been discussing."

"You shall have my entire confidence, Spencer," Duncombe declared. "The
man who called himself Fielding was badly wounded, and he passed here
almost unconscious. He entrusted the paper or letter, or whatever it
was, he stole from Von Rothe's messenger, to his so-called daughter, and
she in her turn passed it on to me. It is at this moment in my
possession."

Spencer looked very serious.

"My dear fellow," he said, "I congratulate you upon your pluck, but not
upon your discretion. You are interfering in what may turn out to be a
very great matter--a matter in which a few lives are like the pawns
which are swept from the chess-board. Does any one know this?"

"She and I only! You heard her shriek?"

"Yes."

"A man threw up her window and climbed in. He demanded the packet. He
searched the room. When he left her he declared that he should return at
twelve to-night, and if she did not hand it to him then he threatened
her."

Spencer smiled, and rubbed his hands softly together.

"Really," he murmured, "this is most interesting. I am with you,
Duncombe. With you altogether! There is only one more question."

"Well?"

"You did not know Phyllis Poynton. You took up this search for her out
of your friendship for Pelham. You are a rich man, young, strong, with
every capacity for enjoyment. What induces you to risk your life in an
adventure of this sort? You see, I don't mince words."

Then Duncombe became grave. His face fell into firm, hard lines. Yet as
he spoke there was something boyish about his expression.

"It is a fair question," he answered. "You won't understand me. I don't
understand myself. I've a brilliant galaxy of fools behind me. They've
made the pages of history interesting. They've been the butt always of
wiser men such as you, Spencer. The girl in that room may be Phyllis
Poynton or the worst adventuress who ever lied her way through the mazes
of intrigue, but I love her! She's in my life--a part of it. If I lose
her--well, you know what life is like when the flame has gone and only
the embers burn."

Spencer nodded very softly.

"That is sufficient!" he said. "You speak of things that I myself do not
understand. But that is nothing. I know that they exist. But----"

"Well?"

"But what