arde, and he was known to most of us, though to the young lady he
appeared to be a stranger. They talked earnestly for an hour or more.
When she left--he accompanied her!"

The Englishman had grown paler. Madame saw it and smiled. Her lover
perhaps! It was good to make him suffer.

"Flossie here," she continued, "was outside, and saw them depart. They
drove off together in the Vicomte's coupe. They were apparently on the
best of terms. Since then we have not seen her again--nor the Vicomte.
Monsieur knows now as much as we know."

"And how long ago is that?" Duncombe asked quietly.

"A week to-night," Madame replied.

Duncombe laid down a roll of notes upon the table.

"I wish," he said, "to prove to you that I am in earnest. I am therefore
going to pay you the amount I promised, although I am perfectly well
aware that the story of Madame is--false!"

"Monsieur!"

"As I remarked," he repeated, "false. Now listen to me. I want to tempt
one of you, I don't care which, to break through this thieves' compact
of yours. I have paid a thousand francs for lies--I will pay ten
thousand francs for truth! Ten thousand francs for the present
whereabouts of Mademoiselle Phyllis Poynton!"

Mademoiselle Flossie looked up at him quickly. Then she glanced
furtively at Madame, and the flash of Madame's eyes was like lightning
upon blue steel. Duncombe moved towards the door.

"I will pay the bill downstairs," he said. "Good night! Think over what
I have said. Ten thousand francs!"

Monsieur Louis stood up and bowed stiffly. Mademoiselle Flossie
ventured to throw him a kiss. Madame smiled inscrutably.

The door closed. They heard him go downstairs. Madame picked up his card
and read aloud.

Sir George Duncombe,
Risley Hall,
Norfolk.

Grand Hotel, Paris.

"If one could only," Madame murmured, "tell him the truth, collect the
money--and----"

"And," Flossie murmured, half fearfully.

Monsieur le Baron smiled!

CHAPTER IX

THE STORY OF A CALL

Mademoiselle Mermillon was not warmly welcomed at the Grand Hotel. The
porter believed that Sir George Duncombe was out. He would inquire, if
Mademoiselle would wait, but he did not usher her into the drawing-room,
as would have been his duty in an ordinary case, or even ask her to take
a seat.

Mademoiselle Mermillon was of the order of young person who resents, but
this afternoon she was far