And then he asked the
question which a hundred times on the way over he had imagined himself
asking. A man to whom nervousness in any shape was almost unknown, he
found himself only able to control his voice and manner with the
greatest difficulty. In a few moments he might see her.
"You have a young English lady--Miss Poynton--staying here, I believe,"
he said. "Can you tell me if she is in now?"
The clerk looked at him with sudden interest.
"Miss Poynton is staying here, sir," he said. "I do not believe that she
is in just now. Will you wait one moment?"
He disappeared rapidly, and was absent for several minutes. When he
returned he came out into the reception hall.
"The manager would be much obliged if you would step into his office for
a moment, sir," he said confidentially. "Will you come this way?"
Duncombe followed him into a small room behind the counter. A
gray-haired man rose from his desk and saluted him courteously.
"Sir George Duncombe, I believe," he said. "Will you kindly take a
seat?"
Duncombe did as he was asked. All the time he felt that the manager was
scrutinizing him curiously.
"Your clerk," he said, "told me that you wished to speak to me.
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