"
Duncombe took the little slip of paper and read it hastily.
"Disappearance of Mademoiselle Poynton, from England.--We
regret to state no trace has been discovered of the missing
young lady.
"(Signed) JULES LEGARDE, Superintendent."
"That was only issued a few hours ago," the manager said.
"And I thought," Duncombe said bitterly, "that the French police were
the best in the world!"
The manager said nothing. Duncombe rose from his chair.
"I shall go myself to the Cafe Montmartre," he said. The manager bowed.
"I shall be glad," he said, "to divest myself of any further
responsibility in this matter. It has been a source of much anxiety to
the directors as well as myself."
Duncombe walked out of the room, and putting on his coat again called
for a _petite voiture_. He gave the man the address in the Rue St.
Honore and was driven to a block of flats there over some shops.
"Is Monsieur Spencer in?" he asked the concierge. He was directed to the
first floor. An English man-servant admitted him, and a few moments
later he was shaking hands with a man who was seated before a table
covered with loose sheets of paper.
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