"
Spencer was exaggerating, Duncombe murmured to himself. He was a
newspaper correspondent, and he saw these things with the halo of
melodrama around them. And yet--four nights ago. His face was white and
haggard.
"The boy," he said, "could have been no more than an ordinary visitor.
He had no great sum of money with him, he had no secrets, he did not
even speak the language. Surely he would have been too small fry for the
intriguers of such a place!"
"One would think so," Spencer answered musingly. "You are sure that he
was only what you say?"
"He was barely twenty-one," Duncombe answered, "and he had never been
out of England before."
"What about the girl?"
"She is two years older. It was her first visit to Paris." Spencer
nodded.
"The disappearance of the boy is of course the riddle," he remarked. "If
you solve that you arrive also at his sister's whereabouts. Upon my
word, it is a poser. If it had been the boy alone--well, one could
understand. The most beautiful ladies in Paris are at the Montmartre. No
one is admitted who is not what they consider--chic! The great dancers
and actresses are given handsome presents to show themselves there.
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