If there's really anything serious behind all
this, do you suppose it would be the truth?"
"You're quite right, I suppose," Duncombe admitted, "but it seems
beastly to be doing nothing."
"Better be doing nothing than doing harm!" Spencer declared. "Look round
the other cafes and the boulevards. And come here at eleven to-morrow
morning. We'll breakfast together at Paillard's."
CHAPTER VII
THE DECOY-HOUSE OF EUROPE
Spencer wrote out his luncheon with the extreme care of the man to whom
eating has passed to its proper place amongst the arts, and left to
Duncombe the momentous question of red wine or white. Finally, he leaned
back in his chair, and looked thoughtfully across at his companion.
"Sir George," he said, "you have placed me in a very painful position."
Duncombe glanced up from his _hors d'oeuvre_.
"What do you mean?"
"I will explain," Spencer continued. "You came to me last night with a
story in which I hope that I showed a reasonable amount of interest, but
in which, as a matter of fact, I was not interested at all. Girls and
boys who come to Paris for the first time in their lives unattended, and
find their way to the Cafe Montmartre, and such places, generally end up
in the same place.
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