"You know most of the young ladies who come here, I suppose?" he asked.
"But certainly!" the man answered with a smile, "Monsieur desires?"
"I want the address of a young lady named Mermillon--Flossie, I think
they call her," Duncombe said.
"Thirty-one, Rue Pigalle," the man answered promptly. "But she should be
here within an hour. She never misses."
Duncombe thanked him, and hailed a carriage.
"Shall I give Mademoiselle any message?" the man asked confidentially.
"I am going to call for her," Duncombe answered. "If I do not find her I
will return."
To drive to the Rue Pigalle was an affair of five minutes only. Duncombe
climbed a couple of flights of narrow stairs, pushed open a swing gate,
and found himself in front of an office, in which an elderly woman sat
reading.
"Can you tell me where to find Mademoiselle Mermillon?" Duncombe asked.
"Next floor; first door on the left," the woman answered. "Mademoiselle
is not often in at this hour, though."
Duncombe thanked her, and climbed another flight of stairs. He had to
strike a match to look for a bell or knocker, and then found neither. He
knocked on the door with his knuckles.
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