"As you will," he answered carelessly. "Perhaps you can drop in later.
Come and dine, will you, at half-past eight?"
"I am much obliged to you, Baron," Duncombe said, "but I cannot accept
your invitation. I am a lover of plain speaking, so I will not plead a
previous engagement. But the one thing I want from you, the thing which
I have almost a right to demand, you will not give. I do not feel,
therefore, that any more than ordinary intercourse is possible between
us."
The Baron bowed gravely.
"My dear Sir George," he said, "I am answered. I wish I could drive out
of your mind that extraordinary hallucination relative to my supposed
knowledge of your young English friend. It is impossible! Very good! I
shall look forward to a time, Sir George, when we may meet on a better
footing."
Duncombe left the hotel with the recollection of that curiously ironic
smile fresh in his mind.
CHAPTER XII
THE SHADOWING OF DUNCOMBE
For three days Duncombe saw nothing of Spencer. Three long days devoid
of incident, hopelessly dull, aimless, and uninteresting. On the fourth
the only change in the situation was scarcely a reassuring one.
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