Is it
from Spencer?"
Duncombe collected himself with an effort.
"It's nothing," he answered with a little laugh, in which all the
elements of mirth were lacking, "nothing at all! A note from Heggs, my
head-keeper--about some poachers. Confound the fellow!"
Andrew's hand was suddenly upon the sideboard, travelling furtively
across its shining surface. Duncombe watched it with a curious sense of
fascination. He felt altogether powerless to interfere. He was simply
wondering how long it would be before those long, powerful fingers
seized upon what they sought. He might even then have swept aside the
envelope, but he felt no inclination to do so. The fingers were moving
slowly but surely. Finally, with a little grab, they seized upon it.
Then there was another moment of suspense.
Slowly the hand was withdrawn. Without a second's warning Duncombe felt
himself held in the grip of a giant. Andrew had him by the throat.
"You have lied to me, George!" he cried. "There was a telegram!"
CHAPTER XVIII
"WHO ARE THESE PEOPLE?"
It seemed to Duncombe that time stood still. Andrew's face, wholly
disfigured by the hideous dark spectacles, unrecognizable, threatening,
was within a few inches of his own.
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