You've set me a regular poser, Duncombe.
By Jove! that's good whisky."
"Help yourself," Duncombe answered. "We won't bother you to-night. I'll
show you a room as soon as you've had a cigarette. Fair crossing?"
"No idea," Spencer answered. "I slept all the way. Jolly place you've
got here, Duncombe. Nice country, too."
"There is just one question," Pelham began.
"Sha'n't answer it--to-night," Spencer interrupted firmly. "I'm dead
sleepy, and I couldn't guarantee to tell the truth. And when to-morrow
comes--I'll be frank with you--I've very little to say. Pardon me, but
where does Mr. Pelham come in in this matter?"
"Pelham," Duncombe said slowly, "was a neighbor of Miss Poynton's, in
Devonshire. It was through him that I first went to Paris to search for
her."
Spencer nodded.
"Glad to meet him, then," he remarked. "There are a few questions I
shall be glad to ask him in the morning."
"There is one," Pelham said, "which you must answer now."
Spencer raised his eyebrows. He was standing with his back to them now,
helping himself to sandwiches from a dish upon the sideboard.
"By Jove, your cook does understand these things," he remarked, with his
mouth full.
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