If he hears her speak he loses his head."
"Nice girl?" Spencer asked.
"Yes--very!"
"What sort of a fellow's the father?"
"Very quiet. I've scarcely spoken to him. They're Americans. Friends of
Lord Runton's brother, out in New York. Ever heard of them?"
"Yes. A few times."
"You seem interested."
"I am--very."
Duncombe turned suddenly white.
"What do you mean?" he asked.
Spencer held his cigarette between his fingers and looked at it
thoughtfully.
"Mr. Fielding, of New York," he said, "sailed for America from Havre
last Saturday. His daughter has gone to Russia with a party of friends."
Duncombe sprang from his seat. His cigarette slipped from his fingers
and fell unheeded upon the carpet.
"Then who--who are these people?" he exclaimed.
Spencer shrugged his shoulders.
"I thought it worth while," he said, "to come over and find out."
CHAPTER XIX
A HILLSIDE ENCOUNTER
A few minutes before ten the following morning a mounted messenger from
Runton Place brought the following note for Duncombe:--
"RUNTON PLACE, _Friday Morning_.
"MY DEAR DUNCOMBE,--Fielding has cried off the shoot
to-day.
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