Duncombe had just
returned from his call upon the Marquise. Andrew was leaning upon the
arm of a dark, smooth-shaven man, and had apparently just descended from
the lift. At the sound of Duncombe's little exclamation they both
stopped short. Andrew turned his heavily spectacled eyes in Duncombe's
direction, but it was obvious that he saw nothing.
"You here, Andrew!"
"Yes! Why not?"
The tone was curt, almost discourteous. Duncombe understood at once.
"Let us sit down somewhere, and talk for a few minutes," he said. "I did
not expect you. You should have let me know that you were coming."
Andrew laughed a little bitterly.
"I scarcely see why," he said. "To tell you the truth, I see no
advantage to either of us in any intercourse."
Duncombe took him by the arm and led him towards the smoking-room.
"Andrew," he said, "perhaps I have behaved badly--at least from your
point of view, but remember that I warned you. Let us sit down here. Who
is your friend?"
"Never mind," Andrew answered. "You can say what you have to before him.
He is in my confidence."
Duncombe glanced around. The man had taken the chair next to them, and
was evidently prepared to listen to all that was said.
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