His clothes and
bearing, and quiet, unobtrusive manners, all seemed to suggest
truthfully enough his possible identity--an English detective from an
advertised office. Duncombe smiled as he realized the almost pitiful
inadequacy of such methods.
"Come, Andrew," he said, turning to his friend, "you have a small
grievance against me, and you think you have a great one."
"A small grievance!" Andrew murmured softly. "Thank you, Duncombe."
"Go on, then. State it!" Duncombe declared. "Let me hear what is in your
mind."
Andrew raised his brows slowly. Twice he seemed to speak, but at the
last moment remained silent. He was obviously struggling to control
himself.
"There is this in my mind against you, Duncombe," he said finally. "I
sent for you as a friend. You accepted a charge from me--as my friend.
And you betrayed me."
Duncombe shook his head.
"Listen, Andrew," he said. "I want to remind you again of what I said
just now. I warned you! No, don't interrupt. It may have sounded like
nonsense to you. I meant every word I said. I honestly tried to make you
understand. I came here; I risked many things. I failed! I returned to
England.
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