"I don't think that it will be any good to you.
I think that it is more likely to lead you into trouble. Miss Poynton is
with the Marquis and Marquise de St. Ethol. They are of the first
nobility in France. Their position as people of honor and circumstance
appears undoubted. But nevertheless, if you are allowed to see her I
shall be surprised."
The hall-porter approached them, hat in hand.
"A lady to see Monsieur," he announced to Andrew.
Andrew rose and took his companion's arm. He scarcely glanced again
towards Duncombe, who followed them out of the room. And there in the
hall awaiting them was the young lady from Vienna, quietly dressed in
black, but unmistakable with her pretty hair and perfumes. Duncombe
watched them shake hands and move away before he could recover
sufficiently from his first fit of surprise to intervene. Then a
realization of what had happened rushed in upon him. They, too, then,
had been to the Cafe Montmartre, with their obvious Anglicisms, their
clumsy inquiries--to make of themselves without doubt the jest of that
little nest of intriguers, and afterwards their tool. Duncombe thought
of the fruits of his own inquiries there, and shivered.
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