"Let me understand you. You mean the
secret service police?"
Monsieur Louis glanced a little nervously over his shoulder.
"Never mind what I mean, Sir George," he said quickly. "There are things
which we do not speak of openly. This much is sufficient. I represent a
power which can influence and direct even the criminal courts of justice
of France."
"What bribe have I to offer you?" Duncombe asked. "Information? You know
more than I do. I am afraid you have been misled."
"I think not," Monsieur Louis said quickly. "I will tell you what we
want. A paper was left in your charge by Miss Phyllis Poynton at the
time she was visiting at Runton Place."
"What of it?" Duncombe asked.
The Frenchman's face was suddenly tense with excitement. He recovered
himself almost at once, but his voice shook, and a new earnestness found
its way into his manner.
"Miss Poynton and her brother are with us," he said. "It is we who have
been their benefactors. You know a good deal of their peculiar
circumstances. A sudden need has arisen for the production of that paper
within twenty-four hours. Give it to me now, and I will run the greatest
risk I have ever run in my career.
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