You would scarcely be so foolish, I think, as to set yourself
in direct opposition to the law!"
Duncombe was silent for several moments. Then he rang the bell. Monsieur
Louis looked at him inquiringly, but before he could frame a question
the butler was in the room.
"Pack my things for a week, Groves," Duncombe ordered. "I am going away
to-night."
The man bowed and withdrew. Monsieur Louis merely shrugged his
shoulders.
"A week!" he remarked. "You will be fortunate if you ever see your home
again. Come, Sir George, be reasonable! I give you my word of honor that
it is altogether to the interest of Miss Poynton that those papers be
immediately produced. If she were here herself she would place them in
my hands without a moment's hesitation."
"Possibly!" Duncombe answered. "Suppositions, however, do not interest
me. I undertook the charge of what she gave me, and I shall fulfil my
trust."
Monsieur Louis turned to the policeman.
"Officer," he said, "this is Sir George Duncombe. Do your duty."
The man stepped forward and laid his hand upon Sir George's shoulder.
"Very sorry, sir," he said. "I am forced to arrest you on this warrant
for the murder of Florence Mermillon on the night of the seventh of
June.
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