The pity of it is that it has failed. Sir George, I go to
Paris to-night. I offer you a safe conduct if you care to accompany me.
_L'affaire Poynton_ does not exist any more."
"Can you give me ten minutes to change my clothes?" Duncombe asked
eagerly.
"No more," De Bergillac answered. "I will get rid of our friend here."
There was a knock at the door. Groves entered with coffee. At the sight
of his master he nearly dropped the tray.
"It's all right," Duncombe said, smiling. "We had a little spill, and
I've lost my bag. Pack me some more things quickly."
"Very good, sir," Groves answered, and withdrew precipitately.
De Bergillac laid his hand upon Duncombe's arm.
"There is only one thing, my friend," he said. "I trust that it is Mr.
Guy Poynton who is your friend, and not his beautiful sister? Eh? I am
answered! The misfortune! Never mind! I will drink my coffee to _les
beaux yeux des autres_!"
CHAPTER XI
THE MAKING OF HISTORY
Three men were the sole occupants of the great room whose windows looked
out upon the Louvre.
The table around which they were seated was strewn with papers and maps.
The door of the room was locked, and a sentry stood outside in the
passage.
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