CHAPTER VI 

THE BLUNDERING OF ANDREW 

They came face to face in the hall of the Grand Hotel. Duncombe had just returned from his call upon the Marquise. Andrew was leaning upon the arm of a dark, smooth-shaven man, and had apparently just descended from the lift. At the sound of Duncombe's little exclamation they both stopped short. Andrew turned his heavily spectacled eyes in Duncombe's direction, but it was obvious that he saw nothing. 

"You here, Andrew!" 

"Yes! Why not?" 

The tone was curt, almost discourteous. Duncombe understood at once. 

"Let us sit down somewhere, and talk for a few minutes," he said. "I did not expect you. You should have let me know that you were coming." 

Andrew laughed a little bitterly. 

"I scarcely see why," he said. "To tell you the truth, I see no advantage to either of us in any intercourse." 

Duncombe took him by the arm and led him towards the smoking-room. 

"Andrew," he said, "perhaps I have behaved badly--at least from your point of view, but remember that I warned you. Let us sit down here. Who is your friend?" 

"Never mind," Andrew answered. "You can say what you have to before him. He is in my confidence." 

Duncombe glanced around. The man had taken the chair next to them, and was evidently prepared to listen to all that was said. 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. 
far away?
had taken the chair next to them