A Maker of History Part 40

"How droll!" she murmured. "Miss Poynton--she is an old friend of yours?"

"I am very anxious to see her, Madame!"

"Why?"

He hesitated. After all, his was no secret mission.

"I have reason to believe," he said, "that a mistake has been made in the ident.i.ty of the body found in the Seine and supposed to be her brother's."

She gave a little start. It seemed to him that from that moment she regarded him with more interest.

"But that, Monsieur," she said, "is not possible."

"Why not?"

She did not answer him for a moment. Instead she rang a bell.

A servant appeared almost immediately.

"Request Monsieur le Marquis to step this way immediately he returns,"

she ordered.

The man bowed and withdrew. The Marquise turned again to Duncombe.

"It is quite impossible!" she repeated. "Do you know who it was that identified--the young man?"

Duncombe shook his head.

"I know nothing," he said. "I saw the notice in the paper, and I have been to the Morgue with a friend."

"Were you allowed to see it?"

"No! For some reason or other we were not. But we managed to bribe one of the attendants, and we got the police description."

"This," Madame said, "is interesting. Well?"

"There was one point in particular in the description," Duncombe said, "and a very important one, which proved to us both that the dead man was not Guy Poynton."

"It is no secret, I presume?" she said. "Tell me what it was."

Duncombe hesitated. He saw no reason for concealing the facts.

"The height of the body," he said, "was given as five feet nine. Guy Poynton was over six feet."

The Marquise nodded her head slowly.

"And now," she said, "shall I tell you who it is who identified the body at the Morgue--apart from the papers which were found in his pocket, and which certainly belonged to Mr. Poynton?"

"I should be interested to know," he admitted.

"It was Miss Poynton herself. It is that which has upset her so. She recognized him at once."

"Are you sure of this, Madame?" Duncombe asked.

"I myself," the Marquise answered, "accompanied her there. It was terrible."

Duncombe looked very grave.

"I am indeed sorry to hear this," he said. "There can be no possibility of any mistake, then?"

"None whatever!" the Marquise declared.

"You will permit me to see her?" Duncombe begged. "If I am not a very old friend--I am at least an intimate one."

The Marquise shook her head.

"She is not in a fit state to see any one," she declared. "The visit to the Morgue has upset her almost as much as the affair itself. You must have patience, Monsieur. In a fortnight or three weeks at the earliest she may be disposed to see friends. Certainly not at present."

"I may send her a message?" Duncombe asked.

The Marquise nodded.

"Yes. You may write it, if you like."

"And I may wait for an answer?"

"Yes."

Duncombe scribbled a few lines on the back of a visiting-card. The Marquise took it from him and rose.

"I will return," she said. "You shall be entirely satisfied."

She left him alone for nearly ten minutes. She had scarcely left the room when another visitor entered. The Vicomte de Bergillac, in a dark brown suit and an apple-green tie, bowed to Duncombe, and carefully selected the most comfortable chair in his vicinity.

"So you took my advice, Monsieur," he remarked, helping himself to a cus.h.i.+on from another chair, and placing it behind his head.

"I admit it," Duncombe answered. "On the whole I believe that it was very good advice."

"Would you," the Vicomte murmured, "like another dose?"

"I trust," Duncombe said, "that there is no necessity."

The Vicomte reflected.

"Why are you here?" he asked.

"To see Miss Poynton."

"And again why?"