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Updated: June 5, 2025
His eyes were bright with excitement. "Who guarantees this?" he asked quickly. "My uncle has signed it," Henri de Bergillac answered, "and at the bottom of the page there you will see a still more distinguished signature. You understand l'affaire Poynton now? It is very simple.
The Vicomte bought one, and sitting down outside a café ordered absinthe. The great headlines attracted him at once. He sipped his absinthe and smiled to himself. "The play commences!" he murmured. "I must return to Monsieur Spencer." Spencer was still working like a madman. "I must interrupt you for a moment," De Bergillac said. "I have brought you an evening paper.
Spencer was already writing. His coat lay on the floor where he had thrown it. "Don't go for a moment, De Bergillac," he said. "I want to ask you a few things. I can talk and code at the same time. What about Miss Poynton?" "Well, we had to take care of her too," De Bergillac said.
Fielding, the American millionaire, you learned the excellence of these roads for quick travelling, did you not, mon ami? So!" "You leave me here?" Monsieur Louis faltered. "Ay, to rot if you will!" the Vicomte answered with sudden harshness. "I will atone," Monsieur Louis faltered. "It was a single false step." De Bergillac looked down upon him with unspeakable contempt. "Atone! Listen, Louis!
Spencer nodded. "Where is Duncombe?" he asked. "Back in Paris," De Bergillac answered. "Arrived here with me to-day. He is much in love with the beautiful sister. Alas! It was to him that she entrusted the missing page of that treaty which she found in her brother's luggage.
The German hosts melted away, and the Baltic Fleet passed on. St. Petersburg accepted the British demands, and a commission of arbitration was appointed. Henri de Bergillac read out the news from the morning paper, and yawned. "C'est fini l'affaire Poynton!" he remarked. "You can get ready as soon as you like, Guy. I am going to take you into Paris to your sister!" Guy looked up eagerly.
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 cushion 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."
"Monsieur le Duc de Bergillac and a young English gentleman," he told the attendant, "are in my private retiring-room. Desire their presence." The servant withdrew. The three men looked at one another. "If this is genuine!" the younger murmured. "It is the Russian official paper," his vis-
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