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Updated: June 16, 2025
"Just gone through at sixty miles an hour," was the reply. "She made our old wooden sheds shake, I can tell you. Who's driving her?" "Jim Poynton," Liverpool answered. "The guvnor took him off the mail specially." "What's the fellow's name on board, anyhow?" Crewe asked. "Is it a millionaire from the other side, trying to make records, or a member of our bloated aristocracy?"
"Oh, now Lionel, don't you begin about 'vexing," interrupted Sibylla, in the foolish, light, affected manner, which had grown worse of late, more intolerable to Lionel. "I have ordered the ponies. Poynton will send them in; and if there's really not room in the stables, you must see about it, and give orders that room must be made." "I cannot buy the ponies," he firmly said.
"Did you guess last night that we were impostors?" she asked. "Certainly not," he answered. "Andrew was tortured with doubts about you. He believed that you were Phyllis Poynton!" "I am!" she whispered. "I was afraid of him all the evening. He must have known." It seemed to Duncombe that the rocks and gorse bushes were spinning round and the ground was swaying under his feet.
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.
"Because when Pelham heard you laugh last night he was like a madman. He believed that it was the voice of Phyllis Poynton. And I I when I saw you, I also felt that miracles were at hand. Look here!" He drew a photograph from his pocket and showed it to her. She looked at it long and earnestly. "Yes," she admitted, "there is a likeness. It is like what I might have been years ago.
Monsieur Louis abandoned his somewhat lounging attitude. He stood by Spencer's side, and, leaning down, whispered in his ear. Spencer's eyes grew bright. "Monsieur Louis," he said, "you play at a great game." The Baron shrugged his shoulders. "Me!" he answered. "I am but a pawn. I do what I am told." "To return for a moment to l'affaire Poynton," Spencer said. "I am in the humor to trust you.
Apart from that, it will certainly cost you your life." "Without some shadow of an explanation," Duncombe said calmly, "I remain where I am in case I can be of assistance to Miss Poynton." The young man shrugged his shoulders, and sauntering to a mirror rearranged his tie. Madame la Marquise entered. "You, Henri!" she exclaimed.
He bowed low with exaggerated grace, and kissed the tips of her fingers. "I!" he answered. "And for this time with a perfectly legitimate reason for my coming. A commission from my uncle." "L'affaire Poynton?" "Exactly, dear cousin." "But why," she asked, "did they not show you into my room?" "I learnt that my friend Sir George Duncombe was here, and I desired to see him," he rejoined.
"Phyllis Poynton and Miss Fielding are two very different persons," Duncombe declared. "That may be so," Pelham said, "although I find it hard to believe that God ever gave to two women voices so exactly similar. Yet if you are assured that this is so, why not be altogether frank with me?" "What have you to complain of?" Duncombe asked. "Something has happened at Runton Place, in which Mr.
I have taught her where to look for the beautiful things of life. She has belonged to me in all ways, save one. I am a poor, helpless creature now, George, but, by the gods, I will let no one rob me of my one holy compensation. She is the girl I love; the better part of myself." "Phyllis Poynton may be all these things to you," Duncombe answered. "I do not know her. I do not recognize her.
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