I'm over on a very serious matter, and I want your advice." Spencer touched the bell.

Cigars and cigarettes, whisky and soda, appeared as though by magic.
"Now help yourself and go ahead, old chap," his host declared.

"I'm a good listener." He proved himself so, sitting with half-closed eyes and an air of close attention until he had heard the whole story.

He did not once interrupt, but when Duncombe had finished he asked a question.
"What did you say was the name of this cafe where the boy had disappeared ?" "Cafe Montmartre." Spencer sat up in his chair.

His expression had changed.
"The devil!" he murmured softly.
"You know the place ?" "Very well.