after the interview. Meanwhile you might have the cabby look at the
fellow in durance at the Collingwood. Possibly he has seen him before;
which may give us a lead--if we find we want a lead."
The telephone buzzed; Ranleigh answered it--then raised his hand to
Harleston to remain. After a moment, he motioned for Harleston to come
closer and held the receiver so that both could hear.
"I can see you at three o'clock," Ranleigh said.
"Three o'clock will be very nice," came a feminine voice--soft, with a
bit of a drawl.
"Very well," Ranleigh replied. "If you will give me your name--I missed
it. Whom am I to expect at three?"
"Mrs. Winton, of the Burlingame apartments. I'll be punctual--and thank
you so much. Good-bye!"
"Anything familiar about the voice?" Ranleigh asked, pushing back the
instrument.
Harleston shook his head in negation.
"I thought it might be your Lady of Peacock Alley, for it's about the
cab matter. She says that she has something to tell me regarding a
mysterious cab on Eighteenth Street last night sometime about one
o'clock."
"There are quite too many women in this affair," Harleston commented.
"However, the Burlingame is almost directly across the street from where
I found the cab, so her story will be interesting--if it's not a plant."
"And it may be even more interesting if it is a plant," Ranleigh added.
"If you will come in a bit before three, I'll put you where you can see
and hear everything that takes place."
"I'll do it!" said Harleston.
VI
THE GREY-STONE HOUSE
Harleston returned at a quarter to three, and Ranleigh showed him into
the small room at the rear, provided with every facility for seeing what
went on and overhearing and reducing what was said in the
Superintendent's private office.
Promptly at three, Mrs. Winton was announced by appointment, and was
instantly admitted.
She was about thirty years of age, slender, with dark hair and a face
just missing beauty. She was gowned in black, with a bunch of violets at
her waist, and she wore a large mesh veil, through which her
particularly fine dark eyes sparkled discriminatingly.
The Superintendent arose and bowed graciously. Ranleigh was a gentleman
by birth and by breeding.
"What can I do for you, Mrs. Winton?" he asked, placing a chair for
her--where her face would be in full view from the cabinet.
"You can do nothing for me, sir," she replied, with a charming smile. "I
came to you as head of the Police Department for the purpose of
detailing what I saw in connection with the matter I mentioned to you
over the telephone. It may be of no value to you--I even may do wrong in
volunteering my information, but--"
"On the contrary," the Superintendent interjected, "you confer a great
favour on this Department by reporting to it any suspicious
circumstances. It is for it to investigate and determine whether they
call for action. Pray proceed, my dear Mrs. Winton."
She gave him another charming smile and went on.
"I was out last evening, and it was after midnight when I got back to
the Burlingame. My apartment is on the third floor front. Instead of
going to bed at once, I sat down at the open window to enjoy the gentle
breeze. I must have dozed, for I was aroused by a cab coming up
Eighteenth and stopping before the large, grey-stone house opposite--the
rest of the houses are brick--which was unoccupied until two days ago,
when it was rented furnished. I live just across the street and hence I
notice these things--casually of course, as one does. I watched the cab
with languid interest; saw the driver descend from the box, which seemed
a bit peculiar; but when, instead of going to the door of the cab, he
went up the front steps and into the house--the door of which he opened
with a key that he took from his pocket--my curiosity was aroused. A
moment later, a man in evening dress came leisurely out and sauntered to
the carriage. It seemed to me he was interested in looking around him,
and at the houses opposite, rather than at the cab. He remained at the
cab, presumably in talk with those within, for several minutes.
Presently the door clicked and a woman stepped out, followed by a man.
The woman disappeared into the house. The two men drew in so close to
the cab that they were hidden from me; when they reappeared, they were
carrying a woman--or her body--between them. They hurriedly crossed the
sidewalk mounted the steps, and the house-door closed behind them
instantly. The noise of the door seemed to arouse the horse, doubtless
he took it for the door of the cab, and he started slowly up the street
toward Massachusetts Avenue. After walking a short distance, and in
front of a vacant lot near the corner, he halted--obviously he realized
that no one was holding the lines, and he was waiting for his driver to
return. Just then one of the men put his head out of the doorway, saw
that the horse was no longer before the house, and dodged quickly back.
I waited for further developments from the house. None came, except that
in one of the rooms a light was made, but it was behind closed shades.
Pretty soon the horse calmly lay down in the shafts, stretched out, and
apparently went to sleep. Disturbed by the occurrence, and debating what
I ought to do, I sat a while longer; and I must have dozed again, for
when I awoke the house was dark, and a man, a strange man, I think, was
standing beside the cab, and the horse was up. The man was gathering the
reins; he fastened them to the driver's seat, spoke to the horse, and
the horse moved off and into Massachusetts Avenue toward Dupont Circle.
The man watched him for a moment; then turned and went down
Massachusetts Avenue. After waiting a short while, I went to bed. This
morning, I decided it was well for you to know of the episode."
"And you have told it wonderfully well, Mrs. Winton," said the
Superintendent, "wonderfully well, indeed."
"You don't know how often I rehearsed," she laughed, "nor how much of
the essentials I may have omitted!"
"Not much, I fancy. However, you'll not object, I suppose, to answering
a few questions as to details."
"I wish you to ask anything that suggests itself," she replied. "I've an
appointment at the Chateau at five; just give me time to keep it."
"We'll get through long before five!" the Superintendent smiled, though
his shrewd grey eyes were coldly critical. It was most unlikely that she
was the Lady of Peacock Alley; yet all things are possible where a woman
is concerned, as he knew from experience. "About what time was it when
the cab stopped before the house?" he asked.
"About one o'clock, as near as I can judge," she answered.
"What was the interval between the driver's going into the house and
the man in evening clothes coming out?"
"Scarcely any interval--not more than a minute."
"Do you know how long a minute is?" said Ranleigh, drawing out his
watch.
"Not exactly!" she admitted.
"Do you mind if I test you?"
"Not in the least."
"Then tell me when it is a minute...."
"Now?" said she.
"Fourteen seconds!" he smiled.
"Fourteen seconds!" she exclaimed incredulously "It's not possible."
"You're considerably above the average, Mrs. Winton. However, it depends
much on what you're doing at the moment. Last night when you were
watching, not estimating, you probably were nearer right as to the
interval. When, may I ask, did the driver reappear?"
"He didn't reappear--at least that I saw; he may have come out of the
house while I dozed."
"Might not the man that you saw last have been he?"
"I'm perfectly sure it wasn't. The driver was medium-sized and stout,
this man was tall and slender. I couldn't have been mistaken."
Ranleigh nodded. Her story was testing up very well on the known points.
"Now, Mrs. Winton, can you give some description of the woman in the
case--her appearance--how she was dressed--anything to aid us in
identifying her?"
"I'm afraid I can't be of much help," Mrs. Winton replied. "She was, I
think, clad in a dark street gown. In the uncertain electric light, I
could not distinguish the colour--and the men were so close to her I had
little chance to see. About all I'm sure of is that it was a woman;
slender and about the average height. I did not see her face."
The Chief nodded again.
"What about the house, Mrs. Winton? Did you see anything unusual before
tonight?"
"I saw no one but the servants--though I didn't look quite all the
time," she added with a smile. "I'm not unduly curious, I think, Major
Ranleigh, under the, to me, unusual circumstances; and in mitigation of
my curiosity, I've told no one of the matter."
"You're a woman of rare discretion, Mrs. Winton," the Superintendent
replied.
"I fear I'm a busy-body," she returned.
"I wish then there were more busy-bodies of your sort. Tell me, could
you recognize the men?"
"Not with any assurance.--Neither could I recognize the occupants of the
house," she added. "The truth is, though you may doubt, that I scarcely
notice them; but one can't see a to-let-unfurnished sign on a house
opposite for six months, without remarking its sudden disappearance from
the landscape."
"I should say that you wouldn't be normal if you didn't notice--and
comment, too," Ranleigh declared. "And the Department is much indebted
to you for the information, and it appreciates the spirit that moves you
in the matter."
Mrs. Winton arose to go--the Superintendent accompanied her into the
hall, rang the bell for the elevator, and bowed her into it.
"Don't you wish to know the result?" he inquired with a quizzical
smile, as he put her in the car.
"I'm not unduly curious!" she laughed.
When he returned, Harleston was standing in his office lighting a
cigarette.
"It's infernally close, not to mention hot, in that cabinet of yours,"
he observed; "though one can see and hear."
"Ever see her before?" the Superintendent asked.
"I don't recall it!"
"Ever hear the voice?"
"No."
"What do you think of her?"
"Good to look at, truthful, sincere."
"And her story?"
"Simple statement of fact, I take it."
"Hum!" said Ranleigh.
"Which means?" Harleston asked.
"Nothing at present; may be nothing at any time. I never believe a story
till its truth is established--and then I'm still in a receptive state
of mind. However, it does seem true, and Mrs. Winton herself supports
it; which is enough for the time."
"At any rate, we've found the lady of the cab," Harleston remarked. "Or
rather we've located her as of one o'clock, which is shortly before I
happened on the scene."
"Is there anything in the description that corresponds to the lady of
the photograph?"
"It all corresponds; slight, above medium-height, dark gown--she affects
dark gowns;--but thousands of women are slight, above medium-height, and
wear dark gowns."
"At least it eliminates the very tall and the stout," Ranleigh observed.
"Let me ask you, what do you make of Mrs. Winton's appointment at the
Chateau at five, and her being gowned in black?"
"A mere coincidence, I think. What would be her object in telling this
story to you between three and four o'clock, and meeting me at five to
recover the lost document."
"Search me! I'm sure only of this: there are too many women in this
affair, Mr. Harleston, too many women! Man is a reasoning being and
somewhat consistent; but women--" a gesture ended the remark.
"Just so!" Harleston laughed. "And now for the Lady of Peacock Alley!"
VII
SURPRISES
Peacock Alley was in full gorgeousness when Harleston, just at five
o'clock, paused on the landing above the marble stairs inside the F
Street entrance and surveyed the motley throng--busy with looking and
being looked at, with charming and being charmed, with wondering and
being wondered at, with aping and being aped, with patronizing and being
patronized, with flattering and being flattered, with fawning and being
fawned upon, with deceiving and being deceived, with bluffing and being
bluffed, with splurging, with pretending, with every trick and artifice
and sham and chicanery that society and politics know, or can fancy.
Harleston was familiar with it all for too many years even to accord it
a glance of contemptuous indifference--when he had anything else to
occupy his mind; and just now his mind was on a lady in black with
three American Beauties on the gown.
He went slowly down the steps to the main corridor and joined the
buzzing, kaleidoscopic crowd.
Somewhere on the floor above, an orchestra was playing for the
_dansant_; and the music came fitfully through the chatter and
confusion. He nodded to some acquaintances, bowed formally to others,
shook hands when it could not be avoided; all the while progressing
slowly down the corridor in search of three red roses on a black gown.
And near the far end he saw, for an instant through a rift in the crowd,
the three roses on a black gown, but not the face above them; the next
instant the rift closed. However, he knew now that she was here and
where to find her, and he made his way through the press toward where
she was waiting for him.
Then the crowd suddenly opened--as crowds do--and he saw, on the same
side of the corridor and scarcely ten feet apart, two slender women in
black and wearing red roses; one was Mrs. Winton, the other he had never
seen.
It brought him to a sharp pause. Then he smiled. Ranleigh was right!
There were altogether too many women in this case. And which one was
waiting for him? He knew neither, but there was the chance that the one
he was to meet knew him.
And so he adventured it, walking slowly toward them, and taking care
that they should notice him.
They did.
Mrs. Winton glanced at him casually and impersonally.
The unknown, whose face was from him, turned sharply when he dropped his
stick, and looked at him unrecognizingly. As her eyes came down they
rested on the other woman.
She gave a subdued exclamation, arose and threaded her way to the
opposite side of the corridor.
Harleston, glancing back, saw the move, and swinging over he followed.
He would speak to her--meanwhile, he was looking at her. So far, at
least, both were good to look at; they must be good to look at in this
business, it is part of the stock in trade.
"Good afternoon, Madame X," he said, bowing before her.
"Why, how do you do, Mr. Harleston," she smiled, giving him her hand
and making room beside her on the settee. "I'm delighted to see you,
just delighted!"
"It is nice to meet again, isn't it?" he returned. "When did you get to
town?"
"Only yesterday! You live in Washington, now, don't you?"
"Yes, off and on. It's my headquarters for refitting and starting
afresh. What do you say to a turn at the _dansant_?"
"I'm ready, I'm sure," she replied. "Afterward we'll--"
"Discuss other matters!" he interjected.
She gave him an amused look, and they passed down the corridor and up
the marble steps to the elevator.
They were dancing the _Maxixe_ when they entered.
"Do you mind if we don't do it on the heels?" said she. "I think it's
prettier the other way."
"So do I," said he, and they drifted down the room.
He knew almost everyone on the floor; the women nodded to him, then
stared coldly at his companion; the men too stared at her--but not
coldly--and when they thought about it, which was seldom of late, nodded
to him, and resumed their staring.
And Harleston did not wonder--indeed, had it been otherwise, it would
have argued a sudden paucity of appreciation on the part of the smart
set there assembled. For this slender young person in black, a small hat
on her head, topping hair of flaming red, an exquisite figure and a
charming pair of slender high-arched feet, was worth anyone's staring,
be it either coldly or with frank interest. And she did not seem to know
it; which in this day of smug and blatant personal appreciation of one's
good points--feminine points--is something of a rarity in the sex. It
may be, however that Madame X was fully aware of her beauty, but she was
modest about it, or seemed to be; which amounts to the same thing.
They sat down at a remote table and Harleston ordered two cold
drinks--an apollinaris with a dash of lemon for her, a Jerry Hill for
himself. He noticed that the men were looking and wavering and he
deliberately turned his chair around and gave them his back. He had no
objection to presenting the Lady of Peacock Alley to his men friends,
but just at this time it was not convenient. The adventure was rather
unusual, and the lady altogether attractive and somewhat fascinating; he
chose, for the present at least, to go it alone. Moreover, they were to
meet on a matter of her business and by her appointment.
He had suggested the _dansant_ that he might study her. And the more he
saw of her, the more he was struck by her unaffected naturalness and
apparent sincerity. Not a word, not even a suggestion while they were
dancing, of the matter of the cab; it was as though she were just an old
friend. And her dancing was a delight--such a delight, indeed, that he
was reluctant to have it end. Somehow, one gets to know quickly one's
partner in the _dansant_.
"This is perfectly entrancing, Mr. Harleston," she said presently, "but
don't you think we would better hunt a retired corner and discuss other
matters?"
"If you will dine with me when we've discussed them," he replied.
"It's only six o'clock," she smiled; "will the discussion take so long?"
"It depends somewhat on when you wish to dine, and somewhat on the
character of the discussion."
Her smile grew into a quiet, rippling laugh.
"Come along," she answered. "I've found a secluded nook in the big
red-room downstairs. It's cozy and nice, and I've had the maid reserve
it for me. Afterwards," with a sharp stab of her brown eyes, "I'll
decide whether I'll dine with you."
The place was as she had said, cozy and nice and secluded; and he put
her into it--where the subdued light would fall on her face.
"Very good, sir," she smiled; "I am not afraid of the light."
"Nor would I be if I were you," he replied.
She shrugged her shoulders ever so slightly.
"Why fence?" she asked.
"Why, indeed?" he replied.
"And why, may I ask, did you meet me here this afternoon?"
"Curiosity--later, satisfaction and appreciation."
"And why do you think I wanted to meet you?"
"Heaven knows!" he replied.
"Suppose, Mr. Harleston, we resume the conversation just where we left
off last night. Your last remark then was that I had a chance to get the
articles, but no one else had a chance. I'm here now for my chance."
"And that chance depends on a number of contingencies," he replied:
"whether I have the desired articles; whether you have the title to
them, or the right of possession to them; whether they concern private
matters or public matters; if the latter, whether the United States is
concerned."
"We can assume the first," said she. "I know for a fact that you took
the articles in question from the cab, which you found deserted before a
vacant lot."
"How do you know it?" Harleston asked.
"Because, as I told you over the telephone, you were seen--in fact, I
saw you. I saw you light a match inside the cab, come out with the
envelope, look it over quickly, and put it in your pocket. You'll admit
these facts?"
"I am advised by my counsel that I'm not obliged to answer!" he laughed.
"On the ground that it will incriminate you?" she asked quickly. "Isn't
that tantamount to admitting the fact?"
"That is a matter of argument, it seems to me."
She smiled good naturedly and went on:
"As to your second contingency, Mr. Harleston; the envelope and its
contents were left with me for delivery to another party--which I
believe gives me the right of possession, as you term it. At any rate,
it gives me a better title than yours."
"If the party who left them with you had a good title," he amended. "If,
however, he obtained them from--a deserted cab, say--then his title
would be no better than you've put in me; not so good, in fact, for
according to your tale I have the envelope."
She shrugged again.
"Now as to your third contingency," she went on, "I am not able to say
what is the nature of the document, nor whom nor what nation it
concerns."
"You mean that you're ignorant of its contents and its nature?" he
asked.
She met his glance frankly. "I mean that I haven't any idea of its
contents or its purpose."
He slowly tapped his cigarette against the swinging brass ash-receiver.
"Wouldn't it be well, my dear Madame X, to lay your cards on the
table--all your cards?"
"I'm perfectly willing, if you'll do likewise," she replied instantly.
He looked at her thoughtfully.
"Very well," he returned. "Let me see your hand and you shall see mine."
"This one?" she smiled, holding it up.
He leaned over and took the long, slim fingers in the tips of his
own--and she let him.
"It's mighty pretty," he said, with assumed gravity. "Am I to have it
in place of the facts--or along with them?"
"Neither at present," withdrawing her hand. "Business first, Mr.
Harleston--and cards on the table."
"You're to play," he smiled, "and whenever you will."
Ordinarily he made up his mind very quickly as to another's sincerity,
but she puzzled him. What was the game? And if there were no game so far
as she was concerned, how did she happen to be in the very midst of it,
and trying to recover--or to obtain--the cipher letter and the
photograph? It was a queer situation? the reasonable inferences were
against her. Yet--
"I hardly know where to begin," she was saying.
"Begin at the beginning," he advised.
He must appear to credit her story that she was concerned only as an
innocent associate. And it was not difficult to do, sitting there beside
her in the subdued light, under the witching tones of her voice, and the
alluring fascination of her face. The face was not perfect; far from it,
if by perfect is meant features accordant with one another and true to
type. Her hair was flaming red; her eyes were brown, dark brown, a
certain pensiveness in them most inaccordant with the hair; her nose was
slender, with sensitive nostrils; her mouth was generous with lips a
trifle full; her teeth were exquisitely white and symmetrical--and she
showed them with due modesty, yet with proper appreciation of their
beauty.
Altogether she was a very charming picture; and throwing away his
cigarette, he lighted a cigar and settled back to watch the play of her
features and hear the melody of her voice. He was a trifle impressed
with the lady--and he was willing that the tale require time and
attention. Furthermore, it was his business to observe her critically,
so that he might decide as to the matter in hand. In the present
instance his business was very much to his liking, but that did not make
it any the less business.
Something of which the lady may have suspected and was prepared to
humour. A man must be humoured at times--particularly when the woman is
trying for something that can only be come at through his favour or
acquiescence.
"To begin at the beginning will make it a long story," she warned.
"Then by all means begin it there," he answered.
"You can endure it?"
"I'm very comfortable; we are alone; and the _light_ is admirable."
"Same here!" she smiled, with a tantalizing glance from the brown eyes.
"Can you start me?"
"I might, but I won't. The glory shall all be yours."
"I'm glad there is to be some glory in this affair; there's been little
enough so far. However, to begin."
"No hurry, my dear Madame X."
"Don't you want my decision as to dinner?" she asked.
"You can continue the narrative while we dine. Now to begin."
"Then vanish Madame X, and enter Mistress Clephane."
At that moment a woman and a man entered the room from the corridor by
the middle door, and crossed to a divan in the corner farthest from Mrs.
Clephane and Harleston. The former had her back to them; Harleston was
facing their way and saw them.
The man was middle-aged, bald, and somewhat stout--and Harleston
recognized one of his visitors of the early morning. The woman was
sinuous, with raven hair, dead white complexion, a perfectly lovely
face, and a superb figure. Harleston would have known that walk and that
figure anywhere and at any time even if he had not seen her face.
It was Madeline Spencer.
VIII
THE STORY