Clephane and himself. He was quite sure that she had noticed the pair;
though when he glanced at her she was looking thoughtfully at him, as if
considering where to begin her story.
"Do you know the two who just came in and are sitting in the far
corner," he asked; "the slender woman and the bald-headed man?"
"No," she answered; "except that she is an exceedingly fine-looking
woman--as you doubtless have noted."
"I've noted other things!" he smiled.
"About her?"
"No, not about her."
She laughed, deliciously he thought.
"I best get on with my tale," she said. "So, once upon a time, which
means, to be accurate, about ten days ago, I took a steamer at
Cherbourg for New York. On the boat was a Madame Durrand, whom I had
known on the Continent and in London for a number of years. Neither was
aware of the other's sailing until we met aboard. I think that it was on
the fourth day out she asked me to come to her state-room; there she
told me that she was a secret agent of the French Government and the
bearer of a most important letter from a high official, written however
in his private capacity to their Ambassador in Washington; that she had
a presentiment ill fortune would befall her on the way; that there was
no one else on the ship in whom she trusted; and that she wanted me to
accompany her to Washington, and, if she were to meet with an accident,
to deliver the letter to the Ambassador. I consented, wishing to oblige
her, and being bound for Washington. She showed me where she carried the
letter, and gave me the verbal message that went with it, which was the
name of the Minister and that he sent it in his private capacity and not
officially.
"I'm not in the secret service of a government, as you doubtless can
infer from my knowledge of matters and use of technical language!" she
smiled. "And the affair rather fascinated me, I admit, by its
unusualness. Moreover, I knew Madame Durrand intimately--how intimately
may be inferred from the circumstances.
"Well, we landed, had our baggage chalked, and went to the Plaza for the
night. In the morning, we took a taxi to the Pennsylvania Station, were
held up by traffic, and were hurrying down the marble steps to catch our
train, when a man, hurrying also, jostled Madame Durrand. Her heel
caught and she plunged head first down to the landing. Of course men
sprang forward to her assistance and picked her up--with her wrist and
ankle broken. She was plucky, however, wonderfully plucky. She did not
faint, as I'm sure I should have done; she just turned ghastly pale--and
said to me, with a bit of smile, motioning for me to bend over her so
that none could hear:
"'I told you so, Edith. Here is where you come in.' She slid her hand
under her skirt, drew out the envelope, and slipped it to me. 'Hurry!'
she said. 'You can yet make the train.'
"But I was obdurate; I wouldn't leave her until she was in a hospital
and comfortable. And when she saw I meant it, she smiled--and fainted.
Well, instead of the ten o'clock train, I caught the twelve, which
should have landed me here at five, but a series of delays, due to
accidents ahead; put us at seven. It was, I thought, too late to deliver
my letter that evening, so I took a taxi here and had dinner. Then I
paid a short visit to some friends at the Shoreham and returned shortly
before midnight. I found two notices that I had been called on the
telephone at 10:15 and 11:00, by parties who declined to give their
names or leave a call. This struck me as queer since no one knew of my
being in town except my friends at the Shoreham. A moment after I
entered my room, the telephone rang. I answered. A man's voice came
back.
"'Who is that?' said he.
"'Whom do you want?' said I.
"'I wish to speak to Mrs. Clephane.'
"'Very well,' said I; 'I'm Mrs. Clephane.'
"'Oh, Mrs. Clephane, we have been trying for you since ten o'clock!'
said he. 'The Ambassador wishes to see you at once. Can you be ready to
come in fifteen minutes--we'll send a carriage for you?'
"'How did you know'--I began, then stopped. 'Yes, I'll be ready,' said
I; 'but let one of the staff come with the carriage.'
"'Oh, of course!' he replied. 'In fifteen minutes, madame?'
"I didn't fancy going out at midnight, yet I had undertaken the matter
and I would see it through. I had not changed from my travelling suit
and it hadn't a pocket in it; nor had I one such as Madame Durrand
employed, so I was carrying the letter pinned inside my waist. Now I
took it out and put it in my hand-bag, all the while thinking over the
affair and liking it less the more I thought. It was pretty late at
night, and there was something suspicious about the affair. I went to
the desk and hurriedly wrote a note to the friends that I had just left;
then I called a page, and ordered him to take it at once to the
Shoreham. On the envelope I had written the instruction that it was not
to be delivered until morning.
"As I finished, the telephone rang and Mr. and Mrs. Buissard, I think
that was the name, were announced as coming by appointment. I went down
at once. Mrs. Buissard was in evening dress, a pretty, vivacious woman,
Mr. Buissard was a man of thirty, slender, with a little black
moustache and black hair. Somehow I didn't like him; and I was glad he
had brought his wife--she was charming.
"They had a cab instead of a car or taxi. We got in and drove up
Fourteenth to H, and out H to Sixteenth. As we swung in Sixteenth, the
man leaned forward to the window on my side.
"'Look at that!' he exclaimed excitedly.
"As I turned to look, the woman flung her silk wrap over my head and
twisted it tightly about my neck.
"I tried to cry out, but a hand closed over my mouth and only a weak
gurgle responded.
"'Listen, Mrs. Clephane!' said the man, 'We mean you no harm. Give us
the package you have for the French Ambassador, and we will at once
return you to your hotel.'
"I'm pretty much a coward, yet I managed to hold myself together and not
faint, and to say nothing. I didn't care a straw for the letter, but I
didn't fancy being defeated at that stage of the game. I tried to
think--but thinking is a bit difficult under such circumstances. Just as
the wrap went over my head, my hand happened to be on my hand-bag. I
quietly opened it, dropped the letter close along the seat, and closed
the bag. Here was a slight chance to balk them--at all events, it was
the only course occurring to me at the moment.
"'Has she fainted?' asked the man.
"'I think so,' said the woman, 'or she is scared to death.'
"Here was a suggestion--and I took it. I remained perfectly quiet.
"'Well,' was his answer, 'we're almost there, and it's a lucky chance.
No trouble at all, Seraphina.'
"I had felt the cab round several corners; almost immediately after the
last it stopped. I'm a trifle hazy as to what they did; but finally I
was passed out of the cab like a corpse and carried into a house. There
the wrap was removed from my head; I blinked uncertainly, and looked
around in a bewildered fashion.
"'Where am I?' I gasped.
"The woman replied, 'You're in absolutely no danger, Mrs. Clephane. We
want the package you have for the French Ambassador; when we have it, we
will send you back to your hotel.'
"'What is to be done with the cab?' someone asked.
"'Nothing,' another replied. 'The horse will find his way to his stand;
he's almost there.'
"'But I haven't any package!' I protested.
"'Come, come!' the woman answered briskly. 'You have it about you
somewhere; that was what you were going to the Embassy to deliver?'
"'Who are you?' I demanded.
"'It matters not who we are--we want the package.'
"'The package is not with me,' I remarked. 'It's locked in the hotel
safe.'
"'Will you permit yourself to be searched?' she asked, with an amused
smile. I knew it was a threat.
"'I'm perfectly willing to submit to a search by _you_,' I said. 'The
quicker you set about it, the quicker I'll be released. I don't care for
these diplomatic affairs; they may be regular but they seem
unnecessarily dangerous. I was simply a substitute anyway, and I won't
substitute again; though how you people discovered it I don't see.'
"'Because you're new at the game,' she replied, as we passed into the
drawing-room.
"She closed the door--and I soon satisfied her that the package was not
concealed about me.
"'I may go now?' I inquired.
"'I think so, but I must consult the Chief,' she replied. 'I'll be back
in a minute.'
"They seemed high-class knaves at least; but it was quite evident that
the diplomatic game and its secret service were distinctly not in my
line. I want no more of them even to oblige a friend in distress. I hate
a mess!"
"I'm very glad for this mess," Harleston interjected. "Otherwise I
should not have--met you."
"And you are the only compensation for the mess, Mr. Harleston!" she
smiled.
She said it so earnestly Harleston was almost persuaded that she meant
it--though he replied with a shrug and a sceptical laugh.
"But the woman was long in returning," Mrs. Clephane resumed; "and after
a while I put out the light, and going to the window raised the shade.
The cab was no longer before the house; it had moved a little distance
to the left, and the horse was lying down in the shafts. As I was
debating whether to risk the jump from the window, a man came down the
street and halted at the cab.--That man was you, Mr. Harleston. The rest
of the tale you know much better than I--and the material portion you
are to tell me, or rather to give me."
"How did you know the man at the cab was I? You didn't recognize me in
the corridor, this afternoon."
"Oh, yes I did--but I waited to see if you would follow me, or would go
up to the other woman in black and roses."
"I never was in doubt!" Harleston laughed. "I told you, on the
telephone, that I could pick you out in a crowd; after a glimpse of you,
I could--" he ended with a gesture.
"Still pick me out," she supplied. "Well, the important thing is that
you _did_ pick me out--and that you're a gentleman. Also you forget that
your picture has been pretty prominent lately, on account of the Du
Portal affair; and besides you've been pointed out to me a number of
times during the last few years as something of a celebrity. So, you
see, it was not a great trick to recognize you under the electric
lights, even at one o'clock in the morning."
Harleston nodded. It was plausible surely. Moreover, he was prepared to
accept her story; thus far it seemed straightforward and extremely
credible.
"It was about three when you telephoned to me--where were you then?" he
asked.
"At the Chateau. They were kind enough to release me about three
o'clock, and to send me back in a private car--at least, it wasn't a
taxi. Now, have you any other questions?"
"I think not, for the present."
"Have I satisfied you that my tale is true?"
"I am satisfied," he replied.
"Then you will give me the letter?" she said joyfully.
"And what of the roses?"
"I presented them to you last night."
"And of this handkerchief?" drawing it from his pocket.
She took the bit of lace, glanced at it, and handed it back.
"It is not mine," she replied. "Probably it's the other woman's." She
held out her hand, the most symmetrical hand Harleston had ever seen.
"My letter, please, Mr. Harleston."
"I no longer have the letter," said Harleston.
"Then why did you--" she exclaimed; "but you can lay your hand on it?"
"I can lay my hand on it," he smiled--"whenever you convince me, or I
ascertain, that the letter does not concern directly or indirectly the
diplomatic affairs of the United States. You forget that was the
concluding stipulation, Mrs. Clephane. Meanwhile the letter will not,
you may feel assured, fall into the possession of the party who
attempted to steal it from you."
"What does it all mean?" she asked, leaning forward. "Who beside France
are the parties concerned?"
"It means that some nation is ready to take desperate chances to prevent
your letter from reaching the French Ambassador. What actuates it,
whether to learn its contents or to prevent its present delivery, I
naturally do not know." Then he laughed. "Would it interest you very
much to learn, Mrs. Clephane, that I was visited last night by three
men, who tried, at the point of the revolver, to force the letter from
me?"
"You surely don't mean it!" she exclaimed.
And with this exclamation the last doubt in Harleston's mind of Mrs.
Clephane's having aught to do with the night attack vanished--and
having acquitted her in that respect, there was scarcely any question as
to the sincerity and truth of her tale.
As it has been remarked previously, Mrs. Clephane was very good to look
at--and what is more to the point with Harleston, she looked back.
"I had all sorts of adventures, beginning with the cab of the sleeping
horse, three crushed roses, a bit of lace, and a letter," he laughed;
"and the adventures haven't yet ended, and they grow more interesting as
they progress."
"They didn't get the letter?" she asked quickly.
"They got nothing but the trouble of getting nothing," he replied.
"Where is the letter now, Mr. Harleston--is it safe from them?"
There was a note of concern in her voice, and it puzzled him. What else
did she know--or didn't she know anything? Was it only his habit in
diplomatic affairs to doubt everything that was not undoubtable.
"The letter," he replied, "is with the expert of the State Department
for translation."
"What language is it in?" she demanded.
"Cipher language--and a particularly difficult cipher it is. Can you
help us out, Mrs. Clephane?"
"I can't, Mr. Harleston; I don't know anything about ciphers. And I told
you the whole truth when I said that I neither knew what the envelope
contained nor its purpose. What disturbs me is how to explain to the
French Ambassador the loss of the letter."
"Tell him the exact truth," said Harleston. "It would have been better
possibly had you told him this morning."
"I thought you would return the letter to me," she replied.
"I likely should, had I seen you before I turned it over to the State
Department. Now that it has passed out of my hands, it is a matter for
the Secretary to decide."
"But he will be advised by you!" she exclaimed.
"Advised, yes,--dominated, no. The only chance of the letter being
returned to you, is that it does not affect this government."
"Diplomacy then is willing to stoop to any crime or to profit by any
wrong?" she mocked.
"I am afraid I must admit the accusation. Everything is fair in love
and war, you know--and diplomacy is only a species of war."
"Have I no redress for the outrage upon me, nor for the loss of the
letter by reason of that outrage?"
"I'm afraid you'll find the wheels of justice very slow-moving--when
they have to do with affairs diplomatic."
"But the letter, sir?"
"You must remember, Mrs. Clephane, that I found the letter in an
abandoned cab."
"And now that you know to whom it belongs," she flashed, "you will not
return it?"
"Because I can't! Which brings us back to where we started--and to
dinner."
"I will not dine with you!"
"Then let me dine with you!"
"No!"
"Fix it any way you wish, only so that we dine together," he persisted.
"I've the cosiest little table reserved for us, and--"
"Mr. Harleston," the page was calling. "Mr. Harles--"
Harleston turned, and the boy saw him.
"Telephone, sir," said he, giving Harleston the call slip.
"Will you excuse me a moment, Mrs. Clephane?" Harleston asked, and
hurried out--conscious all the while that Madeline Spencer and her
companion were watching him.
"This is Police Headquarters, Mr. Harleston," came the voice over the
wire. "Major Ranleigh wants to know if you will meet him at his office
at ten o'clock tonight. The Major was called out suddenly or he would
have telephoned you, himself!"
"I'll be on hand," Harleston replied, hung up the receiver, and hurried
back.
As he entered the red-room, he shot a covert glance toward the place
where Mrs. Spencer and her companion had been sitting.
They were gone!
"Yes! Yes!" said he under his breath, and turned toward the corner where
he had left Mrs. Clephane.
Mrs. Clephane was gone.
IX
DECOYED
Harleston faced about and surveyed the entire room. Then not content
with surveying, he deliberately walked through it, and satisfied himself
that Mrs. Clephane was not there--nor Madeline Spencer, nor her
bald-headed companion.
He took a turn up and down the corridor, and up and down again. They
were not there.
He even walked through the dining-rooms.
Nothing!
"Hum!" said he, at length--and returned to the red-room, and to his
chair. It was quite possible that Mrs. Clephane would be back in a
moment--yet somehow he doubted.
He waited for a quarter of an hour, and she did not come. He made
another tour of Peacock Alley, the lobby, the dining-rooms, and back to
the red-room.
Nothing!
He looked at his watch--it was half-after-seven o'clock. He would wait
fifteen minutes longer. Then, if she had not come, he would go about his
business--which, at present, was to dine.
He sat with his watch in his hand, looking down the room and at those
who entered.
The fifteen minutes passed. He put up his watch and arose; the wait was
ended.
He crossed the corridor to the dining-room.
"The table in yonder corner, Philippe," he said, to the bowing
head-waiter.
"One, Monsieur Harleston?" the man replied; and himself escorted him
over and placed him, and took his order for dinner. From which facts it
can be inferred that Harleston was something of a personage at the big
caravansary.
The clams had just been placed before him, and he was dipping the first
one in the cocktail, when Madeline Spencer and the bald-headed man
entered and passed to a table--reserved for them--at the far side of the
room. Harleston knew that she saw him, though apparently she had not
glanced his way. Here was another move in the game; but what the game,
and what the immediate object?
His waiter whisked away the clam cocktail and put down the clear
turtle.
As Harleston took up his spoon, a page spoke a word to Philippe, who
motioned him to Harleston's corner. The next instant the boy was there,
a letter on the extended salver--then he faded away.
Harleston put aside the letter until he had finished his soup; then he
picked it up and turned it over. It was a hotel envelope, and addressed
simply: "Mr. Harleston," in a woman's handwriting--full and free, and,
unusual to relate, quite legible. He ran his knife under the flap and
drew out the letter. It was in the same hand that wrote the address.
"DEAR MR. HARLESTON:
"I've just seen someone whom I wish to avoid, so won't you be good
enough to dine with me in my apartment. It's No. 972, and cosy and
quiet--and please come at once. I'm waiting for you--with an explanation
for my disappearance.
"EDITH CLEPHANE."
"Hum!" said Harleston, and drummed thoughtfully on the table. Then he
arose, said a word to Philippe as he passed, and went out to the
elevator.
He got off at the ninth floor and walked down the corridor to No. 972.
It was a corner and overlooked Pennsylvania Avenue and Fourteenth
Street. He tapped lightly on the door; almost immediately it was opened
by a maid--a very pretty maid, he noticed--who, without waiting for him
to speak, addressed him as Monsieur Harleston and told him that Madame
was expecting him.
Harleston handed the maid his hat, stick, and gloves, and crossed the
private hall into the drawing-room.
As he passed the doorway, a heavy silk handkerchief was flung around his
neck from behind, and instantly tightened over his larynx; at the same
time his arms were pinioned to his side. He could neither make a sound
nor raise a hand. He was being garroted. At his first struggle the
garrote was twisted; it was be quiet or be strangled. And, queer as it
may seem, his first thought was of the garroters of India and the
instant helplessness of their victims. In fact, so immediate was his
helplessness, that it sapped all will to be otherwise than quiescent.
"Two can play at this game, Mr. Harleston," said a familiar voice, and
Crenshaw stepped out in front. "I'm in a better humour now, and more my
natural self; I was somewhat peeved in the Collingwood--due to late
hours, I think. By the way, it isn't an especially pleasant game for the
fellow who is it, Mr. Harleston? I'll take your answer for granted--or
we'll let my distinguished colleague answer for you--you know Mr.
Sparrow, sir?" as the man with the garrote put his head over Harleston's
shoulder. "Answer for Mr. Harleston will you, Sparrow?"
"No, it is not, Mr. Crenshaw," said Sparrow.
"I neglected to ask if you're not surprised to see me, Mr. Harleston?"
"I am indeed," said Sparrow.
"I regret that it was inconvenient for me to remain longer in your
apartment, Mr. Harleston--and so I exchanged places with your
detective," Crenshaw explained.
"I'm quite content, Mr. Crenshaw," Sparrow replied.
"Yes, certainly, and thank you, Mr. Harleston," Crenshaw smiled. "And
now, with your permission, sir, we shall inspect the contents of your
pockets, to the end that we may find a certain letter that you wot
of--also ourselves."
After the first warning twist, the garrote had been relaxed just enough
to permit Harleston breath sufficient for life, yet not sufficient for
an outcry; moreover, he knew that at the first murmur of a yell the
wrist behind him would turn and he would be throttled into
unconsciousness.
There was nothing to do but be quiet and as complaisant as his captors
wished, and await developments. And the irony of such a
situation--happening in the most crowded and most popular hotel in the
Capital, with hundreds of guests at hand, and scores of servants poised
to obey one's slightest nod--struck him with all the force of its
supreme absurdity. It was but another proof of the proposition that one
is never so alone as in the midst of a throng.
He smiled--somewhat chillily, it must be admitted--and whispered, his
speaking voice being shut off by the garrote.
"The quicker you look, the sooner I shall, I hope, be released from this
rather uncomfortable position."
"Good eye!" said Crenshaw. "You're a reasonable man, Mr. Harleston,
it's a pleasure to do business with you."
"Proceed!" Harleston whispered. "I haven't the letter with me, as you
should know. Do I look so much like a novice? Furthermore, if I am not
mistaken, I told you that I was going direct to the State Department to
deliver the letter for translation so how could I have it now?"
"We're not debating, we're searching," Crenshaw sneered; "though it may
occur to you that a copy is as easy of translation as the original.
However, we will proceed with the inspection--the proof of the caviare
is in the roe of the sturgeon."
"Then I pray you open the fish at once," said Harleston. "I can't assist
you in my present attitude, so get along, Mr. Crenshaw, if you please.
You interrupted my dinner--I was just at the soup; and you may believe
me when I say that I'm a bit hungry."
"With your permission," Crenshaw replied, proceeding to go through
Harleston's pockets, and finding nothing but the usual--which he
replaced.
He came last to the breast-pocket of the coat; in it were the wallet and
one letter--the letter that had brought Harleston here.
"It caught you!" Crenshaw smiled. "There's no bait like a pretty woman!"
Harleston raised his eyebrows and shrugged his answer.
"And a rather neat trap, wasn't it--we're very much pleased with it."
"You'll not be pleased with what it produces," Harleston smiled.
"It has produced you," the other mocked; "that's quite some production,
don't you think? And now, as this letter has served its purpose, I'll
take the liberty of destroying it," tearing it into bits and putting the
bits in his pockets, "lest one of us be liable for forgery. Now for the
pocket-book; you found something in mine, you may remember, Mr.
Harleston."
Harleston gave a faint chuckle. They would find nothing in his
pocket-book but some visiting and membership cards, a couple of
addresses and a few yellow-backs and silver certificates.
"The letter doesn't seem to be there--which I much regret, but these
visiting cards may be useful in our business; with your permission I'll
take them. Thank you, Mr. Harleston."
He folded the book and returned it to Harleston's pocket.