if we are careful, a prayer more or less won't effect much damage. It's
really up to the--man in the case. If he can get away with it, we can
manage the rest."
"And if he can't?"
"Then there will be nothing on us, unless the Clephane letter is
translated and implicates me by name--or Paris resorts to cable. If it
were not for France's meddling, it would be ridiculously simple so far
as we are concerned; everything would be up to the man."
"And you do not know who the man is, nor what he is about to betray?"
Marston asked.
"I do not--nor am I in the least inquisitive, despite the fact that I'm
a woman. I haven't even so much as tried to guess. I was ordered here
under express instructions; which are to meet someone who will
communicate with me by letter in which a certain phrase will occur.
Thereafter I am to be guided by him and the circumstances until I
receive from him a certain package, when I am instantly to depart the
country and hurry straight to Berlin. Whether I am to receive a copy of
a secret treaty between our friends or our enemies, a diplomatic secret
of high importance, a report on the fortifications or forces of another
nation, or what it is, I haven't the slightest idea. It's all in the
game--and the game fascinates me; its dangers and its uncertainty. Some
other nation wants what Germany is about to get; some other nation seeks
to prevent its betrayal; some other nation seeks to block us; someone
else would even murder us to gain a point--and our own employer would
not raise a hand to seek retribution, or even to acknowledge that we
had died in her cause. They laud the soldier who dies for his flag, but
he who dies in the secret service of a government is never heard of. He
disappears; for the peace or the reputation of nations his name is not
upon the public rolls of the good and faithful servants. It's risky,
Marston; it's thankless; it's without glory and without fame;
nevertheless it's a fascinating game; the stakes are incalculable, the
remuneration is the best."
"You're quite right as to those high up in the service," Marston
remarked, "the remuneration, I mean, but not as to us poor devils who
are only the pawns. We not only have no glory nor honour, but
considering the danger and what we do we are mightily ill paid, my lady,
mightily ill paid. The fascination and danger of the game, as you say,
is what holds us. At any rate, it's what holds me--and the pleasure of
working sometimes with you, and what that means."
"And we always win when together because we are in accord," she smiled,
holding out her hand to him. "Team work, my good friend, team work!"
He took the hand, and bending over raised it to his lips with an air of
fine courtesy and absolute devotion.
"And we shall win this time, Marston," she went on, "we shall sail for
Europe before the week is ended--I'm sure of it."
"I shall be satisfied if we never sail--or sail always," he returned,
and slowly released her fingers and stepped back.
She paid him with a ravishing smile; and Madeline Spencer, when she
wished, could smile a man into fire--and out again. It was too soon for
the "out again" with Marston. He was very useful--he was not restless,
nor demanding, nor sensitive, nor impatient of others, nor jealous. He
was like a faithful dog, who adores and adores, and pleads only to be
allowed to adore. Moreover, he was a capable man and trustworthy;
dependable and far above his class. Therefore she took care that his
chains should be silken, yet at the same time that he be not permitted
to graze too far afield.
"I wonder," Marston was saying, after a little thought, "if Carpenter,
the Chief of the Secret Bureau of their State Department, might be
purchasable--if we made him a good stiff bid?"
"I don't know," she answered. "It isn't likely, however; he is too old
and tried an official to be venal. Furthermore we haven't any money at
hand, and my instructions are to act independently of the German
Embassy, and under no circumstances whatever to communicate with it. In
such business as we are engaged, the Embassy never knows us nor of our
plans. They don't dare to know; and they will calmly deny us if we
appeal to them."
"The money might be arranged," Marston suggested. "You could cable to
Berlin for it--and have it cabled back."
"It might be done," said she thoughtfully. "You mean to try Carpenter
for a copy of the cipher letter?"
"It won't do any particular harm, as I see it; it can't make us any
worse off and it may give us the letter. It's worth the trial, it seems
to me."
"But if Carpenter has not succeeded in finding the key-word, how will
the letter help? Do you expect to bribe the French Embassy also?"
"It may not be necessary," he replied. "I know a number of keys of
French ciphers; one of them may fit."
"Very well," said she quietly; "you are empowered to have a try at
Carpenter."
"Good--I'll start after it at once. Any further orders, madame?"
"None till evening," again holding out her hand--and again smiling him
into kissing it adoringly.
"A useful man, Marston!" she reflected when the door closed behind him.
"And one who never presumes. A smile pays him for anything, and keeps
him devoted to me. Yes, a very useful and satisfactory man. His idea of
corrupting Carpenter may be rather futile; and he may get into a snarl
by trying it, but," with a shrug of her shapely shoulders, "that is his
affair and won't involve me. And if he should prove successful, the new
French key-word which the Count, the dear Count, gave me just before I
left Paris, may turn the trick."
The Count de M---- was confidential secretary to the Foreign Minister,
and he had slipped her the bit of paper containing the key-word at a
ball, two evenings before she sailed on her present mission. He was not
aware that she was sailing, nor was she; the order came so suddenly that
she and her maid had barely time to fling a few things in a couple of
steamer trunks and catch the last train. She had fascinated the Count;
for a year he had been one of her most devoted, but most discreet,
admirers. He also was exceedingly serviceable. Hence she took pains to
hold him.
Languidly she reached for her little gold mesh bag--the one thing that
never left her--and from a secret pocket took several slips of paper.
"Why, where is it!" she exclaimed, looking again with greater care....
"The devil! I've lost it!"
However, after a moment of thought, she recalled the key-word, and the
rule that he whispered to her--also the squeeze he gave her hand, and
the kiss with the eyes. The Count had fine eyes--he could look much,
very much.... She smiled in retrospection.... Yet how did she drop that
bit of paper--and where?... Or did she drop it?... All the rest were
there. It was very peculiar.... She had referred to the De Neviers slip
on last Saturday--and she distinctly remembered that the Count's was
there at that time. Consequently she must have dropped it on Sunday when
she was studying the Rosny matter, and then she was in this room--and
Marston and Crenshaw and Sparrow were in the next room.--H-u-m.... Well,
the Count wrote in a woman's hand; and the finder cannot make anything
out of the words:
_À l'aube du jour_.
XV
IDENTIFIED
So it happened, that on the same day and practically at the same hour
Carpenter gave instructions looking to the pilfering of the French
private diplomatic cipher, Marston began to lay plans to test
Carpenter's venality, and Madeline Spencer betook herself to Union
Station to meet the man-in-the-case, whose face she had never seen, and
whose name she did not know.
She went a roundabout way, walking down F Street and stopping to make
some trifling purchases in two or three shops. She could not detect that
she was being followed, but she went into a large department store, and
spent considerable time in matching some half-dozen shades of ribbon. On
the way out she stepped into a telephone booth, and directed the
dispatcher at the Chateau to send a taxi to Brentano's for Mrs.
Williams. By the time she had leisurely crossed the street the taxi was
there; getting in, she gave the order to drive to Union Station by way
of Sixteenth Street and Massachusetts Avenue. As she passed the Chateau,
she saw Mrs. Clephane and Harleston coming out; a bit farther on they
shot by in a spanking car.
She drew back to avoid recognition; but they were too much occupied with
each other, she observed, even to notice the occupant of the humble but
high-priced taxi. At Scott Circle their car swung westward and
disappeared down Massachusetts Avenue; she turned eastward, toward
tomorrow's rising sun, Union Station, and the rendezvous--with hate in
her heart for the woman who had displaced her, and a firm resolve to
square accounts at the first opportunity. Mrs. Clephane might be
innocent, likely was innocent of any intention to come between Harleston
and her, but that did not relieve Mrs. Clephane from punishment, nor
herself from the chagrin of defeat and the sorrow of blasted hopes. The
balance was against her; and, be it man or woman, she always tried to
balance up promptly and a little more--when the balancing did not
interfere with the business on which she was employed. Madeline
Spencer, for one of her sort, was exceptional in this: she always kept
faith with the hand that paid her.
At Union Station she dismissed the taxi and walked briskly to the huge
waiting-room. There she dropped the briskness, and went leisurely down
its long length to the drug stand, where she bought a few stamps and
then passed out through the middle aisle to the train shed, inquiring on
the way of an attendant the time of the next express from Baltimore. To
his answer she didn't attend, nevertheless she thanked him graciously,
and seeing the passengers were beginning to crowd through the gates from
an incoming train she turned toward them, as if she were expecting
someone. Which was true--only it was not by train.
It had been five minutes past the hour, by the big clock in the station,
when she crossed the waiting-room; by the time the crowd had passed the
gates, and there was no excuse for remaining, another five had gone. The
appointment was for three exactly. She had not been concerned to keep it
to the minute, but the man should have been; as a woman, it was her
prerogative to be careless as to such matters; moreover she had found
it an advantage, as a rule, to be a trifle late, except with her
superiors or those to whom either by position or expediency it was well
to defer. With such she was always on time--and a trifle more.
As she turned away, a tall, fine-looking, well set-up, dark-haired,
clean-cut, young chap, who had just rounded the news-stand, grabbed off
his hat and greeted her with the glad smile of an old acquaintance.
"Why, how do you do, Mrs. Cuthbert!" he exclaimed. "This is an
unexpected pleasure, and _most opportune_."
There was a slight stress on the last two words:--the words of
recognition.
"Delightful, Mr. _Davidson_!" she returned--which continued the
recognition--taking his extended hand and holding it.
"Can't I see you to your car, or carriage, or whatever you're using?" he
asked.
"You may call a taxi," she replied; "and you may also come with me, if
you've nothing else to do."
"I'm too sorry. There has been a--mixup, and it is _impossible_ now,
Mrs. Cuthbert. _I have an important appointment at the Capitol._" Which
completed the recognition.
"When can you come to see me?" she asked. "I'm at the Chateau."
"I hope tomorrow, if I'm not suddenly tied up. You will be disengaged?"
"I've absolutely nothing on hand for tomorrow," she replied.
"Fine!" he returned. "I think I can manage to come about one and take
you out for luncheon."
"That will be charming!" she smiled.
"Where would you like to go--to the Rataplan?"
"Wherever you suggest," she replied. "I'll leave it to you where we
shall go and what we shall have."
"You're always considerate and kind," he averred. "If nothing untoward
occurs, it will be a fine chance to talk over old times, to explain
everything, and to arrange for the future."
"That will be charming!"
"And unless I am disappointed in a _certain matter_, I shall have a
surprise for you."
"I shall welcome the surprise."
"We both shall welcome it, I think!" he laughed. "It seems a long time
since I've seen you, Madeline," he added.
"It seems a long time to me, too, Billy. We must do better now, old
friend. Come to Paris and we'll make such a celebration of it that the
Boulevards will run with--gaiety."
"I shall come. Meanwhile--tomorrow." He raised his stick to the taxi
dispatcher. "I'm sorry to leave you," he confided to her.
"Let me take you as far as the Capitol," she urged.
"Not today. Wait until I come to Paris--then you may take me where you
will and how."
"I like you, Billy!" she exclaimed.
"And I've something more to tell you," he whispered, as he put her in
and closed the door. "The Chateau!" he said to the driver then stepping
back, he doffed his hat and waved his hand.
"Yes, I like you, Mr. Davidson," she smiled, as the taxi sped away, "but
I'll like you better when the present business is completed and I'm in
Paris--without you."
He was a handsome chap enough, and he would have considerable money when
the present business was completed, yet, somehow he did not appeal,
even to her mercenary side. Moreover she no longer dealt in his sort.
Time was when he would have served admirably, but she was done with
plucking for plucking's sake. She plucked still, but neither so
ruthlessly nor so omnivorously as of yore. She did not need; nor was she
so gregarious in her tastes. She could pick and choose, and wait--and
have some joy of _Him_ and take her time; be content not to pluck him
clean, and so retain his friendship even after he had been displaced.
With her now it was the man in high office or of high estate at whom she
aimed--and her aim was usually true. Neither with one of her tastes and
tendencies was monogamy apt to be attractive nor practiced--though at
times it subserved her expediency. At present, it was the Count de
M----, an English Cabinet Minister, and a Russian Grand Duke;--but
_discreetly_, oh, so discreetly that none ever dreamed of the others,
and the public never dreamed of them. To all outward appearances, she
dwelt in the odor of eminent respectability and sedate gaiety.
"Drive slowly through Rock Creek Park until I tell you to return," she
ordered the man when they had passed beyond the station; then withdrew
into a corner of the taxi, and busied herself with her thoughts.
It was almost two hours later that she gave him the Collingwood as a
destination.
At the Collingwood she dismissed the taxi, and without sending up her
name passed directly up to Mrs. Chartrand's apartment.
Miss Williams, who was on duty at the telephone desk, saw her--and
whistled softly. The instant the elevator door clanged shut, she rang
Harleston.
"If you can come down a moment, Mr. Harleston," she said softly, "I have
some interesting information for you; it may not be well to--you know."
"I'll be down at once," Harleston replied.
When he appeared, it was with his hat and stick, as though he were going
out.
"If anyone calls, Miss Williams," he remarked, pausing by her desk,
"I'll be back in about half an hour."
"Very well, Mr. Harleston," she replied. Then she lowered her voice.
"Your slender lady of the ripples, of the other night, has just come in.
She's young, and a perfect peach for looks."
"Who is she?" he asked.
"I don't know. She didn't have herself announced; she went straight on
up. Ben!" motioning to the elevator boy, "where did the slender woman,
you just took up, get off?"
"At the fou'th flo', Miss Williams," said Ben. "She went into fo' one."
"You're sure of that?"
"Yas, Miss," the negro grinned, "I waited to see."
Miss Williams nodded a dismissal.
"Four one is Chartrands' apartment," she remarked.
"Is this the lady of the ripples?" Harleston asked, handing her the
photograph of Madeline Spencer.
"Sure thing!" she exclaimed. "That's she, all right. How in the world
did you ever--pardon me, Mr. Harleston, I shouldn't have said that."
"You're not meddling, Miss Williams. But it's a long story--too long to
detail now. Some day soon I'll confide in you, for you've helped me very
much in this matter and deserve to know. In fact, you've helped me more
than you can imagine. Meanwhile mum's the word, remember."
"Mum, it is, Mr. Harleston," she replied, "For once a telephone girl
won't leak, even to her best friends."
"I believe you," Harleston returned. "Keep your eyes open, also your
_ears_, and report to me anything of interest as to our affair."
Miss Williams answered with a knowing nod and an intimate little smile,
then swung around to answer a call. Harleston returned to his rooms. The
happenings of the recent evening were quite intelligible to him now:
When the episode of the cab of the sleeping horse occurred, Mrs. Spencer
was in the Chartrand apartment. Marston, in some way, had learned of
Harleston's participation in the cab matter, and with Sparrow had
followed him to the Collingwood, entering by the fire-escape--with the
results already seen. The noise on the fire-escape was undoubtedly made
by them, and the long interval that elapsed before they entered his
apartment was consumed in reporting to her, or in locating his number.
One thing, however, was not clear: how they had learned so promptly of
Harleston's part in the affair, and that it was he who had taken the
letter from the cab. Either someone had seen him at the cab and had
babbled to the Marston crowd, or else Mrs. Winton or Mrs. Clephane had
not been quite frank in her story. He instantly relieved Mrs. Clephane
of culpability; Mrs. Winton did not count with him. Moreover, it was no
longer of any moment--since Spencer's people knew and had acted on their
knowledge, and were still acting on it--and were still without the
letter. The important thing to Harleston was that it had served to
disclose what promised to be a most serious matter to this country, and
which, but for the trifling incident of the cab, would likely have gone
through successfully--and America been irretrievably injured.
Madeline Spencer had assured him that the United States was not
concerned; that the matter had to do only with a phase of the Balkan
question. But such assurances were worthless and given only to deceive,
and, further, were so understood by both of them. Maybe her story was
true--only the future would prove it. Meanwhile you trust at your peril,
_caveat emptor_, your eyes are your market, or words to similar effect.
Of course he could cause her to be apprehended by the police, yet such
a course was unthinkable; it would violate every rule of the game; it
would complicate relations with Germany, and afford her adequate ground
for reprisals on our secret agents. A certain code of honour obtained
with nations, as well as with criminals.
As he opened the door, the telephone rang. He took up the receiver.
"Hello!" he said.
"Is that you, Mr. Harleston?" came a soft voice.
"It is Madame X!" he smiled.
"Still Madame X?" she inflected.
"Only to one person."
"And to her no longer," she returned. "What are you doing?"
"Thinking about coming down to dine with you."
"Just what I was about to ask of you. Come at seven--to my apartment. I
have something important to discuss."
"So have I," he replied. "I'll be along in an hour, or sooner if you
want me."
"I want you, Mr. Harleston," she laughed, "but I can wait an hour, I
suppose."
"Which may mean much or little," he replied.
"Just so.--You may try your diplomatic methods on solving the problem."
"My methods or my mind?" he asked.
"Your mental methods," she replied.
"I pass!" he exclaimed. "You may explain at dinner."
"Meanwhile, I recommend you to your diplomatic mind."
"Until dinner?"
"Certainly--and forever after, Mr. Harleston, be an ordinary man with
me, please."
"Do you fancy that a _seeing_ man can be just an ordinary man when _you_
are with him?" he asked.
"I'm not required to fancy you what you're not," she returned.
"In other words, I'm not a seeing man?"
"Not especially, sir.--And there's another problem, for your diplomacy.
_À bientôt_, Monsieur Harleston."
He telephoned to the Club for a taxi to be at the door at a quarter to
seven; then dressed leisurely and descended.
"Any developments?" he inquired of Miss Williams.
"None," she replied. "Ripples hasn't come down yet."
"All right," said he. "Tell me in the morning--you're on duty then?"
She answered by a nod, the flash was calling her, and he passed on
toward the door--just as the elevator shot down and Madeline Spencer
stepped out.
"How do you do, Mr. Harleston?" said she, with a broad smile.
"Hello, Mrs. Spencer! I'm glad to see you," he returned. "If you're
bound for the Chateau or downtown, won't you let me take you in my car?
It's at the door."
"If you think you dare to risk your reputation, I'll be glad to accept,"
she replied.
"Is it a risk?" he asked.
"That is for you to judge," as he put her in.
"The Chateau?" he inquired;--and when she nodded he leaned forward and
gave the order.
"I was surprised to see you--" he began.
"Why pretend you were surprised to see me?" she laughed. "You were not;
nor am I to see you. We are too old foes to pretend as to the
non-essentials--when each knows them. The cards are on the table, Guy,
play them open."
"How many cards are on the table?" he asked.
"All of mine."
"Then it's double dummy--with a blind deck on the side."
"Whose side?" she flashed back.
"Yours!" he returned pleasantly.
"What am I concealing?" she demanded.
"I don't know. If I did--it would be easier for me."
"The one thing I haven't told you, I can't tell you: the precise
character of the business that brings me here. I've told you all I
know--and broken my oath to do it. I can't well do more, Guy."
"No, you can't well do more," Harleston conceded. "And I can't well do
less under all the--admitted circumstances; inferentially and directly
admitted."
"Why did you--butt in?" she asked. "Why didn't you let the cab, and the
letter, and well enough alone?"
"It was so mysterious; and so full of possibilities," he smiled. "And
when I did it, I didn't know that you were interested."
"And it would have made you all the more prying if you had known," she
retorted.
"Possibly! I've never yet heard that personal feelings entered into the
diplomatic secret service--and no more have you, my lady."
"Personal feelings!" she smiled, and shrugged his answer aside. "When
did you first know that I was concerned in this affair?"
"When I saw you in the Chateau," he replied--there was no obligation on
him to mention the photograph.
"Which was?" she asked.
"The evening I met you in Peacock Alley. How long then had you been
here?"
"Two days!"
"And not a word to me?"
"'Personal feelings do not enter into the diplomatic secret service,'"
she quoted mockingly.
"Precisely," he agreed, "We understand each other and the game."
It served his purpose not to notice the mock in her tones. He very well
understood what it imported and what prompted it. For the first time
the tigress had disclosed her claws. Hitherto it was always the soft
caress and the soothing purr--and when she wished, her caress could be
very soft and her purr very soothing. He had assumed that there were
claws, but she had hidden them from him; and what is ever hidden one
after a time forgets. And she had some justification for her resentment.
He admitted to himself that his attitude and manner had been such as
might cause her to believe that she was more to him than an opponent in
a game, that he was about to forgive her past, and to ask her to warrant
only for the future. And he had a notion that she was prepared to
warrant and to keep the warrant--even as she had done with the Duke of
Lotzen. Now it was ended. He knew it.