realized that he was lost to her: Mrs. Clephane had all her outward
grace and beauty, but not her past. Her woman's intuition had told her
in the red-room of the Chateau; she knew absolutely when she saw his
greeting to Mrs. Clephane in the corridor after her escape. She must go
back to her Count de M----, her Cabinet Minister, and her Russian Grand
Duke. The only two men she had ever cared for would have none of her,
despite her beauty and her fascination. Dalberg ever had scorned her;
Harleston had looked with favour, wavered, was about to yield, when
another--outwardly her _alter ego_, save only in the colour of her
hair--appeared and filched him from her. And whether Dalberg's scorn or
Harleston's defection was the more humiliating, she did not know.
Together they made a mocking and a desolation of her love and her life.
And as she came to hate with a fierce hatred the Princess whom Dalberg
loved, so with an even more bitter hatred she hated Mrs. Clephane who
had won Harleston from her. For while with Dalberg she never had the
slightest chance, and knew it perfectly, with Harleston there was the
bitterness of blasted hopes as well as of defeat.
And Harleston, sitting there beside her, the perfume of her hair and
garments heavy about him, read much that was in her thoughts; and some
remorse smote him--a little of remorse, that is--and he would have said
something in mitigation of her judgment. But a look at her--and the
excuse was put aside and the subject ended before it was even begun.
She was not one to accept excuses or to be proffered them, it were best
to let the matter rest. Meanwhile, Mrs. Clephane must be warned of the
danger confronting her.
He glanced again at her--and met her subtle smile.
"This Mrs. Clephane," she remarked with quiet derision, "wherein is she
different from the rest of us?"
"By 'us' you mean whom?" he asked.
"The women you have known."
"And seen?"
"And seen."
"You're exceedingly catholic!" he smiled.
"You're exceedingly exclusive--and precipitate; and you haven't answered
my question. Wherein is Mrs. Clephane different from the rest of us?"
"At the risk of being personal," he replied, "I should say that she is
very like you in face and figure and manner. If her hair were black, the
resemblance would be positively striking."
"Then, since we're on the personal equation, the difference is where?"
He threw up his hands and laughed to avoid the obvious answer, an
answer which she knew, and knew he wished to avoid.
"The difference is where?" she repeated.
"I shall let you judge if there is a difference, and if there is, what
it is," he replied.
"I wish to know _your_ mind, Mr. Harleston--I already know my own."
"Good girl!" he applauded.
"Please put me aside and consider Mrs. Clephane," she insisted. "Is she
cleverer than--well, than I am?"
"You are the cleverest woman that I have ever known."
"Is she more intellectual?"
"Preserve me from the intellectual woman!" he exclaimed.
"Is she more travelled?"
"I think not."
"Is she superficially more cultured?"
"I should say not."
"Has she a better disposition?"
"No one could have a better disposition than you have ever shown to me."
"Is she more fascinating in manner?"
"She couldn't be!"
"She _is_ younger?" tentatively.
Harleston did not reply.
"But very little--two or three years, maybe?" she added.
Again Harleston did not reply.
"Is her conversation more entertaining?" she resumed.
"Impossible!"
"Or more edifying?"
"Excuse me again!" he exclaimed. "Edifying is in the same class as
intellectual."
"Then all Mrs. Clephane has on me is a few years?"
He nodded.
"Other things don't count with you, I assume--when they're of the past,
and both have been a trifle tinctured."
She said it with affected carelessness and a ravishing smile; but
Harleston was aware that underneath there was bitterness of spirit, and
cold hate of the other woman. She had touched the pinch of the matter.
Both knew it, and both knew the answer. Yet she was hoping against hope;
and he was loath to hurt her needlessly, because Mrs. Clephane would be
sure to catch the recoil, and because he himself was very fond of
her--despite all and Mrs. Clephane. He had seen his mistake in time, if
it was a mistake, but that did not blind him to Madeline Spencer's
fascinating manner and beautiful person, and to the fact that she cared
for him. However, neither might he let pass the charge she had just made
against Mrs. Clephane. Yet he tried to be kind to the woman beside him,
while defending the woman who was absent, and, as is often the case
under such circumstances he played for time--the hotel was but a block
away--and made a mess of it, so far as the woman beside him was
concerned.
"Who are a trifle tinctured--and with what?" he asked.
She smiled languidly.
"That is scarcely worthy of you, Guy," she remarked. "You are aiming
at--windmills; at least, I think you are not suddenly gone stupid.
However, you do not need to answer. Mrs. Clephane, you think, is not
tinctured, and you know that I have been--several shades deep. In other
words, she surpasses me in your estimation in the petty matter of
morals. So be it; you're no fool, and a pretty woman cannot blind you to
the facts for long. Then we shall see which you prefer. The woman who
is honest about the tincture, or the woman who is not. Now let us drop
the matter, and attend strictly to business until such time as the
present business is ended,--and Mrs. Clephane appears as she is."
"So be it!" Harleston replied heartily, "We understand each other,
Madeline."
"Yes, we understand each other," she said laconically, as the car drew
in to the curb.
"So well, indeed," he continued, as he gave her his hand to the
sidewalk, "that I have to arrange for you to meet the Secretary of State
at four o'clock tomorrow afternoon."
"Where?" said she, looking at him narrowly.
"In his office. You would like to meet him, Madeline?"
"I don't know what your play is," she laughed, "but I'll meet him--and
take my chances. From all I can learn, the gentleman isn't much but
bumptiousness and wind. To either you or me, Guy, he should be easy."
"The play," Harleston explained, "is that the Secretary has heard of you
and wishes to see the remarkable woman who--almost upset a throne."
"His wish shall be gratified," she shrugged. "Will you come for me, or
am I to go to him--a rendezvous _à deux_?"
"I'll escort you to him--afterward it will depend on you."
"Very good!" she replied--"but all the same I wonder what's the game."
"The Secretary's wish and curiosity is the only game," he replied.
"Far be it from me to balk either--when something may result of
advantage to your--"
"--beautiful and fascinating self," he interjected.
She raised her eyebrows and laughed scornfully, as the lift bore her
upwards.
XVI
ANOTHER LETTER
Harleston sauntered through Peacock Alley; not finding Mrs. Clephane, he
had himself announced and went up to her apartment.
Outwardly he was impassive; inwardly there was the liveliest sensation
of eagerness and anticipation. He could not recall a time when he had so
much joy in living, and in the expectation of the woman. And when he
felt Mrs. Clephane's small hand in his, and heard her bid him welcome,
and looked into her eyes, he was well content to be alive--and with her.
"I've quite a lot to tell you," she smiled. "I'm so glad you could dine
with me--it will give us much more time."
"Time is not of the essence of this contract," he replied.
"What contract?" she asked, with a fetching little frown of perplexity.
"The contract of the present--and the future."
"Oh, you mean our friendship--and that you won't doubt me ever again?"
"Precisely--and then some," he confided.
"What is the 'some', Mr. Harleston?" frowning again in perplexity.
"Whatever may happen," he said slowly.
"You mean it?" she asked.
"I mean it--and more--when I may."
"The 'more' and the 'may' are in the future," she remarked. "Meanwhile,
what have you to report?"
"Very considerable," said he. "Mrs. Spencer was in the Collingwood, this
afternoon--in the Chartrands' apartment. And the telephone girl
recognized her as the woman who left the building on the night of
the--cab."
"That explains a lot to you!" Mrs. Clephane exclaimed.
"The explanation isn't necessary, except to complete the chain of
events," he replied. "We know the later and essential facts as to the
letter. There is just one earlier circumstance that isn't clear to me;
and while, as I say, it's immaterial yet I'm curious. How did the
Spencer gang know that I had taken the letter from the cab?"
"Oh!" Mrs. Clephane cried. "I fancy I can explain. You know I saw you at
the cab. Well, when they released me, I concluded I'd give them
something to think about, and I remarked that Mr. Harleston, of the
United States Diplomatic Service, had stopped at the cab, looked inside,
and then started the horse out Massachusetts Avenue. I thought I had
told you."
"You didn't tell me, but it's very plain now. Madeline Spencer inferred
the rest and instructed them how to act. And they came very close to
turning the trick."
"You mean to getting the letter?" she cried.
He nodded. "I had gone to bed, when something told me to take
precautions; I carried the letter across the corridor and gave it to a
friend to keep for me until morning. A short time after, the three men
called."
"Good Heavens!" she breathed. "What if they had gotten the letter."
"Unless they knew the key-word, they wouldn't have been any better off
than are we--I mean than is the United States."
"I'm France, am I?" she smiled.
"For only this once--and not for long, I trust," he replied.
"Amen!" she exclaimed, "Also for ever more. I'll be so relieved to be
out of it and back to my normal ways that I gladly promise never to try
it again. I'm committed to seeing this affair through and to aiding the
French Embassy in whatever way I can, both because I must keep faith
with Madame Durrand, and because my inexperience and credulity lost it
the letter. That done, and I'm for--you, Mr. Harleston!" she laughed.
"And I'm for you always--no matter whom you're for, nor what you may do
or have done," he replied.
For just an instant she gave him her eyes; then the colour flamed up and
she turned hastily away.
"Sit down, sir," she commanded--most adorably he thought; "I had almost
forgotten that I have something to tell you."
"You've been telling me a great deal," he confided.
She shrugged her answer over her shoulder, and peremptorily motioned him
to a chair.
"Madame Durrand has been located," she began. "The Embassy telephoned
me that she is in Passavant Hospital, getting along splendidly; and that
she duly wired them of her accident and of my having the letter, with an
identifying description of me. The wire was never received."
"It was blocked by a _present_," he remarked. "The wire never left the
hospital."
"So the Marquis d'Hausonville said. He also assured me that the letter
was of no immediate importance, and that steps were being taken to have
it repeated."
"Which may be true," Harleston smiled, "but it is entirely safe to
assume that he is acting precisely as though the letter was of the most
immediate importance. You may be sure that the moment you left him he
dispatched a cable to Paris reciting the facts, so that the Foreign
Office could judge whether to cable the letter or to dispatch it by
messenger. And he has the reply hours ago."--("Also," he might have
added, "our State Department--only it may not be able to translate it.")
"I should say, Mrs. Clephane, that your duty is done now, unless the
Marquis calls on you for assistance. You have performed your part--"
"Very poorly," she interjected.
"On the contrary, you have performed it exceptionally well. You, a
novice at this business, prevented the letter from falling into
Spencer's hands, and so you blocked that part of their game. No, no,
Mrs. Clephane, I regard you as more than acquitted of blame."
"You're always nice, Mr. Harleston!" she responded.
"Nice expresses very inadequately what I wish to be to you," he said
slowly.
Again the flush came--and her glance wavered, and fled away.
"Meanwhile," he went on, "I am quite content to know that you think me
nice to you."
She sprang up and moved out of distance, saying as she did so, with a
ravishing smile:
"Nice is comprehended in other pleasant--adjectives."
"It is?" said he, advancing slowly toward her.
"But you, Mr. Harleston, are forbidden to guess how pleasant, or the
particular adjective, until you're permitted."
"And you'll permit me to guess some day--and soon."
"Maybe so--and maybe not!" she laughed. "It will depend on the both of
us--and the business in hand. Diplomats, you are well aware, are given
to very disingenuous ways and methods."
"In diplomacy," he appended. "A diplomat, as a rule, is merely a man of
a little wider experience and more mature judgment--the American
diplomat alone excepted, save in the secret service. Therefore he knows
his mind, and what he wants; and he usually can be depended upon to keep
after it until he gets it."
"And to want it after he gets it?" she inquired.
"Don't be cynical," he cautioned.
"I'm not. The world looks good to me, and I try to look good to the
world."
"You have succeeded!" he exclaimed.
"I've about-faced," she went on. "Now I presume everybody trustworthy
until it's proven otherwise. Time was, and not so long ago, when I was
more than cynical; and I found it didn't pay in a woman. A man may be
cynical and get away with it; a woman only injures her complexion, and
makes trouble for herself. Me for the happy spirit, and side-stepping
the bumps."
"Good girl!" Harleston applauded--thinking of her unhappy spirit, and
the hard bumps she must have endured during the time that the late
deceased Clephane was whirling to an aeroplane finish. "You're a wonder,
Mrs. Clephane," he ended.
"Aren't you afraid you'll make me vain?" she asked.
"It can't be done," he averred. "You simply can't be spoiled; you're much
too sensible."
"La! la!" she trilled. "What a paragon of--"
--"everything," he adjected.
"Everything that I must be, if you so wish it."
"Just so!" he replied.
"Aren't you afraid of a paragon, Mr. Harleston?"
"Generally, yes; specifically, no."
"La! la!" she trilled again. "You're becoming mystic; which means
mysterious, which means diplomatic, which means deception--which warns
us to get back to the simple life and have dinner. Want dinner, Mr.
Harleston?"
"With you, yes; also breakfast and luncheon daily."
"You couldn't do that unless you were my husband," she replied
tantalizingly and adorably.
"I'm perfectly aware of it," he responded, leaning forward over the
back of the chair that separated them.
"But I'm not ready to take a husband, monsieur," she protested lightly.
"I'm perfectly aware of that also. When you are ready, madame, I am
ready too. Until then I'm your good friend--and dinner companion."
He had spoken jestingly--yet the jest was mainly pretence; the real
passion was there and ready the instant he let it control. As for Mrs.
Clephane, Harleston did not know. Nor did she herself know--more than
that she was quite content to be with him, and let him do for her,
assured that he would not misunderstand, nor misinterpret, nor presume.
So, across the chair's back, she held out her hand to him; and he took
it, pressed it lightly, but answered never a word.
"Now you shall hear the special matter I've got bottled up," said she.
"Whom do you think was here late this afternoon?"
"The Emperor of Spain!" he guessed.
"A diplomatic answer!" she mocked. "There is no Emperor of Spain; yet
it's not absolutely wide of the diplomatic truth, for it was Mrs.
Buissard--she of the cab, you'll remember."
"So!" Harleston exclaimed. "What's the move now; I fancy she was not
paying a social visit."
"You fancy correctly," Mrs. Clephane replied. "She came to the apartment
unannounced; and when I, chancing to be passing the door when she
knocked, opened it, and saw who was without, I almost cried out with
surprise. I didn't cry out, however. On the contrary, remembering
diplomatic ways, I most cordially invited her in. To do her justice,
Mrs. Buissard, beyond expressing hope that I had experienced no ill
effect from the occurrence of the other night, wasted no time in coming
to business."
"'Mrs. Clephane,' she said, sitting on the corner of the table just
where you are sitting now, 'I have a proposition to make to you--may I
make it?'
"I could see no reason to forbid, so I acquiesced.
"'And if you cannot accept straightway, will you promise to forget that
it was made?' she asked.
"Again I acquiesced. I admit, I was curious.
"'We assume,' said she, 'that between France and Germany you are
indifferent.'
"'Paris and Berlin have each their good points,' I replied.
"'Quite so,' she acquiesced; 'just now, however, we ask you to favour
Berlin and for a consideration.'
"'I don't want a consideration,' I smiled; 'tell me what's the favour
you seek?'
"'We ask you,' she replied instantly, 'to take a letter to the French
Ambassador and tell him that it is the letter Madame Durrand gave you in
New York, and that it has just been returned to you by the American
State Department.'
"'Have you the letter with you?' I asked.
"'I have,' she replied, producing it from her bag. 'It may not exactly
resemble the original.'
"'It doesn't,' said I.
"'But the French Ambassador won't know it,' she smiled. 'Further, so as
to make the matter entirely regular with you, you will receive an
appointment in the German Secret Service and five thousand dollars in
advance.'
"'Is it usual to--change sides so suddenly?' I asked.
"'You're not changing sides,' she explained. 'You've never had a side,
in the diplomatic sense. It is entirely regular in diplomacy for you to
take such a course as is proposed; there is nothing unusual about it.
And, my dear Mrs. Clephane, a position in the German Foreign Secret
Service is a rare plum, I can assure you, even though you may not care
to be--active in it.'
"Naturally, I understood. Mrs. Spencer thinking me the same type as
herself, without conscience, character, or morals, had evolved this plan
either to test me or to ensnare me. To test me, because she is jealous
of you; or to ensnare me because she wants to win out diplomatically--or
both, it may be. I am a poor hand at pretence; but I played the game, as
you would say, to the best of my ability. So I seemed to fall in with
her scheme; France was nothing to me; I had been given no option in the
matter of accepting the letter and attempting its delivery; I had done
all and more than could be expected of a disinterested person; I had
lost the letter but through no fault of mine. I was acquitted of further
responsibility; was at liberty to choose. And Mrs. Buissard agreed with
me in everything. In the end, I accepted the spurious letter for
delivery to the French Ambassador."
"Good!" Harleston applauded. "You're learning the method of diplomacy
very rapidly; fire with fire, ruse with ruse, deceit with
deceit--anything for the object in hand."
"It went against me to do it," she admitted, "but I'll pay them in their
own coin--or something to that effect. Of course, I've no intention of
delivering the letter to the French Embassy. I'll deliver it to you
instead."
"Delightful!" Harleston exclaimed. "You're a bully diplomat. However,
I'm not so sure that Spencer ever imagined her letter would reach the
Marquis. She's playing for something else, though what is by no means
clear. Let us have a look at the letter; maybe it will help."
She stood beside him as he cut the envelope and he took out the single
sheet of paper--on which was an assortment of letters, set down
separately and without relation to words.
"What is it," said she, "a scrambled alphabet?"
"Looks like it!" he smiled. "As a matter of fact, however, it's in the
Blocked-Out Square cipher--like the original lett--"
"Then they could read the original?" she cut in.
"Not unless they have its particular key-word--"
"Oh, yes; I remember now," said she. "Go on!"
"There's no 'go on,'" he explained. "Nor would it help matters if there
were. This letter is spurious; there is nothing to find from it, even if
we could translate it. It's intended as a plant; either for us or for
the Marquis; but I fancy, for us--so with your permission we will waste
no time on it further than to keep alert for its purpose. When were you
to receive the five thousand dollars?"
"I don't know!" she laughed.
"And the appointment to the German Secret Service?"
"I don't know; she didn't say and I didn't ask. I was too much occupied
with meeting her on her own ground and playing the game. I was crazy to
get the letter so I could show it to you."
"Which doubtless was what she too wanted; I can't see through her
scheme--unless it is to muddy the water while the main play is being
pulled off. And our men haven't discovered a single material thing,
though they have had Spencer and all the rest of the gang under shadow
since the morning after the cab affair."
The telephone buzzed. Mrs. Clephane answered it.
"Yes, Mr. Harleston is here," she said, passing the receiver to him.
"Hello!" said Harleston.
"Can you make it convenient to drop around here sometime this evening?"
Major Ranleigh inquired.
"Will ten o'clock do?"
"Yes."
"I'll be there," said Harleston.
XVII
IN THE TAXI
At ten o'clock Harleston walked into Ranleigh's office.
"I just wish to ask," said the Major, "if you want us to pick up the man
who met Mrs. Spencer this afternoon. It's against your orders, I know,
but this chap can be arrested without resulting complications, I think.
He's an American."
"Who is he?" Harleston asked.
"Snodgrass, an ex-Captain in the Army; a man of seeming independent
means, who lives at the Boulogne."
"I'm acquainted with him," returned Harleston. "I can't think that he's
crooked. I reckon Spencer's figure and face attracted him--or probably
he has known her in Europe."
"I'm only giving you the facts: he's the first man, other than those of
her entourage, that she has met since we've had her under surveillance.
It was at Union Station, this afternoon. She went there alone, after
loitering for an hour through the shops of F Street. In the train-shed
she chanced, seemingly by the veriest accident, upon Snodgrass. He
almost bumped into her as they rounded the news-stand. From their gaiety
they are old acquaintances; and after a word he turned and accompanied
her to the cab-stand and put her in a taxi. As far as the shadow saw,
there was no letter or papers passed--only conversation. And what he
managed to overhear of it was seemingly quite innocent of value to us.
He called her Madeline and she called him Billy, which isn't his name,
and invited him to Paris; so they must be pretty well acquainted. They
are to meet at one o'clock tomorrow. That's the first matter to report.
The second is that Marston is spying around the French Embassy. He has
walked up Sixteenth Street frequently since four o'clock, and never once
glanced at the big marble mansion when he thought anyone was looking.
His eyes were busy enough other times. Also he visited, after dark,
Paublo's Eating-House in the Division, and had a talk with
Jimmy-the-Snake--a professional burglar of the best class. We are
watching The Snake, of course. Something will be done at the French
Embassy tonight, I imagine. Finally, at nine o'clock, Marston went to
Carpenter's residence and was admitted. He came out fifteen minutes
later, and returned to the Chateau. I assume that Carpenter will tell
you of this errand."
Harleston nodded.
"What shall be done as to Snodgrass--also as to Mrs. Spencer and one
o'clock tomorrow?" Ranleigh asked. "Do you wish me to prevent the
meeting?"
"No," said Harleston, after a little consideration; "simply keep them in
view and follow them. I can't imagine Snodgrass being concerned in this
affair. It's the lady he's after, not her mission. It's likely he
doesn't even know she's in the Secret Service. However, keep an eye on
them; I may be mistaken."
The telephone buzzed. Ranleigh answered, then passed the instrument
across to Harleston.
"Is that you, Harleston?... This is Carpenter. I've just had a most
amazing proposition made to me. It will keep until morning, but drop
around at the Department about nine-thirty and I'll unburden myself."
"Is it Marston?" Harleston asked.
"Exactly; however did you guess it?"
"However did you guess I was with Ranleigh?" Harleston laughed.
"I didn't guess; I called Mrs. Clephane, told her I wanted you--and
presto! There's small trick about that, old fox--except in knowing your
quarry. So long--and don't!"
"If you don't mind, Carpenter, I'll stop on my way home. I'm just
beginning to be interested."
"Come along!" was the answer.