pushing back the instrument.
"They are muddying the water all around," Ranleigh commented. "So I
imagine they are about to make a get-away with the goods."
"Try to, Ranleigh, try to," Harleston amended. "They won't make a
get-away so long as we have Madame Spencer in our midst. Keep your eye
on the dark-haired loveliness; with her in the landscape the goods are
still here. Now for Carpenter."
"Permit me to suggest a taxi!" Ranleigh observed. "It's just as well
that you shouldn't wander about alone on the well-lighted streets of the
National Capital--"
"You think I might be suspended by the Interstate Commerce Commission,
or enjoined by the Federal Trades Commission, or be violating the
Clayton Anti-Trust Act?"
"You might be any and all of them, God knows--as well as contrary to
some paternal act of a non-thinking, theoretical, and subservient
Congress. However, I'm pinning my faith to you and hoping for the best;
Jimmy-the-Snake is cruising whether and whence and wherefore."
"Also besides and among!" Harleston laughed.
"Seriously, I mean it about The Snake," Ranleigh repeated; "and you'd
better have this with you also," taking a small automatic from a drawer
of his desk and handing it across. "You may have need of it; if you do,
it will be very convenient."
Harleston, descending from the taxi, found Carpenter waiting for him on
the front piazza.
"Your friend Marston is a very pleasant chap," he remarked; "also he has
a most astonishing nerve. He actually tried to bribe me for a copy of
the Clephane letter."
"How did you meet it?" Harleston asked.
"I was at a loss how to meet it--whether to be indignant and order him
out, or to be acquiescently non-committal. I chose the latter course;
and after a few preliminary feelers he came out with his offer: five
thousand dollars for liberty to make a copy of the original letter. I
thought a moment, then came back at him with the counter proposition: if
he would secure the key-word from the French Embassy, I would obtain the
letter; then together we would make the translation."
"Delightful!" Harleston applauded. "What did he say to that?"
"What could he do but accept? It was fair, and he had premised his offer
by a solemn assurance that the United States was not involved!"
"Delightful!" said Harleston again. "I reckon you've seen the last of
Marston."
"He said he would have the key-word by tomorrow night or sooner,"
Carpenter remarked.
"I suppose you parted like fellow conspirators," Harleston laughed.
"Yes; suspicious of each other and ready for anything. We were strictly
professional. Diplomatic manners and distrustful hearts."
"Do you think that Marston will try for the key-word?" Harleston asked.
"I do! He probably has it, or rather Spencer has it. Also I think he
will submit it for a test with the letter. He knows his attempt to bribe
me failed, and that the only way he can have access to the letter is to
come with the key-word. And you need not fear that I shall let him copy
the letter until after I've tested the key-word and found it correct."
"Where is the letter?" Harleston asked.
"Locked in the burglar-proof safe in my office."
"Who knows the combination?"
"Spendel, my confidential clerk."
"Trustworthy?"
"I would as soon suspect myself."
"Very good! Now, another thing: do you know Fred Snodgrass, an
ex-Captain of the Army, who lives at the Boulogne?"
"Casually," said Carpenter.
"Ever suspect him of being in the German pay?"
"No. However, he is an intimate friend of Von Swinkle, the Second
Secretary--if that's any indication."
"Rather the reverse, I should say. However, he met Madeline Spencer
yesterday in Union Station. The meeting was apparently accidental, and
so far as his shadow could see or hear was entirely innocent."
"I distrust the apparently accidental and the entirely innocent--in
diplomacy," Carpenter remarked. "We should keep an eye on Snodgrass."
"Meanwhile what are _you_ doing as to the French key-word--trying for
it?" Harleston asked, going toward the door.
Carpenter nodded. "I've got my lines out. I hope to land it in a few
days. If Marston has it, or gets it earlier, so much the better for us."
Harleston had walked a block before he recollected that he was obligated
to Ranleigh to go in a taxi. The one in which he had come from
Headquarters he had dismissed, not knowing how long he would be at
Carpenter's, and he had neglected to telephone for another. He would not
go back to Carpenter's; and, anyway, it was nonsense always to be
guarding himself from the enemy.
He had not a thing they wanted, nor did he know aught that would be of
use to them; and his directorship of the affair was not of great
importance; another, if he knew the facts, could take his place and see
the matter through. That was the important point, however. Time was
exceedingly material; and if the Spencer gang caused him to disappear
for a few days, they would have a free hand until Ranleigh or Carpenter
awoke to the situation. It was not exactly just to the cause for him to
take unnecessary chances. A drug store was but a short distance up the
street, on the other side; he would telephone from it for a taxi.
A moment later, with the honk of a horn, a yellow taxi rounded the
corner and bore his way.
He raised his stick to the driver, in event of him being free--and
stepped out from the sidewalk.
The man shook his head in negation and the machine flashed by--leaving
Harleston staring after it with a somewhat surprised and very much
puzzled frown.
Madeline Spencer was in the taxi--alone. Furthermore, she had not seen
him.
XVIII
DOUBT
At N, the next cross-street, the taxi turned west. Instantly Harleston
made for the corner. When he got there, the machine was swinging north
into Connecticut Avenue. He ran down N Street at the top of his speed.
When he reached the avenue the car was not in sight, nor was there any
one on the street as far as Dupont Circle; and as thoroughfares radiate
from the Circle as the spokes of a wheel from the hub, the taxi could
have gone in practically any direction.
So he gave over running--running after a taxi-cab was not in his
line--and resumed his walk northward. At Dupont Circle he found a lone
cab with a drowsy negro on the box; who came quickly to life, however,
at his approach.
"Cab, seh, cab?" he solicited.
"Which way did the yellow taxi go that just came up Connecticut Avenue?"
Harleston asked.
"Out Massachu'ts abenu', seh, yass seh.--Cab, seh?"
"Drive out Massachusetts Avenue," Harleston directed, getting in. "If you
see a taxi, get close to it."
"I'll do hit, seh, yass seh!" said the negro, as he climbed on the box
and jerked the lines.
But though they went out the avenue to beyond Sheridan Circle, and back
again, and along the streets north of P and west of Twentieth, no taxi
was seen--nor any trace of Madeline Spencer. They drove over the route
for more than an hour--and never raised a yellow taxi nor a skirt.
Finally Harleston abandoned the search and headed the cab for the
Collingwood.
Miss Williams was on duty when he entered, and she signalled him to the
desk.
"The Chateau has been trying to get you for the last half-hour," said
she. "Shall I call them?"
"If you please," he replied, "I'll wait here."
Presently she nodded to Harleston; he stepped into the booth and closed
the door.
"This is Mr. Harleston," said he.
"I recognize your voice, Guy, dear," came Madeline Spencer's soft
tones. "I'd know it _anywhere_, indeed."
"The same to you, my lady," Harleston returned. "Was that what you were
calling me for?"
"No, no!" she laughed. "I just wanted to tell you that I'm back at the
Chateau. I thought you might be interested, you know; you sprinted so
rapidly up N Street, and spent so much time driving around in a cab
searching for me, that I assume it will be a very great relief to you to
know that I am returned. It was such a satisfaction, Guy, to feel that
you were so solicitous for my safety, and I appreciate it, my dear, I
appreciate it. Meanwhile, you might wish to get busy as to my _alter
ego_. I saw her going up Sixteenth Street, as I was returning--a little
after eleven o'clock. Maybe _she_ needs assistance, Guy; you never can
tell. See you tomorrow, old enemy. Good-bye for tonight."
"I say--are you there, Madeline?" Harleston ejaculated; then asked
again. When no one answered he hung up the receiver and came from the
booth. Spencer, that time, had put one over him; two, maybe, for he
_was_ concerned about Mrs. Clephane. Spencer had gone without her
shadow, been free to transact her business, and returned--and all the
time she knew of passing him and his pursuit of her, and was enjoying
his discomfiture. To add a trifle more uneasiness, she had thrown in the
matter of Mrs. Clephane. Probably it was false; yet he could not be sure
and it troubled him. All of which, he was aware, Mrs. Spencer
intended--and took a devilish joy in doing.
Harleston made a couple of turns up and down the room; then he sat down
and drummed a bit on the table; finally he reached for the telephone. It
was very late, but he would call her--she would understand.
He got the Chateau and, giving his name, asked whether Mrs. Clephane was
on the first floor of the hotel. In a few minutes the answer came: she
was not; should they give him her apartment? He said yes. Presently a
sleepy voice answered. He recognized it as Marie--the maid--and had some
difficulty in convincing her of his identity. He did it at last only by
speaking French to her--which, as he had hitherto addressed her only in
French, was not extraordinary.
And, being convinced, she answered promptly enough that Mrs. Clephane
was not in--she had gone down-stairs about two hours ago telling her not
to wait up. She had no idea where Mrs. Clephane went; she had said
nothing about leaving the hotel.
"Ask her to call me at the Collingwood the moment she comes in," said
Harleston.
Then he got Ranleigh and told him of the Spencer episode and of Mrs.
Clephane's disappearance.
"You would better put Mrs. Clephane under lock and key--or else stay
with her and keep her from rash adventures," Ranleigh commented.
"I quite agree with you," said Harleston. "Meanwhile I might inquire
where was Mrs. Spencer's shadow while she was taxiing up the avenue?"
"I fancy he was on his job, though you may not have seen him," Ranleigh
replied. "His report in the morning will tell."
"I would sooner have a report as to Mrs. Clephane's whereabouts,"
Harleston remarked.
"I can't see what good she would be to them now?" said Ranleigh. "She
hasn't a thing they want."
"Granted; yet where is she? moreover, she promised me to do nothing
unusual and to beware of traps."
"She has the feminine right to reconsider," Ranleigh reminded him.
"However, I'll instruct the bureau to get busy and--"
"Wait until morning," Harleston interjected. "If Mrs. Clephane hasn't
appeared by nine o'clock, I'll telephone you."
Harleston leaned back in his chair frowning. Washington was not a large
city, yet under certain circumstances she could be lost in it--and stay
lost, with all the efforts of the police quite unavailing to find her.
It seemed improbable that she had been abducted; as Ranleigh had said,
they had nothing to gain from her. She could neither advance their plans
nor hinder them; she was purely a negative quantity. Spencer might be
striking at him through Mrs. Clephane, intending to hold her surety for
his neutrality, or to feed her own revenge, or maybe both. Yet, somehow,
he could not hold to the notion; it was too petty for their game.
Moreover, Spencer knew that it would be ineffective, and she was not one
to waste time in methods, petty or inefficient. Of course, it might be
that she had merely twitted him about the episode, as a jealous woman
would do.
And yet what could have taken Mrs. Clephane from the hotel at such an
hour, and without apprising her maid; and why was she driving up
Sixteenth Street? Or was Spencer's talk just a lie; intended to throw a
scare into him and give him a bad quarter of an hour--until he would
venture to call up Mrs. Clephane's apartment? And if he did not venture,
the bad quarter would last the balance of the night. At all events and
whatever her idea Madeline Spencer had succeeded in disturbing him to an
unusual degree--and all because of Mrs. Clephane.
At last he sprang up, threw on a light top-coat, grabbed a hat, and made
for the door. He would go down to the Chateau and investigate. Anything
was preferable to this miserable waiting.
The corridor door was swinging shut behind him, when his telephone
buzzed. He flung back the door and reached the receiver in a bound.
"Yes!" he exclaimed.
"I forgot to say, Guy," came Madeline Spencer's purring voice, "that
I'll tell you in the morning, if you care to pay me a visit, how my
_alter ego_ came to be on Sixteenth Street at so unusual an hour. It's
rather interesting as to details. By the way, you must be sitting beside
the receiver expecting a call; you answered with such amazing
promptness!" and she laughed softly. "Shall I expect you at eleven, or
will you be content to wait until we go to the Department at four?"
"I had just finished talking with Mrs. Clephane when you called,"
Harleston replied imperturbably, then laughed mockingly. "I'll be at the
Chateau for you at half-after-three; you can give me the details then. I
shall be delighted, Madeline, to compare your details with hers."
"I wonder!" said she.
"What do you wonder?" said he.
"Whether you are--well, no matter; we'll take it up this afternoon.
_Tout à l'heure, Monsieur Harleston_!"
He was turning once more toward the door, when the telephone rang again.
"Is that Mr. Harleston?" said Mrs. Clephane's lovely voice--and
Harleston's grin almost flowed into the transmitter.
"It is indeed!" he responded--then severely: "Where have you been, my
lady? You have given me a most horrible fright."
"I cry your pardon, my lord; I'll not transgress again," she laughed.
"And if you don't scold me I'll tell you something--something I'm sure
will be worth even a diplomat's hearing."
"Anything you would tell would be well worth any diplomat's hearing,"
said he; "only I shall always prefer to be the diplomat on duty when you
are doing the telling!"
"That's deliciously nice, Mr. Harleston; I--"
"Where are you now?" he demanded.
"At the Chateau--in my apartment. Anything more?"
"Nothing; except to pray you to be prudent and not do it again."
"I'll promise--until I see you." She lowered her voice--"Are you there,
Mr. Harleston?"
"I'm here--since I can't be with you there," he replied.
"Assuredly not! I'm not exactly in receiving attire. Meanwhile the
morning--and Madame Brunette's doings. Good-night, _Mon camarade_."
XIX
MARSTON
At nine o'clock the next morning, Marston tapped gently on the door of
Madeline Spencer's apartment, and was immediately admitted by the demure
maid; who greeted him with a smile, which he repaid with a kiss--several
of them, indeed--and an affectionate and pressing arm to her shapely and
slender waist.
"I suppose monsieur wants to see my mistress," said she.
"Now that I've seen you, yes, little one," Marston returned, with
another kiss.
"Have you seen me, monsieur?"
"Not half long enough, my love; but business before pleasure. There's
another now, so run along and do your devoir."
She fetched him a tiny slap across his cheek, for which she was caught
and made to suffer again; then she wriggled loose, and, with a flirty
backward kick at him, disappeared through the inner doorway.
In a moment she returned, dropped him a bit of curtsy, and informed him
that her mistress would receive him.
He rewarded her with another caress, which she accepted with assumed
shyness--and a wicked little pinch.
"I'll pay you later for the pinch!" he tossed back, softly.
She answered with an affected shrug and a wink.
"Elise _is_ remarkably pretty!" Madeline Spencer remarked when he
entered the boudoir. She was sitting up in bed, eating her rolls and
coffee--a bewildering negligee of cerise and cream heightening the
effect of her dead-white colouring and raven-black hair.
Marston drew in his breath sharply, then sighed.
"And _you_ are ravishingly beautiful, my lady," he replied.
"You like this robe?" she asked.
"I--like you; what you may wear is incidental. It merely increases the
effect of your wonderful personality."
"My good Marston!" she smiled. "What a faithful friend you are; always
seeing my few good points and being blind to my many bad."
"And being always," he added, bowing low, "your most humble and loving
servant."
"I know it--and I am very, very grateful." She put aside the tray and
languidly stretched her lithe length under the sheet. "What have you to
report, Marston?" she asked.
"I have to report, madame," said Marston, with strict formality of a
subordinate to his chief, "that I have procured the French code-book."
"Good work!" she exclaimed, sitting up sharply. "However did you manage
it?"
"By the assistance of one Jimmy-the-Snake. He visited the French Embassy
last night, and persuaded the safe to yield up the code. It would have
been better, I admit, to copy the code and then replace it, but it
wasn't possible. He had just sufficient time to grab the book and make a
get-away. Someone was coming."
"You've accomplished enough even though we don't obtain the letter" she
approved. "I shall recommend you for promotion, Marston."
She took the thin book and glanced through it until she came to the
key-words of the Blocked-Out Square--the last key-word was the one the
Count de M---- had given her. After all, the Count was not so bad; and
he was handsome; thus far dependable; and he was, seemingly at least, in
love with her. She might do worse.... Yet he was not Harleston; there
never was but one equal to Harleston, and that one was lost to her. She
shut her lips tightly and a far-away look came into her eyes. And now
Harleston, too, was lost to her; and--she lifted her hands resignedly,
and laughed a mirthless laugh. As she came back to reality, she met
Marston's curiously courteous glance with a bit of a shrug.
"Pardon my momentary abstraction," she said softly; "I was pursuing a
train of thought--"
"And you didn't overtake it," he remarked.
"I can never overtake it. I haven't the requisite speed. Did you ever
miss your two greatest opportunities, Marston?"
"I've missed my greatest," Marston replied instantly. "Oh--it was out of
my class, so I never started."
"It may have been a mistake, my friend," she observed; "one never can
tell until he's tried it--and failed. I mightn't have missed had I gone
on another schedule. However, the past is to profit by, and to forget
if we can't remember it pleasantly. So let us return to the business in
hand, Marston; it's a rattling business and a fascinating, and at it you
and I are not to be altogether despised," throwing him a bewitching
smile.
"Don't!" he exclaimed. "I'm not stone."
"Forgive me, my friend!" putting out her hand to him.
Marston simply bowed, "I think it wiser to refrain," he said gently, and
bowed again. "By all means let us to the business in hand."
He understood her nature better than she thought. The sympathy in her
was, for the moment, real enough, but it was only for the moment; the
love of admiration was the controlling note--what she sought and what
she played for. She felt the sympathy while it lasted, but it was the
effect as to herself, the selfish effect, that inspired the sensation.
When a beautiful woman stoops to sympathy, it is rare indeed that she
does not thereby arouse admiration for herself. Madeline Spencer may
have been cold and shrewd and selfish and calculating, yet with it all
she was warm-hearted; but the warm heart never got away with the cool
head--unless it was with that head's permission and for its benefit. She
played men--and men played her--but the man that had won was not yet to
be found. Two only of those whom she tried had failed to succumb to her
fascinating alluringness--and these two she had loved, and still did
both love and hate.
"Returning then to the code-book and the letter," said she. "How about
the latter; have you found Carpenter susceptible to persuasion?"
"To persuasion, no; to exchange, yes. Our agreement is that if I provide
the key-word, he will provide the letter in question. At ten o'clock
this morning the trick is to be turned."
"And if the translation concerns the United States, he simply would turn
the key upon you and hold you prisoner until the matter is cleared up."
"One must take some risks," Marston observed.
She nodded slightly.
"Which of these do you fancy is the key-word?" she asked.
"We shall try them in turn, beginning with the last: _à l'aube du jour_.
I've a hunch that we'll end there."
"And that you'll go into temporary confinement?" she smiled.
"My hunch stops with the key-word!" he smiled back.
"Your hunch as to the key-word is partially correct," she replied
slowly, "but it does not, however, reach quite to the last conclusion. I
may not explain now, Marston. Do you go to the meeting, with the
code-book as your only exhibit. It should be indisputable proof of your
good faith, and our honest belief that the letter does not concern the
United States. Moreover, you run no danger of imprisonment, for you'll
not effect a translation. But you must obtain a copy of the letter; it's
but a fair exchange for the French code, you know; and you're
permitted--nay you're authorized, in the interest of the service--to
allow Carpenter to copy the book if he will give you the letter to copy.
Furthermore, you may proceed leisurely in the process; there is no
particular haste; while they are occupied with the letter matter, there
is apt to be less activity along other lines. Only get a _copy of the
letter_; I have the key-word."
"You have the key-word!" Marston exclaimed.
She nodded. "I'm quite sure of it; and the code-book confirms me. It is
up to you to procure the letter; I'll do the rest, if any rest is
necessary. We may be headed for Europe by evening, Marston; in which
event, the cipher letter is of no consequence to us."
"You'll be glad to get back to Paris?" he asked.
"I shall, indeed--won't you?"
"I'm quite content anywhere, so long as I am working with you," he
answered. It was much as a faithful dog would wag his tail and snuggle
up for a pat of the hand.
She smiled straight into his eyes--a frank, appreciative smile, as
though an intimate camaraderie existed between them, and would never be
violated by either. She would have been in danger had she smiled that
way at some men; they would not have remained quiescent. And a little
more aggression by Marston might have been more conducive for
success--less of the faithful dog and more of the independent
subordinate and the equal human. As it was, he was only a plaything.
"Now, my friend, if you're done you may go," she said briskly. "I must
dress, and you're rather _de trop_ at such a time, however much you may
be welcome at another. And, Marston, don't miss the copy of the letter;
I'll expect you with it at seven; we'll make the translation together,
either here or on the train to New York. You're to accompany me, you
know. I've an appointment at one, and another at four, but I'll be here
at seven. If I'm detained, wait."
When Marston had gone she turned over and composed herself for sleep--it
was two hours until she had need to array herself for luncheon and
Snodgrass.... Yes, Snodgrass was a very good-looking chap; her drive
with him last night had been very satisfactory; he had the requisite
wealth, so it might be just as well to let him become fascinated. It
would be at least a momentary diversion; something to occupy her for the
loss of Harleston. She closed her eyes--and shivered ever so little.
Damn Mrs. Clephane! But for her she would not have lost him.
She flung off the cover and sprang up. There was a chance left and she
would try it. If it failed, she would not lose more than she had already
lost. If it won, she won Harleston!
XX
PLAYING THE GAME
She threw a kimono around her and hastened to the telephone.
"Get me," she said to the hotel central, "Mr. Harleston at the
Collingwood, the Cosmopolitan Club, or the State Department."