Chapter 12

"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.

"Carpenter--to explain a Marston proposition," Harleston remarked, 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.