Chapter 4

"H'm!" reflected Harleston. "Do it very quietly then. You see, I don't know whom you're likely to locate, nor whether we want to locate them."

"The men who visited your apartment are not of the profession, Mr. Harleston."

"It's their profession that's bothering me!" Harleston laughed. "Why are three Americans engaged in what bears every appearance of being a diplomatic matter, and of which our State Department knows nothing?"

"There's a woman in it, I believe; likely two, possibly three!" was the smiling reply.

"Hump!" said Harleston. "A woman is at the bottom of most things, that's a fact; she's about the only thing for which a man will betray his country. However, as they're three men there should be three women--"

"One woman is enough--if she is sufficiently fascinating and plays the men off against one another. Though you've plenty of women in the case, Mr. Harleston, if you're looking for the three:--the one whom you're to meet this afternoon; the unknown who left the Collingwood so mysteriously; and the one of the photograph. If the other two are as lovely as she of the photograph they are some trio. I shouldn't care for the latter lady to tempt me overlong."

"Wise man!" Harleston remarked, as he arose to go. "I'll advise you after the interview. Meanwhile you might have the cabby look at the fellow in durance at the Collingwood. Possibly he has seen him before; which may give us a lead--if we find we want a lead."

The telephone buzzed; Ranleigh answered it--then raised his hand to Harleston to remain. After a moment, he motioned for Harleston to come closer and held the receiver so that both could hear.

"I can see you at three o'clock," Ranleigh said.

"Three o'clock will be very nice," came a feminine voice--soft, with a bit of a drawl.

"Very well," Ranleigh replied. "If you will give me your name--I missed it. Whom am I to expect at three?"

"Mrs. Winton, of the Burlingame apartments. I'll be punctual--and thank you so much. Good-bye!"

"Anything familiar about the voice?" Ranleigh asked, pushing back the instrument.

Harleston shook his head in negation.

"I thought it might be your Lady of Peacock Alley, for it's about the cab matter. She says that she has something to tell me regarding a mysterious cab on Eighteenth Street last night sometime about one o'clock."

"There are quite too many women in this affair," Harleston commented. "However, the Burlingame is almost directly across the street from where I found the cab, so her story will be interesting--if it's not a plant."

"And it may be even more interesting if it is a plant," Ranleigh added. "If you will come in a bit before three, I'll put you where you can see and hear everything that takes place."

"I'll do it!" said Harleston.

VI

THE GREY-STONE HOUSE

Harleston returned at a quarter to three, and Ranleigh showed him into the small room at the rear, provided with every facility for seeing what went on and overhearing and reducing what was said in the Superintendent's private office.

Promptly at three, Mrs. Winton was announced by appointment, and was instantly admitted.

She was about thirty years of age, slender, with dark hair and a face just missing beauty. She was gowned in black, with a bunch of violets at her waist, and she wore a large mesh veil, through which her particularly fine dark eyes sparkled discriminatingly.

The Superintendent arose and bowed graciously. Ranleigh was a gentleman by birth and by breeding.

"What can I do for you, Mrs. Winton?" he asked, placing a chair for her--where her face would be in full view from the cabinet.

"You can do nothing for me, sir," she replied, with a charming smile. "I came to you as head of the Police Department for the purpose of detailing what I saw in connection with the matter I mentioned to you over the telephone. It may be of no value to you--I even may do wrong in volunteering my information, but--"

"On the contrary," the Superintendent interjected, "you confer a great favour on this Department by reporting to it any suspicious circumstances. It is for it to investigate and determine whether they call for action. Pray proceed, my dear Mrs. Winton."

She gave him another charming smile and went on.

"I was out last evening, and it was after midnight when I got back to the Burlingame. My apartment is on the third floor front. Instead of going to bed at once, I sat down at the open window to enjoy the gentle breeze. I must have dozed, for I was aroused by a cab coming up Eighteenth and stopping before the large, grey-stone house opposite--the rest of the houses are brick--which was unoccupied until two days ago, when it was rented furnished. I live just across the street and hence I notice these things--casually of course, as one does. I watched the cab with languid interest; saw the driver descend from the box, which seemed a bit peculiar; but when, instead of going to the door of the cab, he went up the front steps and into the house--the door of which he opened with a key that he took from his pocket--my curiosity was aroused. A moment later, a man in evening dress came leisurely out and sauntered to the carriage. It seemed to me he was interested in looking around him, and at the houses opposite, rather than at the cab. He remained at the cab, presumably in talk with those within, for several minutes. Presently the door clicked and a woman stepped out, followed by a man. The woman disappeared into the house. The two men drew in so close to the cab that they were hidden from me; when they reappeared, they were carrying a woman--or her body--between them. They hurriedly crossed the sidewalk mounted the steps, and the house-door closed behind them instantly. The noise of the door seemed to arouse the horse, doubtless he took it for the door of the cab, and he started slowly up the street toward Massachusetts Avenue. After walking a short distance, and in front of a vacant lot near the corner, he halted--obviously he realized that no one was holding the lines, and he was waiting for his driver to return. Just then one of the men put his head out of the doorway, saw that the horse was no longer before the house, and dodged quickly back. I waited for further developments from the house. None came, except that in one of the rooms a light was made, but it was behind closed shades. Pretty soon the horse calmly lay down in the shafts, stretched out, and apparently went to sleep. Disturbed by the occurrence, and debating what I ought to do, I sat a while longer; and I must have dozed again, for when I awoke the house was dark, and a man, a strange man, I think, was standing beside the cab, and the horse was up. The man was gathering the reins; he fastened them to the driver's seat, spoke to the horse, and the horse moved off and into Massachusetts Avenue toward Dupont Circle. The man watched him for a moment; then turned and went down Massachusetts Avenue. After waiting a short while, I went to bed. This morning, I decided it was well for you to know of the episode."

"And you have told it wonderfully well, Mrs. Winton," said the Superintendent, "wonderfully well, indeed."

"You don't know how often I rehearsed," she laughed, "nor how much of the essentials I may have omitted!"

"Not much, I fancy. However, you'll not object, I suppose, to answering a few questions as to details."

"I wish you to ask anything that suggests itself," she replied. "I've an appointment at the Chateau at five; just give me time to keep it."

"We'll get through long before five!" the Superintendent smiled, though his shrewd grey eyes were coldly critical. It was most unlikely that she was the Lady of Peacock Alley; yet all things are possible where a woman is concerned, as he knew from experience. "About what time was it when the cab stopped before the house?" he asked.

"About one o'clock, as near as I can judge," she answered.

"What was the interval between the driver's going into the house and the man in evening clothes coming out?"

"Scarcely any interval--not more than a minute."

"Do you know how long a minute is?" said Ranleigh, drawing out his watch.

"Not exactly!" she admitted.

"Do you mind if I test you?"

"Not in the least."

"Then tell me when it is a minute...."

"Now?" said she.

"Fourteen seconds!" he smiled.

"Fourteen seconds!" she exclaimed incredulously "It's not possible."

"You're considerably above the average, Mrs. Winton. However, it depends much on what you're doing at the moment. Last night when you were watching, not estimating, you probably were nearer right as to the interval. When, may I ask, did the driver reappear?"

"He didn't reappear--at least that I saw; he may have come out of the house while I dozed."

"Might not the man that you saw last have been he?"

"I'm perfectly sure it wasn't. The driver was medium-sized and stout, this man was tall and slender. I couldn't have been mistaken."

Ranleigh nodded. Her story was testing up very well on the known points.

"Now, Mrs. Winton, can you give some description of the woman in the case--her appearance--how she was dressed--anything to aid us in identifying her?"

"I'm afraid I can't be of much help," Mrs. Winton replied. "She was, I think, clad in a dark street gown. In the uncertain electric light, I could not distinguish the colour--and the men were so close to her I had little chance to see. About all I'm sure of is that it was a woman; slender and about the average height. I did not see her face."

The Chief nodded again.

"What about the house, Mrs. Winton? Did you see anything unusual before tonight?"

"I saw no one but the servants--though I didn't look quite all the time," she added with a smile. "I'm not unduly curious, I think, Major Ranleigh, under the, to me, unusual circumstances; and in mitigation of my curiosity, I've told no one of the matter."

"You're a woman of rare discretion, Mrs. Winton," the Superintendent replied.

"I fear I'm a busy-body," she returned.

"I wish then there were more busy-bodies of your sort. Tell me, could you recognize the men?"

"Not with any assurance.--Neither could I recognize the occupants of the house," she added. "The truth is, though you may doubt, that I scarcely notice them; but one can't see a to-let-unfurnished sign on a house opposite for six months, without remarking its sudden disappearance from the landscape."

"I should say that you wouldn't be normal if you didn't notice--and comment, too," Ranleigh declared. "And the Department is much indebted to you for the information, and it appreciates the spirit that moves you in the matter."

Mrs. Winton arose to go--the Superintendent accompanied her into the hall, rang the bell for the elevator, and bowed her into it.

"Don't you wish to know the result?" he inquired with a quizzical smile, as he put her in the car.

"I'm not unduly curious!" she laughed.

When he returned, Harleston was standing in his office lighting a cigarette.

"It's infernally close, not to mention hot, in that cabinet of yours," he observed; "though one can see and hear."

"Ever see her before?" the Superintendent asked.

"I don't recall it!"

"Ever hear the voice?"

"No."

"What do you think of her?"

"Good to look at, truthful, sincere."

"And her story?"

"Simple statement of fact, I take it."

"Hum!" said Ranleigh.

"Which means?" Harleston asked.

"Nothing at present; may be nothing at any time. I never believe a story till its truth is established--and then I'm still in a receptive state of mind. However, it does seem true, and Mrs. Winton herself supports it; which is enough for the time."

"At any rate, we've found the lady of the cab," Harleston remarked. "Or rather we've located her as of one o'clock, which is shortly before I happened on the scene."

"Is there anything in the description that corresponds to the lady of the photograph?"

"It all corresponds; slight, above medium-height, dark gown--she affects dark gowns;--but thousands of women are slight, above medium-height, and wear dark gowns."

"At least it eliminates the very tall and the stout," Ranleigh observed. "Let me ask you, what do you make of Mrs. Winton's appointment at the Chateau at five, and her being gowned in black?"

"A mere coincidence, I think. What would be her object in telling this story to you between three and four o'clock, and meeting me at five to recover the lost document."

"Search me! I'm sure only of this: there are too many women in this affair, Mr. Harleston, too many women! Man is a reasoning being and somewhat consistent; but women--" a gesture ended the remark.

"Just so!" Harleston laughed. "And now for the Lady of Peacock Alley!"

VII

SURPRISES

Peacock Alley was in full gorgeousness when Harleston, just at five o'clock, paused on the landing above the marble stairs inside the F Street entrance and surveyed the motley throng--busy with looking and being looked at, with charming and being charmed, with wondering and being wondered at, with aping and being aped, with patronizing and being patronized, with flattering and being flattered, with fawning and being fawned upon, with deceiving and being deceived, with bluffing and being bluffed, with splurging, with pretending, with every trick and artifice and sham and chicanery that society and politics know, or can fancy.

Harleston was familiar with it all for too many years even to accord it a glance of contemptuous indifference--when he had anything else to occupy his mind; and just now his mind was on a lady in black with three American Beauties on the gown.

He went slowly down the steps to the main corridor and joined the buzzing, kaleidoscopic crowd.

Somewhere on the floor above, an orchestra was playing for the _dansant_; and the music came fitfully through the chatter and confusion. He nodded to some acquaintances, bowed formally to others, shook hands when it could not be avoided; all the while progressing slowly down the corridor in search of three red roses on a black gown.

And near the far end he saw, for an instant through a rift in the crowd, the three roses on a black gown, but not the face above them; the next instant the rift closed. However, he knew now that she was here and where to find her, and he made his way through the press toward where she was waiting for him.

Then the crowd suddenly opened--as crowds do--and he saw, on the same side of the corridor and scarcely ten feet apart, two slender women in black and wearing red roses; one was Mrs. Winton, the other he had never seen.

It brought him to a sharp pause. Then he smiled. Ranleigh was right! There were altogether too many women in this case. And which one was waiting for him? He knew neither, but there was the chance that the one he was to meet knew him.

And so he adventured it, walking slowly toward them, and taking care that they should notice him.

They did.

Mrs. Winton glanced at him casually and impersonally.

The unknown, whose face was from him, turned sharply when he dropped his stick, and looked at him unrecognizingly. As her eyes came down they rested on the other woman.

She gave a subdued exclamation, arose and threaded her way to the opposite side of the corridor.

Harleston, glancing back, saw the move, and swinging over he followed. He would speak to her--meanwhile, he was looking at her. So far, at least, both were good to look at; they must be good to look at in this business, it is part of the stock in trade.

"Good afternoon, Madame X," he said, bowing before her.

"Why, how do you do, Mr. Harleston," she smiled, giving him her hand and making room beside her on the settee. "I'm delighted to see you, just delighted!"

"It is nice to meet again, isn't it?" he returned. "When did you get to town?"

"Only yesterday! You live in Washington, now, don't you?"

"Yes, off and on. It's my headquarters for refitting and starting afresh. What do you say to a turn at the _dansant_?"

"I'm ready, I'm sure," she replied. "Afterward we'll--"

"Discuss other matters!" he interjected.

She gave him an amused look, and they passed down the corridor and up the marble steps to the elevator.

They were dancing the _Maxixe_ when they entered.

"Do you mind if we don't do it on the heels?" said she. "I think it's prettier the other way."

"So do I," said he, and they drifted down the room.

He knew almost everyone on the floor; the women nodded to him, then stared coldly at his companion; the men too stared at her--but not coldly--and when they thought about it, which was seldom of late, nodded to him, and resumed their staring.

And Harleston did not wonder--indeed, had it been otherwise, it would have argued a sudden paucity of appreciation on the part of the smart set there assembled. For this slender young person in black, a small hat on her head, topping hair of flaming red, an exquisite figure and a charming pair of slender high-arched feet, was worth anyone's staring, be it either coldly or with frank interest. And she did not seem to know it; which in this day of smug and blatant personal appreciation of one's good points--feminine points--is something of a rarity in the sex. It may be, however that Madame X was fully aware of her beauty, but she was modest about it, or seemed to be; which amounts to the same thing.

They sat down at a remote table and Harleston ordered two cold drinks--an apollinaris with a dash of lemon for her, a Jerry Hill for himself. He noticed that the men were looking and wavering and he deliberately turned his chair around and gave them his back. He had no objection to presenting the Lady of Peacock Alley to his men friends, but just at this time it was not convenient. The adventure was rather unusual, and the lady altogether attractive and somewhat fascinating; he chose, for the present at least, to go it alone. Moreover, they were to meet on a matter of her business and by her appointment.

He had suggested the _dansant_ that he might study her. And the more he saw of her, the more he was struck by her unaffected naturalness and apparent sincerity. Not a word, not even a suggestion while they were dancing, of the matter of the cab; it was as though she were just an old friend. And her dancing was a delight--such a delight, indeed, that he was reluctant to have it end. Somehow, one gets to know quickly one's partner in the _dansant_.

"This is perfectly entrancing, Mr. Harleston," she said presently, "but don't you think we would better hunt a retired corner and discuss other matters?"

"If you will dine with me when we've discussed them," he replied.

"It's only six o'clock," she smiled; "will the discussion take so long?"

"It depends somewhat on when you wish to dine, and somewhat on the character of the discussion."

Her smile grew into a quiet, rippling laugh.

"Come along," she answered. "I've found a secluded nook in the big red-room downstairs. It's cozy and nice, and I've had the maid reserve it for me. Afterwards," with a sharp stab of her brown eyes, "I'll decide whether I'll dine with you."

The place was as she had said, cozy and nice and secluded; and he put her into it--where the subdued light would fall on her face.

"Very good, sir," she smiled; "I am not afraid of the light."

"Nor would I be if I were you," he replied.

She shrugged her shoulders ever so slightly.

"Why fence?" she asked.

"Why, indeed?" he replied.

"And why, may I ask, did you meet me here this afternoon?"

"Curiosity--later, satisfaction and appreciation."

"And why do you think I wanted to meet you?"

"Heaven knows!" he replied.

"Suppose, Mr. Harleston, we resume the conversation just where we left off last night. Your last remark then was that I had a chance to get the articles, but no one else had a chance. I'm here now for my chance."

"And that chance depends on a number of contingencies," he replied: "whether I have the desired articles; whether you have the title to them, or the right of possession to them; whether they concern private matters or public matters; if the latter, whether the United States is concerned."

"We can assume the first," said she. "I know for a fact that you took the articles in question from the cab, which you found deserted before a vacant lot."

"How do you know it?" Harleston asked.

"Because, as I told you over the telephone, you were seen--in fact, I saw you. I saw you light a match inside the cab, come out with the envelope, look it over quickly, and put it in your pocket. You'll admit these facts?"

"I am advised by my counsel that I'm not obliged to answer!" he laughed.

"On the ground that it will incriminate you?" she asked quickly. "Isn't that tantamount to admitting the fact?"

"That is a matter of argument, it seems to me."

She smiled good naturedly and went on:

"As to your second contingency, Mr. Harleston; the envelope and its contents were left with me for delivery to another party--which I believe gives me the right of possession, as you term it. At any rate, it gives me a better title than yours."

"If the party who left them with you had a good title," he amended. "If, however, he obtained them from--a deserted cab, say--then his title would be no better than you've put in me; not so good, in fact, for according to your tale I have the envelope."

She shrugged again.

"Now as to your third contingency," she went on, "I am not able to say what is the nature of the document, nor whom nor what nation it concerns."

"You mean that you're ignorant of its contents and its nature?" he asked.

She met his glance frankly. "I mean that I haven't any idea of its contents or its purpose."

He slowly tapped his cigarette against the swinging brass ash-receiver.

"Wouldn't it be well, my dear Madame X, to lay your cards on the table--all your cards?"

"I'm perfectly willing, if you'll do likewise," she replied instantly.

He looked at her thoughtfully.

"Very well," he returned. "Let me see your hand and you shall see mine."

"This one?" she smiled, holding it up.

He leaned over and took the long, slim fingers in the tips of his own--and she let him.

"It's mighty pretty," he said, with assumed gravity. "Am I to have it in place of the facts--or along with them?"

"Neither at present," withdrawing her hand. "Business first, Mr. Harleston--and cards on the table."

"You're to play," he smiled, "and whenever you will."

Ordinarily he made up his mind very quickly as to another's sincerity, but she puzzled him. What was the game? And if there were no game so far as she was concerned, how did she happen to be in the very midst of it, and trying to recover--or to obtain--the cipher letter and the photograph? It was a queer situation? the reasonable inferences were against her. Yet--

"I hardly know where to begin," she was saying.

"Begin at the beginning," he advised.

He must appear to credit her story that she was concerned only as an innocent associate. And it was not difficult to do, sitting there beside her in the subdued light, under the witching tones of her voice, and the alluring fascination of her face. The face was not perfect; far from it, if by perfect is meant features accordant with one another and true to type. Her hair was flaming red; her eyes were brown, dark brown, a certain pensiveness in them most inaccordant with the hair; her nose was slender, with sensitive nostrils; her mouth was generous with lips a trifle full; her teeth were exquisitely white and symmetrical--and she showed them with due modesty, yet with proper appreciation of their beauty.

Altogether she was a very charming picture; and throwing away his cigarette, he lighted a cigar and settled back to watch the play of her features and hear the melody of her voice. He was a trifle impressed with the lady--and he was willing that the tale require time and attention. Furthermore, it was his business to observe her critically, so that he might decide as to the matter in hand. In the present instance his business was very much to his liking, but that did not make it any the less business.