Chapter 5

Something of which the lady may have suspected and was prepared to humour. A man must be humoured at times--particularly when the woman is trying for something that can only be come at through his favour or acquiescence.

"To begin at the beginning will make it a long story," she warned.

"Then by all means begin it there," he answered.

"You can endure it?"

"I'm very comfortable; we are alone; and the _light_ is admirable."

"Same here!" she smiled, with a tantalizing glance from the brown eyes. "Can you start me?"

"I might, but I won't. The glory shall all be yours."

"I'm glad there is to be some glory in this affair; there's been little enough so far. However, to begin."

"No hurry, my dear Madame X."

"Don't you want my decision as to dinner?" she asked.

"You can continue the narrative while we dine. Now to begin."

"Then vanish Madame X, and enter Mistress Clephane."

At that moment a woman and a man entered the room from the corridor by the middle door, and crossed to a divan in the corner farthest from Mrs. Clephane and Harleston. The former had her back to them; Harleston was facing their way and saw them.

The man was middle-aged, bald, and somewhat stout--and Harleston recognized one of his visitors of the early morning. The woman was sinuous, with raven hair, dead white complexion, a perfectly lovely face, and a superb figure. Harleston would have known that walk and that figure anywhere and at any time even if he had not seen her face.

It was Madeline Spencer.

VIII

THE STORY

Harleston quickly swung his chair around so that the broad back hid Mrs. Clephane and himself. He was quite sure that she had noticed the pair; though when he glanced at her she was looking thoughtfully at him, as if considering where to begin her story.

"Do you know the two who just came in and are sitting in the far corner," he asked; "the slender woman and the bald-headed man?"

"No," she answered; "except that she is an exceedingly fine-looking woman--as you doubtless have noted."

"I've noted other things!" he smiled.

"About her?"

"No, not about her."

She laughed, deliciously he thought.

"I best get on with my tale," she said. "So, once upon a time, which means, to be accurate, about ten days ago, I took a steamer at Cherbourg for New York. On the boat was a Madame Durrand, whom I had known on the Continent and in London for a number of years. Neither was aware of the other's sailing until we met aboard. I think that it was on the fourth day out she asked me to come to her state-room; there she told me that she was a secret agent of the French Government and the bearer of a most important letter from a high official, written however in his private capacity to their Ambassador in Washington; that she had a presentiment ill fortune would befall her on the way; that there was no one else on the ship in whom she trusted; and that she wanted me to accompany her to Washington, and, if she were to meet with an accident, to deliver the letter to the Ambassador. I consented, wishing to oblige her, and being bound for Washington. She showed me where she carried the letter, and gave me the verbal message that went with it, which was the name of the Minister and that he sent it in his private capacity and not officially.

"I'm not in the secret service of a government, as you doubtless can infer from my knowledge of matters and use of technical language!" she smiled. "And the affair rather fascinated me, I admit, by its unusualness. Moreover, I knew Madame Durrand intimately--how intimately may be inferred from the circumstances.

"Well, we landed, had our baggage chalked, and went to the Plaza for the night. In the morning, we took a taxi to the Pennsylvania Station, were held up by traffic, and were hurrying down the marble steps to catch our train, when a man, hurrying also, jostled Madame Durrand. Her heel caught and she plunged head first down to the landing. Of course men sprang forward to her assistance and picked her up--with her wrist and ankle broken. She was plucky, however, wonderfully plucky. She did not faint, as I'm sure I should have done; she just turned ghastly pale--and said to me, with a bit of smile, motioning for me to bend over her so that none could hear:

"'I told you so, Edith. Here is where you come in.' She slid her hand under her skirt, drew out the envelope, and slipped it to me. 'Hurry!' she said. 'You can yet make the train.'

"But I was obdurate; I wouldn't leave her until she was in a hospital and comfortable. And when she saw I meant it, she smiled--and fainted. Well, instead of the ten o'clock train, I caught the twelve, which should have landed me here at five, but a series of delays, due to accidents ahead; put us at seven. It was, I thought, too late to deliver my letter that evening, so I took a taxi here and had dinner. Then I paid a short visit to some friends at the Shoreham and returned shortly before midnight. I found two notices that I had been called on the telephone at 10:15 and 11:00, by parties who declined to give their names or leave a call. This struck me as queer since no one knew of my being in town except my friends at the Shoreham. A moment after I entered my room, the telephone rang. I answered. A man's voice came back.

"'Who is that?' said he.

"'Whom do you want?' said I.

"'I wish to speak to Mrs. Clephane.'

"'Very well,' said I; 'I'm Mrs. Clephane.'

"'Oh, Mrs. Clephane, we have been trying for you since ten o'clock!' said he. 'The Ambassador wishes to see you at once. Can you be ready to come in fifteen minutes--we'll send a carriage for you?'

"'How did you know'--I began, then stopped. 'Yes, I'll be ready,' said I; 'but let one of the staff come with the carriage.'

"'Oh, of course!' he replied. 'In fifteen minutes, madame?'

"I didn't fancy going out at midnight, yet I had undertaken the matter and I would see it through. I had not changed from my travelling suit and it hadn't a pocket in it; nor had I one such as Madame Durrand employed, so I was carrying the letter pinned inside my waist. Now I took it out and put it in my hand-bag, all the while thinking over the affair and liking it less the more I thought. It was pretty late at night, and there was something suspicious about the affair. I went to the desk and hurriedly wrote a note to the friends that I had just left; then I called a page, and ordered him to take it at once to the Shoreham. On the envelope I had written the instruction that it was not to be delivered until morning.

"As I finished, the telephone rang and Mr. and Mrs. Buissard, I think that was the name, were announced as coming by appointment. I went down at once. Mrs. Buissard was in evening dress, a pretty, vivacious woman, Mr. Buissard was a man of thirty, slender, with a little black moustache and black hair. Somehow I didn't like him; and I was glad he had brought his wife--she was charming.

"They had a cab instead of a car or taxi. We got in and drove up Fourteenth to H, and out H to Sixteenth. As we swung in Sixteenth, the man leaned forward to the window on my side.

"'Look at that!' he exclaimed excitedly.

"As I turned to look, the woman flung her silk wrap over my head and twisted it tightly about my neck.

"I tried to cry out, but a hand closed over my mouth and only a weak gurgle responded.

"'Listen, Mrs. Clephane!' said the man, 'We mean you no harm. Give us the package you have for the French Ambassador, and we will at once return you to your hotel.'

"I'm pretty much a coward, yet I managed to hold myself together and not faint, and to say nothing. I didn't care a straw for the letter, but I didn't fancy being defeated at that stage of the game. I tried to think--but thinking is a bit difficult under such circumstances. Just as the wrap went over my head, my hand happened to be on my hand-bag. I quietly opened it, dropped the letter close along the seat, and closed the bag. Here was a slight chance to balk them--at all events, it was the only course occurring to me at the moment.

"'Has she fainted?' asked the man.

"'I think so,' said the woman, 'or she is scared to death.'

"Here was a suggestion--and I took it. I remained perfectly quiet.

"'Well,' was his answer, 'we're almost there, and it's a lucky chance. No trouble at all, Seraphina.'

"I had felt the cab round several corners; almost immediately after the last it stopped. I'm a trifle hazy as to what they did; but finally I was passed out of the cab like a corpse and carried into a house. There the wrap was removed from my head; I blinked uncertainly, and looked around in a bewildered fashion.

"'Where am I?' I gasped.

"The woman replied, 'You're in absolutely no danger, Mrs. Clephane. We want the package you have for the French Ambassador; when we have it, we will send you back to your hotel.'

"'What is to be done with the cab?' someone asked.

"'Nothing,' another replied. 'The horse will find his way to his stand; he's almost there.'

"'But I haven't any package!' I protested.

"'Come, come!' the woman answered briskly. 'You have it about you somewhere; that was what you were going to the Embassy to deliver?'

"'Who are you?' I demanded.

"'It matters not who we are--we want the package.'

"'The package is not with me,' I remarked. 'It's locked in the hotel safe.'

"'Will you permit yourself to be searched?' she asked, with an amused smile. I knew it was a threat.

"'I'm perfectly willing to submit to a search by _you_,' I said. 'The quicker you set about it, the quicker I'll be released. I don't care for these diplomatic affairs; they may be regular but they seem unnecessarily dangerous. I was simply a substitute anyway, and I won't substitute again; though how you people discovered it I don't see.'

"'Because you're new at the game,' she replied, as we passed into the drawing-room.

"She closed the door--and I soon satisfied her that the package was not concealed about me.

"'I may go now?' I inquired.

"'I think so, but I must consult the Chief,' she replied. 'I'll be back in a minute.'

"They seemed high-class knaves at least; but it was quite evident that the diplomatic game and its secret service were distinctly not in my line. I want no more of them even to oblige a friend in distress. I hate a mess!"

"I'm very glad for this mess," Harleston interjected. "Otherwise I should not have--met you."

"And you are the only compensation for the mess, Mr. Harleston!" she smiled.

She said it so earnestly Harleston was almost persuaded that she meant it--though he replied with a shrug and a sceptical laugh.

"But the woman was long in returning," Mrs. Clephane resumed; "and after a while I put out the light, and going to the window raised the shade. The cab was no longer before the house; it had moved a little distance to the left, and the horse was lying down in the shafts. As I was debating whether to risk the jump from the window, a man came down the street and halted at the cab.--That man was you, Mr. Harleston. The rest of the tale you know much better than I--and the material portion you are to tell me, or rather to give me."

"How did you know the man at the cab was I? You didn't recognize me in the corridor, this afternoon."

"Oh, yes I did--but I waited to see if you would follow me, or would go up to the other woman in black and roses."

"I never was in doubt!" Harleston laughed. "I told you, on the telephone, that I could pick you out in a crowd; after a glimpse of you, I could--" he ended with a gesture.

"Still pick me out," she supplied. "Well, the important thing is that you _did_ pick me out--and that you're a gentleman. Also you forget that your picture has been pretty prominent lately, on account of the Du Portal affair; and besides you've been pointed out to me a number of times during the last few years as something of a celebrity. So, you see, it was not a great trick to recognize you under the electric lights, even at one o'clock in the morning."

Harleston nodded. It was plausible surely. Moreover, he was prepared to accept her story; thus far it seemed straightforward and extremely credible.

"It was about three when you telephoned to me--where were you then?" he asked.

"At the Chateau. They were kind enough to release me about three o'clock, and to send me back in a private car--at least, it wasn't a taxi. Now, have you any other questions?"

"I think not, for the present."

"Have I satisfied you that my tale is true?"

"I am satisfied," he replied.

"Then you will give me the letter?" she said joyfully.

"And what of the roses?"

"I presented them to you last night."

"And of this handkerchief?" drawing it from his pocket.

She took the bit of lace, glanced at it, and handed it back.

"It is not mine," she replied. "Probably it's the other woman's." She held out her hand, the most symmetrical hand Harleston had ever seen. "My letter, please, Mr. Harleston."

"I no longer have the letter," said Harleston.

"Then why did you--" she exclaimed; "but you can lay your hand on it?"

"I can lay my hand on it," he smiled--"whenever you convince me, or I ascertain, that the letter does not concern directly or indirectly the diplomatic affairs of the United States. You forget that was the concluding stipulation, Mrs. Clephane. Meanwhile the letter will not, you may feel assured, fall into the possession of the party who attempted to steal it from you."

"What does it all mean?" she asked, leaning forward. "Who beside France are the parties concerned?"

"It means that some nation is ready to take desperate chances to prevent your letter from reaching the French Ambassador. What actuates it, whether to learn its contents or to prevent its present delivery, I naturally do not know." Then he laughed. "Would it interest you very much to learn, Mrs. Clephane, that I was visited last night by three men, who tried, at the point of the revolver, to force the letter from me?"

"You surely don't mean it!" she exclaimed.

And with this exclamation the last doubt in Harleston's mind of Mrs. Clephane's having aught to do with the night attack vanished--and having acquitted her in that respect, there was scarcely any question as to the sincerity and truth of her tale.

As it has been remarked previously, Mrs. Clephane was very good to look at--and what is more to the point with Harleston, she looked back.

"I had all sorts of adventures, beginning with the cab of the sleeping horse, three crushed roses, a bit of lace, and a letter," he laughed; "and the adventures haven't yet ended, and they grow more interesting as they progress."

"They didn't get the letter?" she asked quickly.

"They got nothing but the trouble of getting nothing," he replied.

"Where is the letter now, Mr. Harleston--is it safe from them?"

There was a note of concern in her voice, and it puzzled him. What else did she know--or didn't she know anything? Was it only his habit in diplomatic affairs to doubt everything that was not undoubtable.

"The letter," he replied, "is with the expert of the State Department for translation."

"What language is it in?" she demanded.

"Cipher language--and a particularly difficult cipher it is. Can you help us out, Mrs. Clephane?"

"I can't, Mr. Harleston; I don't know anything about ciphers. And I told you the whole truth when I said that I neither knew what the envelope contained nor its purpose. What disturbs me is how to explain to the French Ambassador the loss of the letter."

"Tell him the exact truth," said Harleston. "It would have been better possibly had you told him this morning."

"I thought you would return the letter to me," she replied.

"I likely should, had I seen you before I turned it over to the State Department. Now that it has passed out of my hands, it is a matter for the Secretary to decide."

"But he will be advised by you!" she exclaimed.

"Advised, yes,--dominated, no. The only chance of the letter being returned to you, is that it does not affect this government."

"Diplomacy then is willing to stoop to any crime or to profit by any wrong?" she mocked.

"I am afraid I must admit the accusation. Everything is fair in love and war, you know--and diplomacy is only a species of war."

"Have I no redress for the outrage upon me, nor for the loss of the letter by reason of that outrage?"

"I'm afraid you'll find the wheels of justice very slow-moving--when they have to do with affairs diplomatic."

"But the letter, sir?"

"You must remember, Mrs. Clephane, that I found the letter in an abandoned cab."

"And now that you know to whom it belongs," she flashed, "you will not return it?"

"Because I can't! Which brings us back to where we started--and to dinner."

"I will not dine with you!"

"Then let me dine with you!"

"No!"

"Fix it any way you wish, only so that we dine together," he persisted. "I've the cosiest little table reserved for us, and--"

"Mr. Harleston," the page was calling. "Mr. Harles--"

Harleston turned, and the boy saw him.

"Telephone, sir," said he, giving Harleston the call slip.

"Will you excuse me a moment, Mrs. Clephane?" Harleston asked, and hurried out--conscious all the while that Madeline Spencer and her companion were watching him.

"This is Police Headquarters, Mr. Harleston," came the voice over the wire. "Major Ranleigh wants to know if you will meet him at his office at ten o'clock tonight. The Major was called out suddenly or he would have telephoned you, himself!"

"I'll be on hand," Harleston replied, hung up the receiver, and hurried back.

As he entered the red-room, he shot a covert glance toward the place where Mrs. Spencer and her companion had been sitting.

They were gone!

"Yes! Yes!" said he under his breath, and turned toward the corner where he had left Mrs. Clephane.

Mrs. Clephane was gone.

IX

DECOYED

Harleston faced about and surveyed the entire room. Then not content with surveying, he deliberately walked through it, and satisfied himself that Mrs. Clephane was not there--nor Madeline Spencer, nor her bald-headed companion.

He took a turn up and down the corridor, and up and down again. They were not there.

He even walked through the dining-rooms.

Nothing!

"Hum!" said he, at length--and returned to the red-room, and to his chair. It was quite possible that Mrs. Clephane would be back in a moment--yet somehow he doubted.

He waited for a quarter of an hour, and she did not come. He made another tour of Peacock Alley, the lobby, the dining-rooms, and back to the red-room.

Nothing!

He looked at his watch--it was half-after-seven o'clock. He would wait fifteen minutes longer. Then, if she had not come, he would go about his business--which, at present, was to dine.

He sat with his watch in his hand, looking down the room and at those who entered.

The fifteen minutes passed. He put up his watch and arose; the wait was ended.

He crossed the corridor to the dining-room.

"The table in yonder corner, Philippe," he said, to the bowing head-waiter.

"One, Monsieur Harleston?" the man replied; and himself escorted him over and placed him, and took his order for dinner. From which facts it can be inferred that Harleston was something of a personage at the big caravansary.

The clams had just been placed before him, and he was dipping the first one in the cocktail, when Madeline Spencer and the bald-headed man entered and passed to a table--reserved for them--at the far side of the room. Harleston knew that she saw him, though apparently she had not glanced his way. Here was another move in the game; but what the game, and what the immediate object?

His waiter whisked away the clam cocktail and put down the clear turtle.

As Harleston took up his spoon, a page spoke a word to Philippe, who motioned him to Harleston's corner. The next instant the boy was there, a letter on the extended salver--then he faded away.

Harleston put aside the letter until he had finished his soup; then he picked it up and turned it over. It was a hotel envelope, and addressed simply: "Mr. Harleston," in a woman's handwriting--full and free, and, unusual to relate, quite legible. He ran his knife under the flap and drew out the letter. It was in the same hand that wrote the address.

"DEAR MR. HARLESTON:

"I've just seen someone whom I wish to avoid, so won't you be good enough to dine with me in my apartment. It's No. 972, and cosy and quiet--and please come at once. I'm waiting for you--with an explanation for my disappearance.

"EDITH CLEPHANE."

"Hum!" said Harleston, and drummed thoughtfully on the table. Then he arose, said a word to Philippe as he passed, and went out to the elevator.

He got off at the ninth floor and walked down the corridor to No. 972. It was a corner and overlooked Pennsylvania Avenue and Fourteenth Street. He tapped lightly on the door; almost immediately it was opened by a maid--a very pretty maid, he noticed--who, without waiting for him to speak, addressed him as Monsieur Harleston and told him that Madame was expecting him.

Harleston handed the maid his hat, stick, and gloves, and crossed the private hall into the drawing-room.

As he passed the doorway, a heavy silk handkerchief was flung around his neck from behind, and instantly tightened over his larynx; at the same time his arms were pinioned to his side. He could neither make a sound nor raise a hand. He was being garroted. At his first struggle the garrote was twisted; it was be quiet or be strangled. And, queer as it may seem, his first thought was of the garroters of India and the instant helplessness of their victims. In fact, so immediate was his helplessness, that it sapped all will to be otherwise than quiescent.

"Two can play at this game, Mr. Harleston," said a familiar voice, and Crenshaw stepped out in front. "I'm in a better humour now, and more my natural self; I was somewhat peeved in the Collingwood--due to late hours, I think. By the way, it isn't an especially pleasant game for the fellow who is it, Mr. Harleston? I'll take your answer for granted--or we'll let my distinguished colleague answer for you--you know Mr. Sparrow, sir?" as the man with the garrote put his head over Harleston's shoulder. "Answer for Mr. Harleston will you, Sparrow?"

"No, it is not, Mr. Crenshaw," said Sparrow.

"I neglected to ask if you're not surprised to see me, Mr. Harleston?"

"I am indeed," said Sparrow.

"I regret that it was inconvenient for me to remain longer in your apartment, Mr. Harleston--and so I exchanged places with your detective," Crenshaw explained.

"I'm quite content, Mr. Crenshaw," Sparrow replied.

"Yes, certainly, and thank you, Mr. Harleston," Crenshaw smiled. "And now, with your permission, sir, we shall inspect the contents of your pockets, to the end that we may find a certain letter that you wot of--also ourselves."

After the first warning twist, the garrote had been relaxed just enough to permit Harleston breath sufficient for life, yet not sufficient for an outcry; moreover, he knew that at the first murmur of a yell the wrist behind him would turn and he would be throttled into unconsciousness.

There was nothing to do but be quiet and as complaisant as his captors wished, and await developments. And the irony of such a situation--happening in the most crowded and most popular hotel in the Capital, with hundreds of guests at hand, and scores of servants poised to obey one's slightest nod--struck him with all the force of its supreme absurdity. It was but another proof of the proposition that one is never so alone as in the midst of a throng.

He smiled--somewhat chillily, it must be admitted--and whispered, his speaking voice being shut off by the garrote.

"The quicker you look, the sooner I shall, I hope, be released from this rather uncomfortable position."

"Good eye!" said Crenshaw. "You're a reasonable man, Mr. Harleston, it's a pleasure to do business with you."