"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 circ.u.mstances; 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 a.s.surance.--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 doc.u.ment."

"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 Peac.o.c.k Alley!"

VII

SURPRISES

Peac.o.c.k 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!"