"Is he afraid?"

"No, only inexperienced in deception and over cautious. Moreover, it is a serious business."

"Particularly since Harleston is on the trail?" Marston added.

Mrs. Spencer nodded again. "We'll pray that he does not uncover the matter until we are up and away."

"If we pray, it should be effective!" Marston laughed.

"It likely will be--one way or the other," she returned drily. "However, if we are careful, a prayer more or less won't effect much damage. It's really up to the--man in the case. If he can get away with it, we can manage the rest."

"And if he can't?"

"Then there will be nothing on us, unless the Clephane letter is translated and implicates me by name--or Paris resorts to cable. If it were not for France's meddling, it would be ridiculously simple so far as we are concerned; everything would be up to the man."

"And you do not know who the man is, nor what he is about to betray?"

Marston asked.

"I do not--nor am I in the least inquisitive, despite the fact that I'm a woman. I haven't even so much as tried to guess. I was ordered here under express instructions; which are to meet someone who will communicate with me by letter in which a certain phrase will occur.

Thereafter I am to be guided by him and the circ.u.mstances until I receive from him a certain package, when I am instantly to depart the country and hurry straight to Berlin. Whether I am to receive a copy of a secret treaty between our friends or our enemies, a diplomatic secret of high importance, a report on the fortifications or forces of another nation, or what it is, I haven't the slightest idea. It's all in the game--and the game fascinates me; its dangers and its uncertainty. Some other nation wants what Germany is about to get; some other nation seeks to prevent its betrayal; some other nation seeks to block us; someone else would even murder us to gain a point--and our own employer would not raise a hand to seek retribution, or even to acknowledge that we had died in her cause. They laud the soldier who dies for his flag, but he who dies in the secret service of a government is never heard of. He disappears; for the peace or the reputation of nations his name is not upon the public rolls of the good and faithful servants. It's risky, Marston; it's thankless; it's without glory and without fame; nevertheless it's a fascinating game; the stakes are incalculable, the remuneration is the best."

"You're quite right as to those high up in the service," Marston remarked, "the remuneration, I mean, but not as to us poor devils who are only the p.a.w.ns. We not only have no glory nor honour, but considering the danger and what we do we are mightily ill paid, my lady, mightily ill paid. The fascination and danger of the game, as you say, is what holds us. At any rate, it's what holds me--and the pleasure of working sometimes with you, and what that means."

"And we always win when together because we are in accord," she smiled, holding out her hand to him. "Team work, my good friend, team work!"

He took the hand, and bending over raised it to his lips with an air of fine courtesy and absolute devotion.

"And we shall win this time, Marston," she went on, "we shall sail for Europe before the week is ended--I'm sure of it."

"I shall be satisfied if we never sail--or sail always," he returned, and slowly released her fingers and stepped back.

She paid him with a ravishing smile; and Madeline Spencer, when she wished, could smile a man into fire--and out again. It was too soon for the "out again" with Marston. He was very useful--he was not restless, nor demanding, nor sensitive, nor impatient of others, nor jealous. He was like a faithful dog, who adores and adores, and pleads only to be allowed to adore. Moreover, he was a capable man and trustworthy; dependable and far above his cla.s.s. Therefore she took care that his chains should be silken, yet at the same time that he be not permitted to graze too far afield.

"I wonder," Marston was saying, after a little thought, "if Carpenter, the Chief of the Secret Bureau of their State Department, might be purchasable--if we made him a good stiff bid?"

"I don't know," she answered. "It isn't likely, however; he is too old and tried an official to be venal. Furthermore we haven't any money at hand, and my instructions are to act independently of the German Emba.s.sy, and under no circ.u.mstances whatever to communicate with it. In such business as we are engaged, the Emba.s.sy never knows us nor of our plans. They don't dare to know; and they will calmly deny us if we appeal to them."

"The money might be arranged," Marston suggested. "You could cable to Berlin for it--and have it cabled back."

"It might be done," said she thoughtfully. "You mean to try Carpenter for a copy of the cipher letter?"

"It won't do any particular harm, as I see it; it can't make us any worse off and it may give us the letter. It's worth the trial, it seems to me."

"But if Carpenter has not succeeded in finding the key-word, how will the letter help? Do you expect to bribe the French Emba.s.sy also?"

"It may not be necessary," he replied. "I know a number of keys of French ciphers; one of them may fit."

"Very well," said she quietly; "you are empowered to have a try at Carpenter."

"Good--I'll start after it at once. Any further orders, madame?"

"None till evening," again holding out her hand--and again smiling him into kissing it adoringly.

"A useful man, Marston!" she reflected when the door closed behind him.

"And one who never presumes. A smile pays him for anything, and keeps him devoted to me. Yes, a very useful and satisfactory man. His idea of corrupting Carpenter may be rather futile; and he may get into a snarl by trying it, but," with a shrug of her shapely shoulders, "that is his affair and won't involve me. And if he should prove successful, the new French key-word which the Count, the dear Count, gave me just before I left Paris, may turn the trick."

The Count de M---- was confidential secretary to the Foreign Minister, and he had slipped her the bit of paper containing the key-word at a ball, two evenings before she sailed on her present mission. He was not aware that she was sailing, nor was she; the order came so suddenly that she and her maid had barely time to fling a few things in a couple of steamer trunks and catch the last train. She had fascinated the Count; for a year he had been one of her most devoted, but most discreet, admirers. He also was exceedingly serviceable. Hence she took pains to hold him.

Languidly she reached for her little gold mesh bag--the one thing that never left her--and from a secret pocket took several slips of paper.

"Why, where is it!" she exclaimed, looking again with greater care....

"The devil! I've lost it!"

However, after a moment of thought, she recalled the key-word, and the rule that he whispered to her--also the squeeze he gave her hand, and the kiss with the eyes. The Count had fine eyes--he could look much, very much.... She smiled in retrospection.... Yet how did she drop that bit of paper--and where?... Or did she drop it?... All the rest were there. It was very peculiar.... She had referred to the De Neviers slip on last Sat.u.r.day--and she distinctly remembered that the Count's was there at that time. Consequently she must have dropped it on Sunday when she was studying the Rosny matter, and then she was in this room--and Marston and Crenshaw and Sparrow were in the next room.--H-u-m.... Well, the Count wrote in a woman's hand; and the finder cannot make anything out of the words:

_a l'aube du jour_.

XV

IDENTIFIED

So it happened, that on the same day and practically at the same hour Carpenter gave instructions looking to the pilfering of the French private diplomatic cipher, Marston began to lay plans to test Carpenter's venality, and Madeline Spencer betook herself to Union Station to meet the man-in-the-case, whose face she had never seen, and whose name she did not know.

She went a roundabout way, walking down F Street and stopping to make some trifling purchases in two or three shops. She could not detect that she was being followed, but she went into a large department store, and spent considerable time in matching some half-dozen shades of ribbon. On the way out she stepped into a telephone booth, and directed the dispatcher at the Chateau to send a taxi to Brentano's for Mrs.

Williams. By the time she had leisurely crossed the street the taxi was there; getting in, she gave the order to drive to Union Station by way of Sixteenth Street and Ma.s.sachusetts Avenue. As she pa.s.sed the Chateau, she saw Mrs. Clephane and Harleston coming out; a bit farther on they shot by in a spanking car.

She drew back to avoid recognition; but they were too much occupied with each other, she observed, even to notice the occupant of the humble but high-priced taxi. At Scott Circle their car swung westward and disappeared down Ma.s.sachusetts Avenue; she turned eastward, toward tomorrow's rising sun, Union Station, and the rendezvous--with hate in her heart for the woman who had displaced her, and a firm resolve to square accounts at the first opportunity. Mrs. Clephane might be innocent, likely was innocent of any intention to come between Harleston and her, but that did not relieve Mrs. Clephane from punishment, nor herself from the chagrin of defeat and the sorrow of blasted hopes. The balance was against her; and, be it man or woman, she always tried to balance up promptly and a little more--when the balancing did not interfere with the business on which she was employed. Madeline Spencer, for one of her sort, was exceptional in this: she always kept faith with the hand that paid her.

At Union Station she dismissed the taxi and walked briskly to the huge waiting-room. There she dropped the briskness, and went leisurely down its long length to the drug stand, where she bought a few stamps and then pa.s.sed out through the middle aisle to the train shed, inquiring on the way of an attendant the time of the next express from Baltimore. To his answer she didn't attend, nevertheless she thanked him graciously, and seeing the pa.s.sengers were beginning to crowd through the gates from an incoming train she turned toward them, as if she were expecting someone. Which was true--only it was not by train.

It had been five minutes past the hour, by the big clock in the station, when she crossed the waiting-room; by the time the crowd had pa.s.sed the gates, and there was no excuse for remaining, another five had gone. The appointment was for three exactly. She had not been concerned to keep it to the minute, but the man should have been; as a woman, it was her prerogative to be careless as to such matters; moreover she had found it an advantage, as a rule, to be a trifle late, except with her superiors or those to whom either by position or expediency it was well to defer. With such she was always on time--and a trifle more.

As she turned away, a tall, fine-looking, well set-up, dark-haired, clean-cut, young chap, who had just rounded the news-stand, grabbed off his hat and greeted her with the glad smile of an old acquaintance.

"Why, how do you do, Mrs. Cuthbert!" he exclaimed. "This is an unexpected pleasure, and _most opportune_."

There was a slight stress on the last two words:--the words of recognition.

"Delightful, Mr. _Davidson_!" she returned--which continued the recognition--taking his extended hand and holding it.

"Can't I see you to your car, or carriage, or whatever you're using?" he asked.

"You may call a taxi," she replied; "and you may also come with me, if you've nothing else to do."

"I'm too sorry. There has been a--mixup, and it is _impossible_ now, Mrs. Cuthbert. _I have an important appointment at the Capitol._" Which completed the recognition.