"When can you come to see me?" she asked. "I'm at the Chateau."

"I hope tomorrow, if I'm not suddenly tied up. You will be disengaged?"

"I've absolutely nothing on hand for tomorrow," she replied.

"Fine!" he returned. "I think I can manage to come about one and take you out for luncheon."

"That will be charming!" she smiled.

"Where would you like to go--to the Rataplan?"

"Wherever you suggest," she replied. "I'll leave it to you where we shall go and what we shall have."

"You're always considerate and kind," he averred. "If nothing untoward occurs, it will be a fine chance to talk over old times, to explain everything, and to arrange for the future."

"That will be charming!"

"And unless I am disappointed in a _certain matter_, I shall have a surprise for you."

"I shall welcome the surprise."

"We both shall welcome it, I think!" he laughed. "It seems a long time since I've seen you, Madeline," he added.

"It seems a long time to me, too, Billy. We must do better now, old friend. Come to Paris and we'll make such a celebration of it that the Boulevards will run with--gaiety."

"I shall come. Meanwhile--tomorrow." He raised his stick to the taxi dispatcher. "I'm sorry to leave you," he confided to her.

"Let me take you as far as the Capitol," she urged.

"Not today. Wait until I come to Paris--then you may take me where you will and how."

"I like you, Billy!" she exclaimed.

"And I've something more to tell you," he whispered, as he put her in and closed the door. "The Chateau!" he said to the driver then stepping back, he doffed his hat and waved his hand.

"Yes, I like you, Mr. Davidson," she smiled, as the taxi sped away, "but I'll like you better when the present business is completed and I'm in Paris--without you."

He was a handsome chap enough, and he would have considerable money when the present business was completed, yet, somehow he did not appeal, even to her mercenary side. Moreover she no longer dealt in his sort.

Time was when he would have served admirably, but she was done with plucking for plucking's sake. She plucked still, but neither so ruthlessly nor so omnivorously as of yore. She did not need; nor was she so gregarious in her tastes. She could pick and choose, and wait--and have some joy of _Him_ and take her time; be content not to pluck him clean, and so retain his friendship even after he had been displaced.

With her now it was the man in high office or of high estate at whom she aimed--and her aim was usually true. Neither with one of her tastes and tendencies was monogamy apt to be attractive nor practiced--though at times it subserved her expediency. At present, it was the Count de M----, an English Cabinet Minister, and a Russian Grand Duke;--but _discreetly_, oh, so discreetly that none ever dreamed of the others, and the public never dreamed of them. To all outward appearances, she dwelt in the odor of eminent respectability and sedate gaiety.

"Drive slowly through Rock Creek Park until I tell you to return," she ordered the man when they had pa.s.sed beyond the station; then withdrew into a corner of the taxi, and busied herself with her thoughts.

It was almost two hours later that she gave him the Collingwood as a destination.

At the Collingwood she dismissed the taxi, and without sending up her name pa.s.sed directly up to Mrs. Chartrand's apartment.

Miss Williams, who was on duty at the telephone desk, saw her--and whistled softly. The instant the elevator door clanged shut, she rang Harleston.

"If you can come down a moment, Mr. Harleston," she said softly, "I have some interesting information for you; it may not be well to--you know."

"I'll be down at once," Harleston replied.

When he appeared, it was with his hat and stick, as though he were going out.

"If anyone calls, Miss Williams," he remarked, pausing by her desk, "I'll be back in about half an hour."

"Very well, Mr. Harleston," she replied. Then she lowered her voice.

"Your slender lady of the ripples, of the other night, has just come in.

She's young, and a perfect peach for looks."

"Who is she?" he asked.

"I don't know. She didn't have herself announced; she went straight on up. Ben!" motioning to the elevator boy, "where did the slender woman, you just took up, get off?"

"At the fou'th flo', Miss Williams," said Ben. "She went into fo' one."

"You're sure of that?"

"Yas, Miss," the negro grinned, "I waited to see."

Miss Williams nodded a dismissal.

"Four one is Chartrands' apartment," she remarked.

"Is this the lady of the ripples?" Harleston asked, handing her the photograph of Madeline Spencer.

"Sure thing!" she exclaimed. "That's she, all right. How in the world did you ever--pardon me, Mr. Harleston, I shouldn't have said that."

"You're not meddling, Miss Williams. But it's a long story--too long to detail now. Some day soon I'll confide in you, for you've helped me very much in this matter and deserve to know. In fact, you've helped me more than you can imagine. Meanwhile mum's the word, remember."

"Mum, it is, Mr. Harleston," she replied, "For once a telephone girl won't leak, even to her best friends."

"I believe you," Harleston returned. "Keep your eyes open, also your _ears_, and report to me anything of interest as to our affair."

Miss Williams answered with a knowing nod and an intimate little smile, then swung around to answer a call. Harleston returned to his rooms. The happenings of the recent evening were quite intelligible to him now:

When the episode of the cab of the sleeping horse occurred, Mrs. Spencer was in the Chartrand apartment. Marston, in some way, had learned of Harleston's partic.i.p.ation in the cab matter, and with Sparrow had followed him to the Collingwood, entering by the fire-escape--with the results already seen. The noise on the fire-escape was undoubtedly made by them, and the long interval that elapsed before they entered his apartment was consumed in reporting to her, or in locating his number.

One thing, however, was not clear: how they had learned so promptly of Harleston's part in the affair, and that it was he who had taken the letter from the cab. Either someone had seen him at the cab and had babbled to the Marston crowd, or else Mrs. Winton or Mrs. Clephane had not been quite frank in her story. He instantly relieved Mrs. Clephane of culpability; Mrs. Winton did not count with him. Moreover, it was no longer of any moment--since Spencer's people knew and had acted on their knowledge, and were still acting on it--and were still without the letter. The important thing to Harleston was that it had served to disclose what promised to be a most serious matter to this country, and which, but for the trifling incident of the cab, would likely have gone through successfully--and America been irretrievably injured.

Madeline Spencer had a.s.sured him that the United States was not concerned; that the matter had to do only with a phase of the Balkan question. But such a.s.surances were worthless and given only to deceive, and, further, were so understood by both of them. Maybe her story was true--only the future would prove it. Meanwhile you trust at your peril, _caveat emptor_, your eyes are your market, or words to similar effect.

Of course he could cause her to be apprehended by the police, yet such a course was unthinkable; it would violate every rule of the game; it would complicate relations with Germany, and afford her adequate ground for reprisals on our secret agents. A certain code of honour obtained with nations, as well as with criminals.

As he opened the door, the telephone rang. He took up the receiver.

"h.e.l.lo!" he said.