"Think of the scandal that will ensue!" Crenshaw cried.

"It won't affect me!" Harleston laughed.

"Won't affect you?" the other retorted. "Maybe it won't--and maybe it will!"

"We shall try it," Harleston remarked, and picked up the telephone.

Crenshaw watched him with a snarling sneer on his lips.

Harleston gave the private number of the police superintendent. He himself answered.

"Major Ranleigh, this is Harleston. I'd like to have a man report to me at the Collingwood at once.--No; one will be enough, thank you. Have him come right up to my apartment. Good-bye!--Now if you'll excuse me for a brief time, Mr. Crenshaw, I'll get into some clothes--while you think over the question whether you will explain or go to prison."

"You will not dare!" Crenshaw laughed mockingly. "Your State Department won't stand for it a moment when they hear of it--which they'll do at ten o'clock, if I'm missing."

"Let me felicitate you on your forehandedness," Harleston called from the next room. "It's admirably planned, but not effective for your release."

"h.e.l.l!" snorted Crenshaw, and relapsed into silence.

Presently Harleston appeared, dressed for the morning.

"Why not spread your cards on the table, Crenshaw?" he asked. "I did stumble on the deserted cab this morning, wholly by accident; I was on my way here. I did find in it a letter and these roses, and I brought them here. I don't know if you know what that letter contained--I do.

It's in cipher--and will be turned over to the State Department for translation. What I want to know is: first--what is the message of the letter, if you know; second--who was the woman in the cab, and the facts of the episode; third--what governments, if any, are concerned."

"You're amazingly moderate in your demands," Crenshaw sarcasmed; "so moderate, indeed, that I would acquiesce at once but for the fact that I'm wholly ignorant of the contents of the letter. The name of the woman, and the episode of the cab are none of your affair; nor do the names of parties, whether personal or government, concern you in the least."

"Very well. We'll close up the cards and play the game. The first thing in the game, as I said a moment ago, Crenshaw, is not to squeal when you are in a hole and losing."

A knock came at the door. Harleston crossed and swung it open.

A young man--presumably a business man, quietly-dressed--stood at attention and saluted. If he saw the bound man in the chair, his eyes never showed it.

"Ah, Whiteside," Harleston remarked. "I'm glad it is you who was sent.

Come in.... You will remain here and guard this man; you will prevent any attempt at escape or rescue, even though you are obliged to use the utmost force. I'm for down-town now; and I will communicate with you at the earliest moment. Meanwhile, the man is in your charge."

"Yes, Mr. Harleston!" Whiteside answered.

"I want some breakfast!" snapped Crenshaw.

"The officer will order from the cafe whatever you wish," Harleston replied; and picking up his stick he departed, the letter and the photograph in the sealed envelope in his inside pocket.

As he went out, he smiled pleasantly at Crenshaw.

V

ANOTHER WOMAN

Harleston walked down Sixteenth Street--the Avenue of the Presidents, if you have time either to say it or write it. The Secretary of State resided on it, and, as chance had it, he was descending the front steps as Harleston came along.

Now the Secretary was duly impressed with all the dignity of his official position, and he rarely failed to pull it on the ordinary individual--c.o.c.key would be about the proper term. In Harleston, however, he recognized an unusual personage; one to whom the Department was wont to turn when all others had failed in its diplomatic problems; who had some wealth and an absolutely secure social position; who accepted no pecuniary recompense for his service, doing it all for pure amus.e.m.e.nt, and because his government requested it.

"It's too fine a day to ride to the Department," said the Secretary.

"It's much too fine, really, to go anywhere except to the Rataplan and play golf."

Harleston agreed.

"I'll take you on at four o'clock," the Secretary suggested.

"If that is not a command," said Harleston, "I should like first to consult you about a matter which arose last night, or rather early this morning. I was bound for your office now. I can, however, give you the main facts as we go along."

"Proceed!" said the Secretary. "I'm all attention."

"It may be of grave importance and it may be of very little--"

"What do you think it is?"

"I think it is of first importance, judging from known facts. If Carpenter can translate the cipher message, it will--"

"The Department has full faith in your diagnosis, Harleston. You're the surgeon; you prescribe the treatment and I'll see that it is followed.

Now drive on with the story."

"It begins with a letter, a photograph, a handkerchief, three American Beauty roses--all in the cab of the sleeping horse--"

"G.o.d bless my soul!" exclaimed the Secretary.

"--at one o'clock on Ma.s.sachusetts Avenue and Eighteenth Street."

"Is the horse still asleep, Harleston?"

"The horse awoke, and straightway went to his stand in Dupont Circle!"

Harleston laughed and related the incidents of the night and early morning, finishing his account in the Secretary's private office.

"Most amazing!" the latter reflected, eyes half-closed as though seeing a mental picture of it all.

Then he picked up the photograph and studied it awhile.

"So this is the wonderful Madeline Spencer--who came so near to throwing our friend, the King of Valeria, out of his Archdukeship, and later from his throne. I remember the matter most distinctly. I was a friend of the Dalberg family of the Eastern Sh.o.r.e, and of Armand Dalberg himself." He paused, and looked again at the picture. "H-u-m! She is a very beautiful woman, Harleston, a very beautiful woman! I think I have never seen her equal; certainly never her superior. These dark-haired, cla.s.sic featured ones for me, Harleston; the pale blonde type does not appeal.

The peroxides come of that cla.s.s." Again the photograph did duty. "I could almost wish that she were the lost lady of the cab of the sleeping horse--so that I might see her in the flesh. I've never seen her, you know."

Harleston smoothed back a smile. The Secretary too was getting sentimental over the lady, and he had never seen her; though he had known of her rare doings; and those doings had, it appeared, had their natural effect of enveloping her in a glamour of fascination because of what she had done.

"You've seen her?" the Secretary asked.

"I've known her since she was Madeline Cuthbert. Since then she's had a history. Possibly, taken altogether she's a pretty bad lot. And she is not only beautiful; she's fascinating, simply fascinating; it's a rare man, a very rare man, who can be with her ten minutes and not succ.u.mb to her manifold attractions of mind and body."