The Cab of the Sleeping Horse Part 14

He leaned over and took the long, slim fingers in the tips of his own--and she let him.

"It's mighty pretty," he said, with a.s.sumed gravity. "Am I to have it in place of the facts--or along with them?"

"Neither at present," withdrawing her hand. "Business first, Mr.

Harleston--and cards on the table."

"You're to play," he smiled, "and whenever you will."

Ordinarily he made up his mind very quickly as to another's sincerity, but she puzzled him. What was the game? And if there were no game so far as she was concerned, how did she happen to be in the very midst of it, and trying to recover--or to obtain--the cipher letter and the photograph? It was a queer situation? the reasonable inferences were against her. Yet--

"I hardly know where to begin," she was saying.

"Begin at the beginning," he advised.

He must appear to credit her story that she was concerned only as an innocent a.s.sociate. And it was not difficult to do, sitting there beside her in the subdued light, under the witching tones of her voice, and the alluring fascination of her face. The face was not perfect; far from it, if by perfect is meant features accordant with one another and true to type. Her hair was flaming red; her eyes were brown, dark brown, a certain pensiveness in them most inaccordant with the hair; her nose was slender, with sensitive nostrils; her mouth was generous with lips a trifle full; her teeth were exquisitely white and symmetrical--and she showed them with due modesty, yet with proper appreciation of their beauty.

Altogether she was a very charming picture; and throwing away his cigarette, he lighted a cigar and settled back to watch the play of her features and hear the melody of her voice. He was a trifle impressed with the lady--and he was willing that the tale require time and attention. Furthermore, it was his business to observe her critically, so that he might decide as to the matter in hand. In the present instance his business was very much to his liking, but that did not make it any the less business.

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 Amba.s.sador in Was.h.i.+ngton; that she had a presentiment ill fortune would befall her on the way; that there was no one else on the s.h.i.+p in whom she trusted; and that she wanted me to accompany her to Was.h.i.+ngton, and, if she were to meet with an accident, to deliver the letter to the Amba.s.sador. I consented, wis.h.i.+ng to oblige her, and being bound for Was.h.i.+ngton. 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 circ.u.mstances.

"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 a.s.sistance 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 Sh.o.r.eham 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 Sh.o.r.eham. 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 Amba.s.sador 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.'