The Cab of the Sleeping Horse Part 41

XVIII

DOUBT

At N, the next cross-street, the taxi turned west. Instantly Harleston made for the corner. When he got there, the machine was swinging north into Connecticut Avenue. He ran down N Street at the top of his speed.

When he reached the avenue the car was not in sight, nor was there any one on the street as far as Dupont Circle; and as thoroughfares radiate from the Circle as the spokes of a wheel from the hub, the taxi could have gone in practically any direction.

So he gave over running--running after a taxi-cab was not in his line--and resumed his walk northward. At Dupont Circle he found a lone cab with a drowsy negro on the box; who came quickly to life, however, at his approach.

"Cab, seh, cab?" he solicited.

"Which way did the yellow taxi go that just came up Connecticut Avenue?"

Harleston asked.

"Out Ma.s.sachu'ts abenu', seh, ya.s.s seh.--Cab, seh?"

"Drive out Ma.s.sachusetts Avenue," Harleston directed, getting in. "If you see a taxi, get close to it."

"I'll do hit, seh, ya.s.s seh!" said the negro, as he climbed on the box and jerked the lines.

But though they went out the avenue to beyond Sheridan Circle, and back again, and along the streets north of P and west of Twentieth, no taxi was seen--nor any trace of Madeline Spencer. They drove over the route for more than an hour--and never raised a yellow taxi nor a skirt.

Finally Harleston abandoned the search and headed the cab for the Collingwood.

Miss Williams was on duty when he entered, and she signalled him to the desk.

"The Chateau has been trying to get you for the last half-hour," said she. "Shall I call them?"

"If you please," he replied, "I'll wait here."

Presently she nodded to Harleston; he stepped into the booth and closed the door.

"This is Mr. Harleston," said he.

"I recognize your voice, Guy, dear," came Madeline Spencer's soft tones. "I'd know it _anywhere_, indeed."

"The same to you, my lady," Harleston returned. "Was that what you were calling me for?"

"No, no!" she laughed. "I just wanted to tell you that I'm back at the Chateau. I thought you might be interested, you know; you sprinted so rapidly up N Street, and spent so much time driving around in a cab searching for me, that I a.s.sume it will be a very great relief to you to know that I am returned. It was such a satisfaction, Guy, to feel that you were so solicitous for my safety, and I appreciate it, my dear, I appreciate it. Meanwhile, you might wish to get busy as to my _alter ego_. I saw her going up Sixteenth Street, as I was returning--a little after eleven o'clock. Maybe _she_ needs a.s.sistance, Guy; you never can tell. See you tomorrow, old enemy. Good-bye for tonight."

"I say--are you there, Madeline?" Harleston e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed; then asked again. When no one answered he hung up the receiver and came from the booth. Spencer, that time, had put one over him; two, maybe, for he _was_ concerned about Mrs. Clephane. Spencer had gone without her shadow, been free to transact her business, and returned--and all the time she knew of pa.s.sing him and his pursuit of her, and was enjoying his discomfiture. To add a trifle more uneasiness, she had thrown in the matter of Mrs. Clephane. Probably it was false; yet he could not be sure and it troubled him. All of which, he was aware, Mrs. Spencer intended--and took a devilish joy in doing.

Harleston made a couple of turns up and down the room; then he sat down and drummed a bit on the table; finally he reached for the telephone. It was very late, but he would call her--she would understand.

He got the Chateau and, giving his name, asked whether Mrs. Clephane was on the first floor of the hotel. In a few minutes the answer came: she was not; should they give him her apartment? He said yes. Presently a sleepy voice answered. He recognized it as Marie--the maid--and had some difficulty in convincing her of his ident.i.ty. He did it at last only by speaking French to her--which, as he had hitherto addressed her only in French, was not extraordinary.

And, being convinced, she answered promptly enough that Mrs. Clephane was not in--she had gone down-stairs about two hours ago telling her not to wait up. She had no idea where Mrs. Clephane went; she had said nothing about leaving the hotel.

"Ask her to call me at the Collingwood the moment she comes in," said Harleston.

Then he got Ranleigh and told him of the Spencer episode and of Mrs.

Clephane's disappearance.

"You would better put Mrs. Clephane under lock and key--or else stay with her and keep her from rash adventures," Ranleigh commented.

"I quite agree with you," said Harleston. "Meanwhile I might inquire where was Mrs. Spencer's shadow while she was taxiing up the avenue?"

"I fancy he was on his job, though you may not have seen him," Ranleigh replied. "His report in the morning will tell."

"I would sooner have a report as to Mrs. Clephane's whereabouts,"

Harleston remarked.

"I can't see what good she would be to them now?" said Ranleigh. "She hasn't a thing they want."

"Granted; yet where is she? moreover, she promised me to do nothing unusual and to beware of traps."

"She has the feminine right to reconsider," Ranleigh reminded him.

"However, I'll instruct the bureau to get busy and--"

"Wait until morning," Harleston interjected. "If Mrs. Clephane hasn't appeared by nine o'clock, I'll telephone you."

Harleston leaned back in his chair frowning. Was.h.i.+ngton was not a large city, yet under certain circ.u.mstances she could be lost in it--and stay lost, with all the efforts of the police quite unavailing to find her.

It seemed improbable that she had been abducted; as Ranleigh had said, they had nothing to gain from her. She could neither advance their plans nor hinder them; she was purely a negative quant.i.ty. Spencer might be striking at him through Mrs. Clephane, intending to hold her surety for his neutrality, or to feed her own revenge, or maybe both. Yet, somehow, he could not hold to the notion; it was too petty for their game.

Moreover, Spencer knew that it would be ineffective, and she was not one to waste time in methods, petty or inefficient. Of course, it might be that she had merely twitted him about the episode, as a jealous woman would do.

And yet what could have taken Mrs. Clephane from the hotel at such an hour, and without apprising her maid; and why was she driving up Sixteenth Street? Or was Spencer's talk just a lie; intended to throw a scare into him and give him a bad quarter of an hour--until he would venture to call up Mrs. Clephane's apartment? And if he did not venture, the bad quarter would last the balance of the night. At all events and whatever her idea Madeline Spencer had succeeded in disturbing him to an unusual degree--and all because of Mrs. Clephane.

At last he sprang up, threw on a light top-coat, grabbed a hat, and made for the door. He would go down to the Chateau and investigate. Anything was preferable to this miserable waiting.

The corridor door was swinging shut behind him, when his telephone buzzed. He flung back the door and reached the receiver in a bound.

"Yes!" he exclaimed.

"I forgot to say, Guy," came Madeline Spencer's purring voice, "that I'll tell you in the morning, if you care to pay me a visit, how my _alter ego_ came to be on Sixteenth Street at so unusual an hour. It's rather interesting as to details. By the way, you must be sitting beside the receiver expecting a call; you answered with such amazing promptness!" and she laughed softly. "Shall I expect you at eleven, or will you be content to wait until we go to the Department at four?"

"I had just finished talking with Mrs. Clephane when you called,"

Harleston replied imperturbably, then laughed mockingly. "I'll be at the Chateau for you at half-after-three; you can give me the details then. I shall be delighted, Madeline, to compare your details with hers."

"I wonder!" said she.

"What do you wonder?" said he.

"Whether you are--well, no matter; we'll take it up this afternoon.

_Tout a l'heure, Monsieur Harleston_!"

He was turning once more toward the door, when the telephone rang again.