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"A French message in an English envelope, inclosing an unmounted photograph of Madeline Spencer, a well-known German Secret Agent in Paris," Carpenter remarked slowly; "and the letter is borne by Madame Durrand to the French Ambassador. You see, my intuition was right? the letter is in French; and as it is of French authorship the key-word is French. That narrows very materially our search.
And France would infinitely prefer the United States to have the letter rather than Germany. It's unfortunate, but it's not as unfortunate as it might be." "You make me feel much, oh, so much better!" Mrs. Clephane replied. "I feared lest my blunder could never be forgiven nor forgotten; and that Madame Durrand would be held responsible and would never again be trusted."
Clephane told him the whole story, from the time she met Madame Durrand on the steamer to the present moment omitting only the immaterial personal portions occurring between Harleston and herself, and the fact that his taxi had escorted hers until she was at the Embassy.
"It is to explain its loss, and to warn the Ambassador that I am here." "His Excellency is exceedingly busy will you not relate the circumstances to me?" "My instructions from Madame Durrand are most specific that I am to deal only with his Excellency," Mrs. Clephane explained with such a dazzling smile that the secretary's eyes fairly popped.
"But let me ask you to explain, if you can, why Madame Durrand has not made a written report of this matter to the Embassy?" "I have no idea unless she is ill." "Broken bones do not usually prevent one from writing, or dictating, a letter." "It is peculiar!" Mrs. Clephane admitted. "What is the name of the hospital?" the Marquis asked.
"Might not our friends the enemy have bribed someone to suppress Madame Durrand's letter or wire?" Mrs. Clephane asked. "Very possibly. It is entirely likely that they wouldn't be apt to stop with the accident." "You think they were responsible for Madame Durrand's fall?" she exclaimed. "Have you forgotten the man who jostled Madame Durrand?" the Marquis reminded. "To be sure!
"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.
She shrugged her answer over her shoulder, and peremptorily motioned him to a chair. "Madame Durrand has been located," she began. "The Embassy telephoned me that she is in Passavant Hospital, getting along splendidly; and that she duly wired them of her accident and of my having the letter, with an identifying description of me. The wire was never received."
"In the hurry and excitement I quite forgot to ask the name," she replied. "The station officials selected it. I was thinking of her Madame Durrand, I mean more than the name of the hospital. I don't even know the street; though it's somewhere in the locality of the station. It is dreadfully stupid of me, your Excellency, not to know but I don't."
"Then inform the French Ambassador of all the facts and circumstances and retire from the game," he advised. "Shall I inform him over the telephone?" she asked. "You would never get the Ambassador on the telephone, unless you were known to some one of the staff who could vouch for you." "I don't know anyone on the staff, but Mrs. Durrand has likely communicated with the Embassy."
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