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Updated: May 9, 2025
"You mean it?" she asked. "I mean it and more when I may." "The 'more' and the 'may' are in the future," she remarked. "Meanwhile, what have you to report?" "Very considerable," said he. "Mrs. Spencer was in the Collingwood, this afternoon in the Chartrands' apartment. And the telephone girl recognized her as the woman who left the building on the night of the cab." "That explains a lot to you!"
"At Chartrands?" "No, in Union Station." "It's a long way to go," Marston observed. "So I intimated, but without avail." "Is he afraid?" "No, only inexperienced in deception and over cautious. Moreover, it is a serious business." "Particularly since Harleston is on the trail?" Marston added. Mrs. Spencer nodded again. "We'll pray that he does not uncover the matter until we are up and away."
So he sent for the manager of the Collingwood, and asked as to the Chartrands. The manager's information, which was definite if not extensive, was to the effect that the Chartrands were people of means from Denver, with excellent social position there, and with connections in Washington. They had been tenants of the Collingwood less than a week, having sublet the Dryand apartment.
It was a large apartment. Mr. Chartrand was possibly forty-five, his wife thirty-eight or forty and exceedingly good-looking. There was, of course, no record kept of their visitors, nor did the house know who they were entertaining the previous evening. He was entirely sure, however, that the Chartrands were above suspicion. Mrs.
"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.
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