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"You're excused until morning," said the Chief curtly. The detective saluted and went out. "I am exceedingly sorry I overlooked Whiteside when I escaped from Crenshaw's garrote in the Chateau," Harleston remarked. "The simple fact is, I clean forgot him until I was talking with you on the telephone." "It's just as well, Mr. Harleston," Ranleigh replied. "It served him right.
It was a hotel envelope, and addressed simply: "Mr. Harleston," in a woman's handwriting full and free, and, unusual to relate, quite legible. He ran his knife under the flap and drew out the letter. It was in the same hand that wrote the address. "DEAR MR. HARLESTON: "I've just seen someone whom I wish to avoid, so won't you be good enough to dine with me in my apartment.
Clephane might be innocent, likely was innocent of any intention to come between Harleston and her, but that did not relieve Mrs. Clephane from punishment, nor herself from the chagrin of defeat and the sorrow of blasted hopes.
Keep me advised if anything turns up. It seems peculiar, and it may be only a personal matter and not an affaire d'état. At all events, you've a pleasant interview before you." "Maybe I have and maybe I haven't!" Harleston laughed and he and Carpenter went out, passing the French Ambassador in the anteroom. Harleston went straight to Police Headquarters. The Chief was waiting for him.
Harleston returned at a quarter to three, and Ranleigh showed him into the small room at the rear, provided with every facility for seeing what went on and overhearing and reducing what was said in the Superintendent's private office. Promptly at three, Mrs. Winton was announced by appointment, and was instantly admitted.
In fact, I understand that she has more than made good professionally, as well as fascinated at least half a dozen Cabinet Ministers besides. "Wilhelm-strasse?" Clarke queried. Harleston nodded. "She is in the German Secret Service." "They trust her?" Clarke marvelled.
Of the young men more or less coming under the influence of the Childs’s, perhaps one of the most successful was the late Bernard Bolingbroke Woodward, Librarian to her Majesty. When I first knew him he was in a bank at Norwich. Thence he passed to Highbury College, and in due time, after he had taken his B.A. degree, settled as the Independent minister at Wortwell, near Harleston, in Norfolk.
"They seemed high-class knaves at least; but it was quite evident that the diplomatic game and its secret service were distinctly not in my line. I want no more of them even to oblige a friend in distress. I hate a mess!" "I'm very glad for this mess," Harleston interjected. "Otherwise I should not have met you." "And you are the only compensation for the mess, Mr. Harleston!" she smiled.
Clephane has told me," Harleston replied. The Fifth Assistant Secretary picked up a ruler and sighted carefully along the edge. "I seem to be in wrong, old man," he said. "Please forget that I ever said it or anything you understand." "My dear fellow, don't be an ass!" Harleston laughed. "I'm not sensitive about the lady; I never saw her until last night."
You're much more comfortable in bed and we can transact our business with you quite as well so; moreover if you will give us your word to lie quiet and not call or shoot, we shall not offer you the slightest violence." "I'll do anything," Harleston smiled, "to be relieved of looking down those unattractive muzzles. Ah! thank you! The chairs, gentlemen!" with a fine gesture of welcome.
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