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Harleston's life isn't sufficiently valuable to the nation," she replied, "I prefer to shoot you, if necessary though I trust it won't be necessary. What's a mere scrap of paper, without value save as a means to detect its author, compared to the life of the greatest American diplomat? Moreover, the letter would yield you nothing as to its meaning nor its author.
Chartrand's involuntary assistance." "Very good, madame!" said Marston. "The trouble, you see, came with that chap Harleston's butting into the affair. Who would have foreseen that he would happen along just at that particular moment and scoop the letter without turning a hair. It was rotten luck sure." "It was all easy enough if the blundering fools had only exercised an atom of sense," Mrs.
Harleston's window, however, was up invitingly up; also the window on the passage; it was a warm night and any air was grateful. He lay quite still and waited developments. They came from another quarter: the corridor on which his apartment opened. Someone was there.
The pajamaed one glared at the flowers and the envelope; then he turned and flung them into a corner of the living-room. "Hell!" he said in disgust. "Harleston's either crazy or in love: it's the same thing anyway." He slammed the door and went back to bed. Harleston, chuckling, returned to his quarters; retrieved from the floor a leaf and a petal and tossed them out of the window.
You came to me to report and I, knowing Harleston, solved the remainder of the mystery. But with Harleston's entry the affair assumed quite a different aspect; and it is no reflection on you, Marston, that your expedition to his apartment didn't succeed; though somewhat later Crenshaw did act as a semi-reasonable man, and secured the letter only to foozle again like an imbecile.
Harleston's whole conduct was rather unusual the open door, the open safe, the unemployed revolver, were not in accordance with the game they were playing. He should have made a fight, some sort of a fight, and not "The letter's not in the safe," Sparrow reported. "I didn't think it was," said the other, "but we had to make search."
Clephane, with an exclamation of fear, laid her hand on Harleston's arm. Carpenter was impassive. Harleston suppressed a smile. "Tell them if I can shoot straight, Guy," Mrs. Spencer said pleasantly; "and meanwhile do you all keep your exact distance and position. Speak your piece, Mr. Harleston tell his Excellency if I can shoot." "I am quite ready to assume it without the testimony of Mr.
Harleston's mamma heard of these revolutionary sentiments she put her foot down. There were friends about Miss Mercy none too sorry to witness the discomfiture of this lofty aspirant. Poor Jamie, I fear, got some cross looks for his share in the matter; and tears, which were harder still to bear.
The noise on the fire-escape was undoubtedly made by them, and the long interval that elapsed before they entered his apartment was consumed in reporting to her, or in locating his number. One thing, however, was not clear: how they had learned so promptly of Harleston's part in the affair, and that it was he who had taken the letter from the cab.
The tears were in Commander Harleston's eyes. "I will not," said Mr. Bowdoin. "Over twenty thousand dollars, dear me, dear me! And we have our directors' meeting to-day. Well, well. I am glad, at least, poor Jamie has his little girl again," and Mr. Bowdoin took his hat and prepared to go. "I only hope I'm too late. James, go on ahead. Harley, my boy, I'm afraid we know it all."
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