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You'll join the throng, if she has occasion to need you, and gives you half a chance." "I'm married!" said the Secretary. "I'm quite aware of it!" "I'm immune!" "And yet you're wishing to see her in the flesh!" Harleston smiled. "I think I can safely take the risk!" smoothing his chin complacently. "Other men have thought the same, I believe, and been burned.
And now, as this letter has served its purpose, I'll take the liberty of destroying it," tearing it into bits and putting the bits in his pockets, "lest one of us be liable for forgery. Now for the pocket-book; you found something in mine, you may remember, Mr. Harleston." Harleston gave a faint chuckle.
The message is written on French paper, enclosed in an English envelope. However, the facts you have may clear up that phase of the matter." "Here are the facts, as I know them," said Harleston. Carpenter leaned back in his chair, closed his eyes, and listened.
"There's nothing but to overturn everything in the place and so on; and that will require a day." "So that you replace things, I've not the slightest objection," Harleston interjected. "Bang away, sirs, bang away! Anything to relieve me from suspicion." "It prevents him from sleeping!" Sparrow laughed. "Also yourselves," Harleston supplemented.
No, thank God, you do not belong in the class of feminine diplomats!" "Thank you, Mr. Harleston!" she said gently, permitting him, for an instant, to look deep into her brown eyes. "Now, since you trust me, I want to refer briefly to Mrs. Spencer's insinuation." "Robert Clephane was all that she said and more.
"Your State Department won't stand for it a moment when they hear of it which they'll do at ten o'clock, if I'm missing." "Let me felicitate you on your forehandedness," Harleston called from the next room. "It's admirably planned, but not effective for your release." "Hell!" snorted Crenshaw, and relapsed into silence. Presently Harleston appeared, dressed for the morning.
"Did you tell Monsieur Harleston your opinion of our vocation?" he asked. "I did somewhat more emphatically." "And what, if you care to tell, did he say?" "He quite agreed with me; he even went further." "Wise man, Harleston!" the Marquis chuckled. "Implying that he was not sincere?" The Marquis threw up his hands. "Perish the thought!
Does not this personal understanding signify that the delivery of the formula has been arranged, maybe even effected." Harleston nodded. With Madeline Spencer it was, he knew, business first and personal matters afterward. "I think we shall see the end of the affair of your cipher letter and its ramifications before the afternoon is over," he replied. "What about the French Embassy?" she asked.
Meanwhile, what concerned Harleston was the photograph of Madeline Spencer and her connection with the case and to know if the United States was concerned in the affair. At this point he turned over and calmly went to sleep. Tomorrow was another day. He was aroused by a vigorous pounding on the corridor door. It was seven-thirty o'clock.
"The message is, I should confidently say, written in English or French, with the chances much in favour of the latter," he said, when Harleston had concluded. "Everyone concerned is English or American; the men who descended upon you so peculiarly and foolishly, and who showed their inexperience in every move, were Americans, I take it, as was also the woman who telephoned you.
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