The Cab of the Sleeping Horse Part 20

"Wireless," she laughed, "or community of interests?"

"I don't know--the impression was vivid enough, while it lasted, for you to have been in the room."

"Maybe I was--in spirit."

"I'm sure of it," he replied. "How long have you been in Was.h.i.+ngton, Madeline?"

"You should have felt my proximity as soon as I arrived," she responded.

"I felt it nearing when you left Paris--and growing closer as time went on. You see, I have a remarkable intuition as--to you."

"Charming!" she trilled. "Why not get a _penchant_ for me, as well?"

"Maybe I have--and don't venture to declare myself."

"You!" she mocked

"Meaning that I can't get a _penchant_, or that I am not afraid to declare?"

"Both!" she laughed. "Now quit talking nonsense and tell me about yourself. What have you been doing, and what are you doing?"

"At the very profitable and busy occupation of killing time," he replied.

"Of course, but what else?"

"Nothing!"

"What, for instance, were you doing last night?"

"Last night? I dined at the Club, played auction and went home at a seemly hour."

"Home? Where is that?"

"The Collingwood."

"And what adventure befell you on the way--if any?"

"Adventure? I haven't had an adventure since I left the Continent."

"Sure?"

"Perfectly. I wish I had--to vary the monotony."

She traced a diagram on the rug with the tip of her slipper.

"It depends on what you regard as an adventure," she smiled. "I should think the episode of the cab, with what followed at your apartment, was very much in that line?"

"Oh, to be sure!" exclaimed Harleston, with an air of complete surprise.

"However did--Great Heavens, Madeline, were _you_ the woman of the roses and the cab?"

"You know that I wasn't!" she replied.

"Then how do you know of the cab of the sleeping horse, and what followed?" he inquired blandly.

"I dreamed it."

"Wonderful! Simply wonderful!"

She nodded tolerantly. "Why keep up the fiction?" she asked. "You know that I am concerned in your adventure--just as I know of your adventure.

I was on the street, or in the house, or was told of it, whichever you please; it's all one, since you know. Moreover you have seen me with one of your early morning callers, as I meant you to do." She leaned forward and looked at him with half-closed eyes. "Will you believe me, Guy, when I say that the United States is not concerned in the matter--and that it should keep its hands off. You stumbled by accident on the deserted cab.

A subordinate blundered, or you would not have found it ready for your investigation--and you've been unduly and unnecessarily inquisitive. We have tried to be forbearing and considerate in our efforts to regain it, but--"

"Regain, my dear Madeline, implies, or at least it conveys an idea of, previous possession. Did Germany--I beg your pardon; did your client in this matter have such--"

"I used regain advisedly," she broke in.

"Because of your possession of the lady, or because of your independent possession of the letter?"

"You're pleased to be technical," she shrugged.

"Not at all!" he replied. "I'm simply after the facts: whether the letter belongs to you, or to the mysterious lady of the cab?"

"Who isn't in the least mysterious to you."

"No!"

"Really, you're delicious, Mr. Harleston; though I confess that _you_ have _me_ mystified as to your game in pretending what you and I know is pretence."

"You're pleased to be enigmatic!" Harleston laughed.

"Oh, no I'm not," she smiled, flas.h.i.+ng her rings and watching the flashes--and him. "You saw me, and you know that I saw you; and I saw you and know that you saw me. Now, as I've said it in words of one syllable, I trust you will understand."

"I understand," said he; "but you have side-stepped the point:--To whom does this lost letter belong: to you or to--"

"Mrs. Clephane?" she adjected.

"Exactly: to you, or to Mrs. Clephane?"

"What does that matter to you--since it does not belong to _you_?"

"I may be a friend of Mrs. Clephane? Or I may regard myself as a trustee for the safe delivery of the letter."

"A volunteer?"

"If you so have it!" he smiled.

She beat a tattoo with her slender, nervous fingers, looking at him in mild surprise, and some disapproval.

"Since when does sentiment enter the game?" she asked.