The Cab of the Sleeping Horse Part 42

"Is that Mr. Harleston?" said Mrs. Clephane's lovely voice--and Harleston's grin almost flowed into the transmitter.

"It is indeed!" he responded--then severely: "Where have you been, my lady? You have given me a most horrible fright."

"I cry your pardon, my lord; I'll not transgress again," she laughed.

"And if you don't scold me I'll tell you something--something I'm sure will be worth even a diplomat's hearing."

"Anything you would tell would be well worth any diplomat's hearing,"

said he; "only I shall always prefer to be the diplomat on duty when you are doing the telling!"

"That's deliciously nice, Mr. Harleston; I--"

"Where are you now?" he demanded.

"At the Chateau--in my apartment. Anything more?"

"Nothing; except to pray you to be prudent and not do it again."

"I'll promise--until I see you." She lowered her voice--"Are you there, Mr. Harleston?"

"I'm here--since I can't be with you there," he replied.

"a.s.suredly not! I'm not exactly in receiving attire. Meanwhile the morning--and Madame Brunette's doings. Good-night, _Mon camarade_."

XIX

MARSTON

At nine o'clock the next morning, Marston tapped gently on the door of Madeline Spencer's apartment, and was immediately admitted by the demure maid; who greeted him with a smile, which he repaid with a kiss--several of them, indeed--and an affectionate and pressing arm to her shapely and slender waist.

"I suppose monsieur wants to see my mistress," said she.

"Now that I've seen you, yes, little one," Marston returned, with another kiss.

"Have you seen me, monsieur?"

"Not half long enough, my love; but business before pleasure. There's another now, so run along and do your devoir."

She fetched him a tiny slap across his cheek, for which she was caught and made to suffer again; then she wriggled loose, and, with a flirty backward kick at him, disappeared through the inner doorway.

In a moment she returned, dropped him a bit of curtsy, and informed him that her mistress would receive him.

He rewarded her with another caress, which she accepted with a.s.sumed shyness--and a wicked little pinch.

"I'll pay you later for the pinch!" he tossed back, softly.

She answered with an affected shrug and a wink.

"Elise _is_ remarkably pretty!" Madeline Spencer remarked when he entered the boudoir. She was sitting up in bed, eating her rolls and coffee--a bewildering negligee of cerise and cream heightening the effect of her dead-white colouring and raven-black hair.

Marston drew in his breath sharply, then sighed.

"And _you_ are ravis.h.i.+ngly beautiful, my lady," he replied.

"You like this robe?" she asked.

"I--like you; what you may wear is incidental. It merely increases the effect of your wonderful personality."

"My good Marston!" she smiled. "What a faithful friend you are; always seeing my few good points and being blind to my many bad."

"And being always," he added, bowing low, "your most humble and loving servant."

"I know it--and I am very, very grateful." She put aside the tray and languidly stretched her lithe length under the sheet. "What have you to report, Marston?" she asked.

"I have to report, madame," said Marston, with strict formality of a subordinate to his chief, "that I have procured the French code-book."

"Good work!" she exclaimed, sitting up sharply. "However did you manage it?"

"By the a.s.sistance of one Jimmy-the-Snake. He visited the French Emba.s.sy last night, and persuaded the safe to yield up the code. It would have been better, I admit, to copy the code and then replace it, but it wasn't possible. He had just sufficient time to grab the book and make a get-away. Someone was coming."

"You've accomplished enough even though we don't obtain the letter" she approved. "I shall recommend you for promotion, Marston."

She took the thin book and glanced through it until she came to the key-words of the Blocked-Out Square--the last key-word was the one the Count de M---- had given her. After all, the Count was not so bad; and he was handsome; thus far dependable; and he was, seemingly at least, in love with her. She might do worse.... Yet he was not Harleston; there never was but one equal to Harleston, and that one was lost to her. She shut her lips tightly and a far-away look came into her eyes. And now Harleston, too, was lost to her; and--she lifted her hands resignedly, and laughed a mirthless laugh. As she came back to reality, she met Marston's curiously courteous glance with a bit of a shrug.

"Pardon my momentary abstraction," she said softly; "I was pursuing a train of thought--"

"And you didn't overtake it," he remarked.

"I can never overtake it. I haven't the requisite speed. Did you ever miss your two greatest opportunities, Marston?"

"I've missed my greatest," Marston replied instantly. "Oh--it was out of my cla.s.s, so I never started."

"It may have been a mistake, my friend," she observed; "one never can tell until he's tried it--and failed. I mightn't have missed had I gone on another schedule. However, the past is to profit by, and to forget if we can't remember it pleasantly. So let us return to the business in hand, Marston; it's a rattling business and a fascinating, and at it you and I are not to be altogether despised," throwing him a bewitching smile.

"Don't!" he exclaimed. "I'm not stone."

"Forgive me, my friend!" putting out her hand to him.

Marston simply bowed, "I think it wiser to refrain," he said gently, and bowed again. "By all means let us to the business in hand."

He understood her nature better than she thought. The sympathy in her was, for the moment, real enough, but it was only for the moment; the love of admiration was the controlling note--what she sought and what she played for. She felt the sympathy while it lasted, but it was the effect as to herself, the selfish effect, that inspired the sensation.

When a beautiful woman stoops to sympathy, it is rare indeed that she does not thereby arouse admiration for herself. Madeline Spencer may have been cold and shrewd and selfish and calculating, yet with it all she was warm-hearted; but the warm heart never got away with the cool head--unless it was with that head's permission and for its benefit. She played men--and men played her--but the man that had won was not yet to be found. Two only of those whom she tried had failed to succ.u.mb to her fascinating alluringness--and these two she had loved, and still did both love and hate.

"Returning then to the code-book and the letter," said she. "How about the latter; have you found Carpenter susceptible to persuasion?"