Part 41 (1/2)

XVIII

DOUBT

At N, the next cross-street, the taxi turned west. Instantly Harleston made for the corner. When he got there, the machine was swinging north into Connecticut Avenue. He ran down N Street at the top of his speed.

When he reached the avenue the car was not in sight, nor was there any one on the street as far as Dupont Circle; and as thoroughfares radiate from the Circle as the spokes of a wheel from the hub, the taxi could have gone in practically any direction.

So he gave over running--running after a taxi-cab was not in his line--and resumed his walk northward. At Dupont Circle he found a lone cab with a drowsy negro on the box; who came quickly to life, however, at his approach.

”Cab, seh, cab?” he solicited.

”Which way did the yellow taxi go that just came up Connecticut Avenue?”

Harleston asked.

”Out Ma.s.sachu'ts abenu', seh, ya.s.s seh.--Cab, seh?”

”Drive out Ma.s.sachusetts Avenue,” Harleston directed, getting in. ”If you see a taxi, get close to it.”

”I'll do hit, seh, ya.s.s seh!” said the negro, as he climbed on the box and jerked the lines.

But though they went out the avenue to beyond Sheridan Circle, and back again, and along the streets north of P and west of Twentieth, no taxi was seen--nor any trace of Madeline Spencer. They drove over the route for more than an hour--and never raised a yellow taxi nor a skirt.

Finally Harleston abandoned the search and headed the cab for the Collingwood.

Miss Williams was on duty when he entered, and she signalled him to the desk.

”The Chateau has been trying to get you for the last half-hour,” said she. ”Shall I call them?”

”If you please,” he replied, ”I'll wait here.”

Presently she nodded to Harleston; he stepped into the booth and closed the door.

”This is Mr. Harleston,” said he.

”I recognize your voice, Guy, dear,” came Madeline Spencer's soft tones. ”I'd know it _anywhere_, indeed.”

”The same to you, my lady,” Harleston returned. ”Was that what you were calling me for?”

”No, no!” she laughed. ”I just wanted to tell you that I'm back at the Chateau. I thought you might be interested, you know; you sprinted so rapidly up N Street, and spent so much time driving around in a cab searching for me, that I a.s.sume it will be a very great relief to you to know that I am returned. It was such a satisfaction, Guy, to feel that you were so solicitous for my safety, and I appreciate it, my dear, I appreciate it. Meanwhile, you might wish to get busy as to my _alter ego_. I saw her going up Sixteenth Street, as I was returning--a little after eleven o'clock. Maybe _she_ needs a.s.sistance, Guy; you never can tell. See you tomorrow, old enemy. Good-bye for tonight.”

”I say--are you there, Madeline?” Harleston e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed; then asked again. When no one answered he hung up the receiver and came from the booth. Spencer, that time, had put one over him; two, maybe, for he _was_ concerned about Mrs. Clephane. Spencer had gone without her shadow, been free to transact her business, and returned--and all the time she knew of pa.s.sing him and his pursuit of her, and was enjoying his discomfiture. To add a trifle more uneasiness, she had thrown in the matter of Mrs. Clephane. Probably it was false; yet he could not be sure and it troubled him. All of which, he was aware, Mrs. Spencer intended--and took a devilish joy in doing.

Harleston made a couple of turns up and down the room; then he sat down and drummed a bit on the table; finally he reached for the telephone. It was very late, but he would call her--she would understand.

He got the Chateau and, giving his name, asked whether Mrs. Clephane was on the first floor of the hotel. In a few minutes the answer came: she was not; should they give him her apartment? He said yes. Presently a sleepy voice answered. He recognized it as Marie--the maid--and had some difficulty in convincing her of his ident.i.ty. He did it at last only by speaking French to her--which, as he had hitherto addressed her only in French, was not extraordinary.

And, being convinced, she answered promptly enough that Mrs. Clephane was not in--she had gone down-stairs about two hours ago telling her not to wait up. She had no idea where Mrs. Clephane went; she had said nothing about leaving the hotel.

”Ask her to call me at the Collingwood the moment she comes in,” said Harleston.

Then he got Ranleigh and told him of the Spencer episode and of Mrs.