The Cab of the Sleeping Horse | Page 6

interposed.
"You do not know me, Mr. Harleston."
"Hence, your name?"
"When we meet, you'll know me by my voice."
"True, mademoiselle, for it's one in a million; but as yet we are not met, and you desire to talk business."
"And I'm going to talk business!" she laughed.
"And I shall not give you my name--or, if you must, know me as Madame X. Are you satisfied?"
"If you are willing to be known as Madame X," he laughed back, "I haven't a word to say. Pray begin."
"Being assured now that you have never before heard my voice, and that you have it fixed sufficiently in your memory--all of which, Mr. Harleston, wasn't in the least necessary, for we shall meet today--we will proceed. Ready?"
"Ready, mademoiselle--I mean Madame X."
"What do you intend to do, sir, in regard to the incident of the deserted cab with the sleeping horse?" she asked.
"I have not determined. It depends on developments."
"You see, Mr. Harleston, you were not in the least surprised at my question."
"For a moment, a mere man may have had a clever woman's intuition," he replied.
"And, I suppose, the woman will be expected to aid developments."
"Isn't that her present intention?"
"Not at all! Her present intention is to avoid developments so far as you are concerned, and to have matters take their intended course. It's to that end that I have ventured to call you."
"What do you wish me to do, Madame X?"
"As if you did not know!" she mocked.
"I'm very dense at times," he assured her.
"Dense!" she laughed. "Shades of Talleyrand, hear the man! However, as you desire to be told, I'll tell you. I wish you to forget that you saw anything unusual on your way home this morning, and to return the articles you took from the cab."
"To the cab?" Harleston inquired.
"No, to me."
"What were the articles?"
"A sealed envelope containing a message in cipher."
"Haven't you forgotten something?"
"Oh, you may keep the roses, Mr. Harleston, for your reward!" she laughed.
She had not missed the handkerchief, or else she thought it of no consequence.
"Assuming, for the moment, that I have the articles in question, how are they to be gotten to you?"
"By the messenger, I shall send."
"Will you send yourself?"
"What is that to you, sir?" she trilled.
"Simply that I shall not even consider surrendering the articles, assuming that I have them, to any one but you."
"You will surrender them to _me_?" she whispered.
"I won't surrender them to any one else."
"In other words, I have a chance to get them. No one else has a chance?"
"Precisely."
"Very well, I accept. Make the appointment, Mr. Harleston."
"Will five o'clock this afternoon be convenient?"
"Perfectly--if it can't be sooner," she replied, after a momentary pause. "And the place?"
"Where you will," he answered. He wanted her to fix it so that he could judge of her good faith.
And she understood.
"I'm not arranging to have you throttled!" she laughed. "Let us say the corridor of the Chateau--that is safe enough, isn't it?"
"Don't you know, Madame X, that Peacock Alley is one of the most dangerous places in town?"
"Not for you, Mr. Harleston," she replied. "However--"
"Oh, I'll chance it; though it's a perilous setting with one of your adorable voice--and the other things that simply must go with it."
"And lest the other things should not go with it," she added, "I'll wear three American Beauties on a black gown so that you may know me."
"Good! Peacock Alley at five," he replied and snapped up the receiver.

III
VISITORS
"The affair promises to be quite interesting," he confided to the paper-knife, with which he was spearing tiny holes in the blotter of the pad. "Peacock Alley at five--but there are a few matters that come first."
He went straight to the safe, unlocked it, took out the photograph, the cipher message, and the handkerchief, carried these to the table and placed them in a large envelope, which he sealed and addressed to himself. Then with it, and the three American Beauties, he passed quickly into the corridor and to an adjoining apartment. There he rang the bell vigorously and long.
He was still ringing when a dishevelled figure, in blue pajamas and a scowl, opened the door.
"What the devil do you--" the disturbed one growled.
"S-h-h!" said Harleston, his finger on his lips. "Keep these for me until tomorrow, Stuart."
And crowding the roses and the envelope in the astonished man's hands, he hurried away.
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. Then, being assured by a careful inspection of the room that there were no further