The Cab of the Sleeping Horse. John Reed Scott
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 traces of the roses remaining, he went to bed.
Two minutes after his head touched the pillow, he was asleep.
Presently he awoke—listening!
Some one was on the fire-escape. The passage leading to it was just at the end of his suite; more than that, one could climb over the railing, and, by a little care, reach the sill of his bedroom window. This sill was wide and offered an easy footing. If the window were up, one could easily step inside; or, even if it were not, the catch could be slipped in a moment.
Harleston's window, however, was up—invitingly up; also the window on the passage; it was a warm night and any air was grateful.
He lay quite still and waited developments. They came from another quarter: the corridor on which his apartment opened. Someone was there.
Then the knob of his door turned; he could not distinguish it in the uncertain light, yet he knew it was turning by a peculiarly faint screech—almost so faint as to be indistinguishable. One would not notice it except at the dead of night.
The door hung a moment; then cautiously it swung back a little way, and two men entered. The moon, though now low, was sufficient to light the place faintly and to enable them to see and be seen.
For a brief interval they stood motionless. They came to life when Harleston, reaching up, pushed the electric button.
"What can I do for you, gentlemen?" he asked, blinking into their levelled revolvers.
They were medium-sized men and wore evening clothes; one was about forty-five and rather inclined to stoutness, the other was under forty and rather slender. They were not masked, and their faces, which were strange to Harleston, were the faces of men of breeding, accustomed to affairs.
"You startled us, Mr. Harleston," the elder replied; "and you blinded us momentarily by the rush of light."
"It was thoughtless of me," Harleston returned. He waved his hand toward the chairs. "Won't you be seated, messieurs—and pardon my not arising; I'm hardly in receiving costume. May I ask whom I am entertaining."
"Certainly, sir," the elder smiled. "This is Mr. Sparrow; I am Mr. Marston. We would not have you put yourself to the inconvenience, not to mention the hazard from drafts. You're much more comfortable in bed—and we can transact our business with you quite as well so; moreover if you will give us your word to lie quiet and not call or shoot, we shall not offer you the slightest violence."
"I'll do anything,"