The Cab of the Sleeping Horse Part 23

When the car shot upward with Mrs. Spencer, Harleston gave a quiet laugh of satisfaction.

"Now shall we go in to dinner?" he asked.

Mrs. Clephane nodded.

"The table in the corner yonder, Philippe," Harleston said.

"Who is Mrs. Spencer?" she inquired, as soon as they were seated.

"You've never heard of her?"

"No--nor seen her before tonight. One is not likely to forget her; she's as lovely as--"

"Original sin?" Harleston supplied.

Mrs. Clephane smiled.

"Not at all," said she. "Diana is the one I was about to suggest."

"She may look the Diana," he replied, "but she's very far from a Diana, believe me, very far indeed."

"I am quite ready to believe it, Mr. Harleston." She lowered her voice.

"I have much to tell you--and," with a quick look at him, "also something to explain."

"Your explanation is not in the least necessary if it has to do with anything Mrs. Spencer said."

"Under the circ.u.mstances I think I should be frank with you. Mrs.

Spencer said just enough to make you suspect me; then she dropped it--and half a lie is always more insidious than the full truth."

"My dear Mrs. Clephane," he protested, "I a.s.sure you it is not necessary--"

"Not necessary, if one is in the diplomatic profession," she cut in.

"Murder and a.s.sa.s.sination both of men and of reputation, seem to be a portion of this horrible business, and perfectly well recognized as a legitimate means to effect the end desired. I'm not in it--diplomacy, I mean,--and I'm mighty thankful I'm not. Mrs. Spencer cold as ice, crafty as the devil, beautiful as sin, and hard as adamant, knowing her Paris and London and its scandals--I suppose she must know them in her profession--instantly recognized me and placed me as Robert Clephane's wife. For I am his wife--or rather his widow. I lied to her because I didn't intend that she should have the gratification of seeing her play win. She sought to distress and disconcert me, and to raise in your mind a doubt of my motives and my story. It may be legitimate in diplomacy, but it's dastardly and inhuman. 'Rumour also had it that he was none too happy in his marriage, and that his Mrs. Clephane was something of the same sort--she was of the type to make men's hearts flutter.' You see, I recall her exact words. And what was I to do--"

"Just what you did do. You handled the matter beautifully."

"Thank you!" she smiled. "Yet she would win in the end--with almost any other man than you. She plays for time; a very little time, possibly. I don't know. I'm new in this business--and can't see far before me.

Indeed, I can't see at all; it's a maze of horrors. If I get out of this mess alive, I'll promise never to get mixed in another."

"Why not quit right now, Mrs. Clephane?" Harleston suggested.

"I won't quit under fire--and with my mission unaccomplished. Moreover, this Spencer gang have ruffled my temper--they have aroused my fighting blood. I never realized I had fighting blood in me until tonight. Mrs.

Spencer's ugly insinuation, topping their attempted abduction of the evening, has done it. I'm angry all through. Don't I look angry, Mr.

Harleston?"

"You're quite justified in looking so, dear lady; as well as in being so," Harleston replied. "Only you don't look it now."

"You're a sad flatterer, sir!" she smiled. "Believe me, had you seen me in the room to which they decoyed me with a false message from you, you would believe that I can look it--very well look it."

"So that was the way of it!" Harleston exclaimed "Tell me about it, Mrs.

Clephane. I was sure that you were a prisoner somewhere in this hotel; to find you every room was being inspected."

"Why did you think I was a prisoner in the midst of all this gaiety?"

she asked.

"Because I was lured by a message purporting to be from you to the ninth floor and garroted. I escaped. However, that is another story; yours first, my lady."

"You too!" she marvelled.

He nodded. "And now we are sitting together at dinner, looking at the crowd, and you're about to tell me your story."

"Thanks to you for having escaped and rescued me!" Mrs. Clephane exclaimed.

"The management devised the way."

"But _you_ prompted it--you are the one I have to thank."

"If you insist, far be it from me to decline! It's well worth anything I can do to--have you look at me as you're looking now."

"I hope I'm looking half that I feel," she replied instantly.

"A modest man would be more than repaid by half the look," he returned.

"Are you a modest man?" she smiled.

"I trust so. At least, I am with some people."

"You're giving every instance of it with me, though it may be a part of the game; even the rescue may be a part of the game. You may be playing me against Mrs. Spencer, and taking advantage of my inexperience to accomplish your purposes--"

"You don't think so!" he said, with a shake of his head.

"No, I don't. And maybe that only proves my inexperience and unfitness."

For a moment he did not reply. Was _she_ playing _him_? Was it a ruse of a clever woman; or was it the evidence of sincerity and innocence? It had the ring of candour and the appearance of truth. No one could look into those alluring eyes and that fascinatingly beautiful face and harbour a doubt of her absolute guilelessness. Yet was it guilelessness?

He had never met guilelessness in the diplomatic game, save as a mask for treachery and deceit. And yet this seemed the real thing. He wanted to believe it. In fact, he did believe it; it was simply the habit of his experience warning him to beware--and because it was a woman it warned him all the more.... Yet he cast experience aside--and also the fact that she was a woman--and accepted her story as truth. Maybe he would regret it; maybe she was playing him; maybe she was laughing behind her mask; maybe he was all kinds of a fool--nevertheless, he would trust her. It was--

"I'm glad you have decided that I'm not a diplomat--and that you will trust me," she broke in. "I'm just an ordinary woman, Mr. Harleston, just a very ordinary woman."

He held out his hand. She took it instantly.

"A very extraordinary woman, you mean, dear lady," he said gravely. "In some ways the most extraordinary that I have ever known."

"It's not in the line of diplomacy, I hope," she shrugged.

"Not the feminine line, I a.s.sure you; Madeline Spencer is typical of it, and the top of her cla.s.s--which means she is wonderfully clever, inscrutable as fate, and without scruple or conscience. No, thank G.o.d, you do not belong in the cla.s.s of feminine diplomats!"

"Thank you, Mr. Harleston!" she said gently, permitting him, for an instant, to look deep into her brown eyes. "Now, since you trust me, I want to refer briefly to Mrs. Spencer's insinuation."