XI—Half A Lie
“Somewhat unexpected, isn’t it?” Harleston asked.
“To whom—you, her, or myself?” Mrs. Spencer inquired.
“To you.”
“Not at all. I’m never surprised at anything!” Then just a trace of derision came into her face. “Won’t you present me, Mr. Harleston?”
“Certainly, I will,” he responded gravely, and arose.
“Another unexpected!” she mocked. “But she is good to look at, Guy, I must grant you that. Also—” and she laughed lightly.
“One moment,” said he tranquilly, and turned toward Mrs. Clephane—who had caught sight of him and was undecided what to do.
Now, smiling adorably, she came to meet him.
“The two beauties of the season!” he thought; and as he bowed over her hand he whispered: “Not a word of explanation now; and play ignorance of everything.—Understand?”
“I don’t understand—but I’ll do as you direct,” she murmured.
“I want to present you to Mrs. Spencer—the woman whom, you will recall, I asked you in the red-room if you recognized. Be careful, she is of the enemy—and particularly dangerous.”
“Everyone seems to be dangerous except myself,” she replied. “I’m an imbecile, or a child in arms.”
“I’m not dangerous to you,” he answered.
“That, sir, remains to be proven.”
“And I like your idea of the child in arms—provided it’s my arms,” he whispered.
Her reply was a reproving glance from her brown eyes and a shake of the head.
“I’m delighted to meet you, Mrs. Clephane,” Mrs. Spencer greeted, before Harleston could say a word. She made place on the divan and drew Mrs. Clephane down beside her. “You’re Robert Clephane’s widow, are you not?”
“Robert Clephane was, I believe, a distant cousin,” Mrs. Clephane responded. “De Forrest Clephane was my husband. Did you know him, Mrs. Spencer?”
“I did not. Robert—” with the faintest stress on the name—“was the only Clephane I knew. A nice chap, Mrs. Clephane; though, since you’re not his widow, I must admit that he was a bit gay—a very considerable bit indeed.”
“We heard tales of it,” Mrs. Clephane replied imperturbably. “It is an ungracious thing, Mrs. Spencer, to scandalize the dead, but do you know anything of his gayness from your own experience?”
Harleston suppressed a chuckle. Mrs. Clephane would take care of herself, he imagined.
Mrs. Spencer’s foot paused in its swinging, and for an instant her eyes narrowed; then she smiled engagingly, the smile growing quickly into a laugh.
“Not of my own experience, Mrs. Clephane,” she replied confidentially, “but I have it from those who do know, that he set a merry pace and travelled the limit with his fair companions. It was sad, too—he was a most charming fellow. Rumour also had it that he was none too happy in his marriage, and that his Mrs. Clephane was something of the same sort. I’ve seen her several times; she was of the type to make men’s hearts flutter.”
“It’s no particular trick to make men’s hearts flutter,” said Mrs. Clephane sweetly.
“How about it, Mr. Harleston?” Mrs. Spencer asked.
“No trick whatever,” he agreed, “provided she choose the proper method for the particular man; and some men are easier than others.”
“For instance?” Mrs. Spencer inflected.
“No instance. I give it to you as a general proposition and without charge; which is something unusual in these days of tips and gratuities and subsidized graft and things equally predatory.”
Mrs. Spencer arose. “The mere mention of graft puts me to instant flight,” she remarked.
“And naturally even the suggestion of a crime is equally repugnant to you,” Mrs. Clephane observed.
“‘As a general proposition,’” Mrs. Spencer quoted.
“And general propositions are best proved by exceptions, n’est-ce pas?” was the quick yet drawling answer.
The two women’s eyes met.
“I trust, Mrs. Clephane, we shall meet again and soon,” Mrs. Spencer replied, extending her hand.
“Thank you so much,” was Mrs. Clephane’s answer.
Mrs. Spencer turned to Harleston with a perfectly entrancing smile.
“Good-night, Guy,” she murmured.—“No, sir, not a foot; I’m going up to my apartment.”
“Then we will convoy you to the elevator. Come, Mr. Harleston.”
“It is only a step,” Mrs. Spencer protested.
“Nevertheless,” said Mrs. Clephane, “we shall not permit you to brave alone this Peacock Alley and its heedless crowd.”
And putting her arm intimately through Mrs. Spencer’s she went on: with Harleston trailing in the rear and chuckling with suppressed glee. It was not often that Madeline Spencer met her match!
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 circumstances 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 assure you it is not necessary—”
“Not necessary, if one is in the diplomatic profession,” she cut in. “Murder and assassination 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 assure you; Madeline Spencer is typical of it, and the top of her class—which means she is wonderfully clever, inscrutable as fate, and without scruple or conscience. No, thank God, you do not belong in the class 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.”
“Robert Clephane was all that she said—and more. Middle-aged when he married me, before a year was passed I had found that I was only another experience for him; and that after a short time he had resumed his ways of—gaiety. Not caring to be pitied, nor to be so soon a deserted wife, nor yet to admit my loss of attraction for him, I dashed into the gay life of Paris with reckless fervour. I know I was indiscreet. I know I fractured conventionality and was dreadfully compromised—but I never violated the Seventh Commandment. Robert Clephane and I were not separated—except by a locked door.
“Then one day some two years back, dreadfully mangled, they brought him home. An aeroplane had fallen with him—with the usual result. That moment saw the end of my gay life. I passed it up as completely as though it had never been. The reason for it was gone. After a very short period of mourning, I took up the quietness of a respectable widow, who wished only to forget that she ever was married.”
“I can understand exactly,” said Harleston. “You shall never hear a word from me to remind you.”
“I’ve never heard anything to remind me of the past until this alluring beauty’s insinuations of a moment ago. That is why it hit me so hard, Mr. Harleston. And why did she do it? Is she jealous of you, or of me, or what?”
“She’s not jealous of me!” he laughed. “I know her history; it’s something of a history, too.... Sometime I’ll tell you all about it; it’s an interesting tale. Is it possible you’ve never heard in Paris of Madeline Spencer?”
“Never!”
“Nor of the Duchess of Lotzen?”
“Great Heavens!” she cried. “Is she the Duchess of Lotzen?”
“The same,” Harleston nodded.
“H-u-m! I can understand now a little of her—No wonder I felt my helplessness before her polished poise!”
“Nonsense!” he smiled.
“Why should such an accomplished—diplomat want to injure me with you?” she asked.
“She was not seeking to injure you in the sense that you imply,” he returned. “Her purpose was to put you in the same class as herself, so that I should trust you no more than I do her; to make you appear an emissary of France, in its secret service, playing the game of ignorance and inexperience for its present purpose. For you, as a personality she does not care a fig. To her you are but one of the pieces, to be moved or threatened as her purpose dictates. In the diplomatic game, my lady, we know only one side—all other sides are the enemy; and nothing, not even a woman’s reputation, is permitted to stand for an instant in the way of attaining our end.”
“Therefore a good woman—or one who would forget the past—has no earthly business to become involved in the game,” Mrs. Clephane returned. “I shall get out of it the instant this matter of the letter is completed—and stay out thereafter. Even friendship won’t lure me to it. Never again, Mr. Harleston, never again for mine!”
“I wish you would let it end right now,” he urged.
“That wouldn’t be the part of a good sport, nor would it be just to Madame Durrand. She trusts me.”
“Then inform the French Ambassador of all the facts and circumstances and retire from the game,” he advised.
“Shall I inform him over the telephone?” she asked.
“You would never get the Ambassador on the telephone, unless you were known to some one of the staff who could vouch for you.”
“I don’t know anyone on the staff, but Mrs. Durrand has likely communicated with the Embassy.”
“If she has, she had given them a minute description of you, yet that can not be used to identify you over the telephone.”
“I hesitate to go to the Embassy without the letter,” she said.
“Why do you hesitate?” he smiled.
“Because I—don’t want to admit defeat.”
“Which of itself will serve to substantiate your story. One skilled in the game would have lost no time in informing the Embassy of the loss of the letter. He would have realized that, next to the letter itself, the news of its seizure was the best thing he could deliver—also, it was his duty to advise the Embassy at the quickest possible moment. You see, dear lady, personal pride and pique play no part in this game. They are not even considered; it’s the execution of the mission that’s the one important thing; all else is made to bend to that single end.”
“Then I should go to the French Embassy tonight with my story?” she asked.
“You should have gone this morning—the instant you were returned to the hotel! Now, unless Madame Durrand had written about you, it’s a pretty good gamble that the Spencer crowd has forestalled you.”
“Forestalled me! What do you mean?”
“Mrs. Spencer admitted to me that your release was someone’s blunder. The normal thing was to hold you prisoner and so prevent you from communicating with the Ambassador until they had obtained the letter or defeated its purpose. That was not done; but Spencer, you may assume, has attempted to rectify their blunder—possibly by impersonating you, and giving the Marquis d’Hausonville some tale that will fall in with her plans and gain time for her.”
“Impersonating me!” Mrs. Clephane exclaimed incredulously.
“Yes. She knows all the material circumstance—witness the telephone call that inveigled you into the drive up the Avenue, et cetera—and she’ll take the chance that you are not known to the Marquis nor any of the staff, or even the chance that Madame Durrand has not yet informed them. Indeed she may have taken precautions against her informing them. A few bribes to the hospital attendants, carefully distributed, would be sufficient. It’s not everyone who could, or would venture to, pull off the coup, but with Spencer the very daring of a thing adds to its pleasure and its zest.”
“You amaze me!” Mrs. Clephane replied. “I thought also that diplomacy was the gentlest-mannered profession in the world—and the most dignified.”
“It is—on the surface. Fine residences, splendid establishments, brilliant uniforms, much bowing and many genuflections, plenty of parade and glitter—everything for show. Under the surface: a supreme contempt for any code of honour, and a ruthlessness of purpose simply appalling—yet, withal, dignity, strained at times, but dignity none-the-less.”
“Then it isn’t even a respectable calling!” she exclaimed.
“It’s eminently respectable to intimidate and to lie for one’s country—and to stoop to any means to attain an end.”
“And you enjoy it!” she marvelled.
“I do. It’s fascinating—and I leave the disagreeable portion to others, when it has to do with those not of the profession.”
“And when it has to do with those of the profession?”
“Then it’s all in the game, and everything goes to win—because we all know what to expect and what to guard against. No one believes or trusts the enemy; and, as I said, everyone is the enemy but those who are arrayed with us.”
“So instead of being the finest profession in the world—and the most aristocratic,” Mrs. Clephane reflected, “a diplomat is, in truth, simply a false-pretence artist of an especially refined and dangerous type, who deals with the affairs of nations instead of the affairs of an individual.”
“Pretty much,” he admitted. “Diplomacy is all bluff, bluster, buncombe, and bullying; the degrees of refinement of the aforesaid bluff, et cetera, depending on the occasions, and the particular parties involved in the particular business.”
“Again I’m well content to be simply an ordinary woman, whose chief delight and occupation is clothes and the wearing of clothes.”
“You’re a success at your occupation,” Harleston replied.
“Some there are who would not agree with you,” she replied. “However, we are straying from the question before us, which is: what shall I do about informing the Marquis d’Hausonville? Will you go with me?”
“My going with you would only complicate matters for you. The Marquis would instantly want to know what such a move on my part meant. I’m known to be in the secret service of the United States, you must remember. Furthermore your tale will accuse me of the taking of the letter—and you see the merry mess which follows. I cannot return the letter—it’s in possession of the State Department. I’m far transgressing my duty by disclosing anything as to the letter. Indeed, I’m liable to be disciplined most drastically, even imprisoned, should it chance that the United States was involved.”
“You’ve told me nothing more than you’ve already told the Spencer crowd,” she objected.
“The difference is that the Spencer crowd are trying to obtain something to which they haven’t the least right—and I’m playing the game against them. You see my peculiar position, Mrs. Clephane. I’ve told you what I shouldn’t, because—well, because I’m sure that you will not use it to my disadvantage.”
She traced the figures on her gown with the tips of her fingers, and for awhile was silent—
“It’s all so involved,” she reflected; “such wheels within wheels, I am completely mystified. I’m lost in the maze. I don’t know whom to believe nor whom to trust—except,” and suddenly she smiled at him confidently, “that I trust you.”
He held her eyes with his own as he leaned forward across the table and answered very quietly:
“I shall try, dear lady, to be worthy.”
“And now,” she laughed, “may I tell you what happened to me when you were called to the telephone?”
“You may talk to me forever,” he replied.
“And what as to the French Ambassador?” she asked.
“Bother the Marquis—he may wait until morning.”
“Tomorrow, then, is beyond the forever?”
“Tomorrow may take care of itself!”
“Don’t be sacrilegious, sir.”
“I’ll be anything you wish,” he replied.
“Then be a good listener while I tell my tale. It was this wise, Mr. Harleston. Immediately after you were called away, indeed you were scarcely out of the room, a page brought a verbal message from the telephone operator that my maid had been found unconscious in the corridor of the eighth floor, and carried into 821. I hurried to the elevator. As I entered the door of 821, I was seized from behind and a handkerchief bound over my mouth and eyes. I then was tied in a chair, and a man’s voice said that no further harm would come to me if I remained quiet until morning. I did not see the faces of my assailants; there were two at least, possibly three, and one I think was a woman. My feelings and thoughts until the electrician released me may be imagined. It seemed days and days—and was somewhat uncomfortable while it lasted. When released I hurried down to look for you—or to write you a note of explanation if I couldn’t find you. I’m sort of becoming accustomed to being abducted and kindred innocent amusements. I suppose the only reason they didn’t kill me is that they can’t kill me more than once; and to kill me now would be too early in the game.”
“Killing is rarely done in diplomacy,” observed Harleston, “except in large numbers; when it ceases to be diplomacy and becomes war. In fact, only bunglers resort to killing; and if the killing be known it ends one’s career in the service. To have to kill to gain an end is conclusive evidence of incompetency. I mean, of course, among reputable nations. There are some thugs among the lesser Powers, just as there are thugs among the ’oi polloi.”
“Then Mrs. Spencer is an accomplished—diplomat,” Mrs. Clephane remarked.
“She is at the top of the profession,—and as a directing force she is without a superior.”
“You are very generous, Mr. Harleston!”
“I believe in giving the devil his dues. Indeed, in handling some affairs, she is in a class by herself. Her beauty and finesse and alluringness make her simply irresistible. It’s a cold and stony heart that she can’t get inside of and use.”
“A man’s heart, you mean?”
“Certainly. A man is in control of such affairs.”
“Then Mrs. Spencer’s presence here indicates that this letter matter is of the first importance to Germany.”
“It indicates that her business is of the first importance to Germany; the letter may simply be incidental to that business, in that its delivery to the French Ambassador will embarrass or complicate that business. The latter is likely the fact.”
“It grows more involved every minute,” Mrs. Clephane sighed. “It’s useless to try to make me comprehend. I want to hear what happened to you; such simple concrete doings are more adapted to my unsophisticated mind.”
“When I returned to the telephone, you were gone,” he said; “I waited awhile, then cruised through the rooms, then went back to our place and waited again. Finally I went in to dinner, leaving word to be notified the moment you returned. I was at my soup when a note was brought to me saying that you had just seen someone whom you wished to avoid, and asking me to dine with you in your apartment—and that you would explain your disappearance. I went up at once to No. 972; and there encountered pretty much similar treatment to yours,”—and he detailed the episode, down to the time she reappeared in the corridor.
She had heard him through without an interruption; at the end she said simply:
“I’ve absolutely no business in this affair, Mr. Harleston. When such things can happen in this hotel, in the very centre of the National Capital and among the throngs of diners and guests, it behooves an ordinary woman to seek safety in a hospital or a prison. It seems that the greater the prominence of the place, the greater the danger and the less liability to arrest.”
“In diplomacy!” he acquiesced.
“Then again, I say, Heaven save me from meddling in diplomacy!”
“Amen, my lady! Moreover,” he added, as they arose and passed into the corridor, “I want you as you are.”
Once again their eyes met—she coloured and looked away.
“Play the game, Mr. Harleston,” she reminded, “play the game! And thank you for a delicious dinner and a charming evening—and don’t forget you’ve an appointment at ten.”
“I had forgotten!” he laughed, drawing out his watch.
It was ten minutes of the hour.
“Take me to the F Street elevator and then hurry on,” said she.
“And you will do nothing—and go nowhere until tomorrow?” he asked.
“I’ll promise to remain here until—”
“I come for you in the morning?” he broke in.
“If I’m not abducted in the interval, I’ll wait,” and stepped into the car. “Good-night, Mr. Harleston!” she smiled—and the car shot upward.
“Hum!” muttered Harleston as he turned for his coat and hat. “I may be a fool, but I’ll risk it—and I think I’m not.”
It was but a step to Headquarters and he walked.
“The Superintendent,” he said to the sergeant on duty in the outer office.
“The Chief has gone home, Mr. Harleston,” was the answer.
“Home?”
“Yes, sir, two hours ago; he’ll not be back tonight.”
“Get him on the telephone,” Harleston directed.
“Yes, sir, Mr. Harleston.... Here he is, sir—you can use the ’phone in the private office.”
“Hello! Is that you, Ranleigh? Yes, I recognized the voice. Did you telephone me at the Chateau about six-thirty?... You didn’t?... You were on your way home at that hour.... Yes, exactly; it was a plant.... Do you know Crenshaw escaped from my apartment.... Yes, I saw him in the Chateau this evening.... What?... Yes, better look up Whiteside at once.... Yes, in the Collingwood.... Very good; I’ll meet you there.... All right, I’ll tell the sergeant.”