.

"Of course, but what else?"

"Nothing!"

"What, for instance, were you doing last night?"

"Last night? I dined at the Club, played auction and went home at a
seemly hour."

"Home? Where is that?"

"The Collingwood."

"And what adventure befell you on the way--if any?"

"Adventure? I haven't had an adventure since I left the Continent."

"Sure?"

"Perfectly. I wish I had--to vary the monotony."

She traced a diagram on the rug with the tip of her slipper.

"It depends on what you regard as an adventure," she smiled. "I should
think the episode of the cab, with what followed at your apartment, was
very much in that line?"

"Oh, to be sure!" exclaimed Harleston, with an air of complete surprise.
"However did--Great Heavens, Madeline, were _you_ the woman of the roses
and the cab?"

"You know that I wasn't!" she replied.

"Then how do you know of the cab of the sleeping horse, and what
followed?" he inquired blandly.

"I dreamed it."

"Wonderful! Simply wonderful!"

She nodded tolerantly. "Why keep up the fiction?" she asked. "You know
that I am concerned in your adventure--just as I know of your adventure.
I was on the street, or in the house, or was told of it, whichever you
please; it's all one, since you know. Moreover you have seen me with one
of your early morning callers, as I meant you to do." She leaned forward
and looked at him with half-closed eyes. "Will you believe me, Guy, when
I say that the United States is not concerned in the matter--and that it
should keep its hands off. You stumbled by accident on the deserted cab.
A subordinate blundered, or you would not have found it ready for your
investigation--and you've been unduly and unnecessarily inquisitive. We
have tried to be forbearing and considerate in our efforts to regain it,
but--"

"Regain, my dear Madeline, implies, or at least it conveys an idea of,
previous possession. Did Germany--I beg your pardon; did your client in
this matter have such--"

"I used regain advisedly," she broke in.

"Because of your possession of the lady, or because of your independent
possession of the letter?"

"You're pleased to be technical," she shrugged.

"Not at all!" he replied. "I'm simply after the facts: whether the
letter belongs to you, or to the mysterious lady of the cab?"

"Who isn't in the least mysterious to you."

"No!"

"Really, you're delicious, Mr. Harleston; though I confess that _you_
have _me_ mystified as to you