But Mrs. Earle did not wait to observe this phenomenon. Rid of his
presence, she leaped, rather than ran, up the stairs and threw open the
door of her office.

As she entered, two men followed her. One was a young man who held in
his hand an open note-book, the other was Tim Meehan, of Tammany. The
latter greeted her with a shout.

"We heard everything he said!" he cried. His voice rose in torment. "An'
we can't use a word of it! He acted just like we'd oughta knowed he'd
act. He's HONEST! He's so damned honest he ain't human; he's a ----
gilded saint!"

Mrs. Earle did not heed him. On her knees she was tossing to the floor
the contents of the waste-paper basket. From them she snatched a piece
of crumpled paper.

"Shut up!" she shouted. "Listen! His chauffeur brought him this." In a
voice that quivered with indignation, that sobbed with anger, she read
aloud:

"'As directed by your note from the window, I went to the booth and
called up Mrs. Cutler's house and got herself on the phone. Your
brother-in-law lunched at home to-day with her and the children and they
are now going to the Hippodrome.

"'Stop, look, and listen! Back of the bar I see two men in a room, but
they did not see me. One is Tim Meehan, the other is a stenographer. He
is taking notes. Each of them has on the ear-muffs of a dictagraph.
Looks like you'd better watch your step and not say nothing you don't
want Tammany to print.'" The voice of Mrs. Earle rose in a shrill
shriek.

"Him--a gilded saint?" she screamed; "you big stiff! He knew he was
talking into a dictagraph all the time--and he double-crossed us!"

End of Project Gutenberg's Somewhere in France, by Richard Harding Davis

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