She rewarded him with one of her alluringly ravishing smiles and a touch of her slender foot. She had him—and she knew she had him. She would be Madeline Spencer once again—always having a victim, and always ready for a fresh one. Since she had failed with Harleston, what mattered it how many the victims, or what the price they paid.
XXIII—Caught
“Mrs. Spencer and her friend have reached some sort of an understanding,” Mrs. Clephane remarked. “She just smiled at him significantly and pressed his foot.”
“I noticed the smile but not the foot business,” Harleston chuckled. “It’s something quite personal to them, I take it!”
“Exactly; but what’s the effect on the matter in hand? Does not this personal understanding signify that the delivery of the formula has been arranged, maybe even effected.”
Harleston nodded. With Madeline Spencer it was, he knew, business first and personal matters afterward.
“I think we shall see the end of the affair of your cipher letter and its ramifications before the afternoon is over,” he replied.
“What about the French Embassy?” she asked.
“The Marquis has been advised that we have the translation. He will keep his hands off, you may believe.”
“You think either that Captain Snodgrass has the document in his possession, or that he has given it to Mrs. Spencer?”