“He went to the private mail boxes; she’s waiting in the lobby,” the man replied. “He received a small letter, which he opened; it enclosed only another envelope, which he put in his pocket without opening. He returned to the lobby and they left the Club-House.”
Harleston nodded. “It’s time for us to be moving,” said he to Mrs. Clephane. “Will you trust me?” he asked as they passed into the lobby, at the far end of which Carpenter was sitting absorbed in his cigar.
“Absolutely!” she replied.
“And will you go with Carpenter; he understands? I’ll be with you shortly. I must act quickly now.”
Carpenter arose as they neared.
“Just started,” said he, and bowed to Mrs. Clephane.
“Mrs. Clephane understands,” Harleston explained “I confide her to your care. À bientôt.”
He hurried out. A taxi, waiting with power on, sped up; he sprang aboard and it raced away.
As it neared the Connecticut Avenue bridge, the taxi slowed down a trifle and the driver half-faced around.
“The other car is just ahead, sir,” he reported.