The Secretary answered. “Here is Mr. Harleston,” he said and pushed the instrument over.
“This is Ranleigh,” came the voice. “We’ve searched the man, also the cab, and found nothing beyond some innocent personal correspondence. We’ve retained the correspondence and let the man go.”
“That, I suppose,” Mrs. Spencer remarked as Harleston hung up the receiver, “was to say that Mr. Snodgrass and the cab have been thoroughly searched and nothing suspicious found.”
“Your intuition is marvellous,” Harleston answered. “Major Ranleigh’s report was that exactly. Consequently, Madeline, the letter must be with you.”
“How about the consideration that Captain Snodgrass received from me in return for the formulaic letter?” she asked. “He doesn’t seem to have had it.”
“Maybe you managed both to get the letter from him and to keep the consideration. It would not be the first time I have known you to accomplish it.”
“Only once—against you, Guy!” she laughed.
Which was a lie; but scored for her—and, for the moment, silenced him.
She shot a glance at the Secretary. He was beating a tattoo on the pad before him and looking calmly at her—as impersonal as though she were a door-jamb; and she understood; however much he might be inclined to aid her, this was not the time for him even to appear interested. On another occasion, à deux, he would display sufficient ardour and admiration. At present it must be the impassive face and the judicial manner. The business of the great Government he had the honour to represent was at issue!
There being no help from that high and mighty quarter, she turned to Harleston.