“Three o’clock will be very nice,” came a feminine voice—soft, with a bit of a drawl.
“Very well,” Ranleigh replied. “If you will give me your name—I missed it. Whom am I to expect at three?”
“Mrs. Winton, of the Burlingame apartments. I’ll be punctual—and thank you so much. Good-bye!”
“Anything familiar about the voice?” Ranleigh asked, pushing back the instrument.
Harleston shook his head in negation.
“I thought it might be your Lady of Peacock Alley, for it’s about the cab matter. She says that she has something to tell me regarding a mysterious cab on Eighteenth Street last night sometime about one o’clock.”
“There are quite too many women in this affair,” Harleston commented. “However, the Burlingame is almost directly across the street from where I found the cab, so her story will be interesting—if it’s not a plant.”
“And it may be even more interesting if it is a plant,” Ranleigh added. “If you will come in a bit before three, I’ll put you where you can see and hear everything that takes place.”
“I’ll do it!” said Harleston.