“Straight out Pennsylvania Avenue and through Georgetown,” directed Eleanor, as the big car swung back again into that avenue. “The narrow path only comes after you reach the Conduit.”
“Then it should be spelled ‘Conduct.’ You have been going out a great deal this winter, have you not?”
“Yes; Washington has been extremely gay, and I have enjoyed it so much.”
Douglas smiled down at her. “And I bet a thousand to one that Washington enjoyed you. I asked about your going out, because I am wondering if, among all the men you’ve met this winter, you have come across a middle-aged man with black hair and beard and very blue eyes?”
Not receiving a reply, Douglas turned and scanned his companion. She sat silent, gazing straight before her. The car sped on for several squares before she roused herself.
“That is a very vague description, Mr. Hunter. Do you remember the man’s name?”
Douglas shook his head. “I have never heard it. I only asked because I was under the impression that I saw him with you at the Navy Department on Thursday morning.”
“With me—at the Navy Department,” gasped Eleanor, sitting bolt upright. She was white to the lips.
“Yes, I thought I saw him talking to you in an elevator. I just caught a glimpse of you as the cage descended past the floor on which I was.”
“You are entirely mistaken, Mr. Hunter.” Eleanor’s eyes did not waver before his questioning look. “I was alone, though I do recollect there was another passenger in the elevator who got out on the first floor, while I continued on down to the basement.”