"At last she had a glimmering of sense!" Mrs. Spencer laughed. "Why she
didn't beat it there direct from the train I can't imagine. Such
ignorance is a large asset for those of us who know. I had thought of
impersonating her and amusing myself with d'Hausonville, but I concluded
it wasn't worth while. It _riles_ me, however, that the affair was so
atrociously bungled by Crenshaw and the others. What possessed them to
release Mrs. Clephane once they had her?--and what in Heaven's name made
them overlook the letter in the cab?"

"Search me!" Marston replied.

"There is no occasion to search you, Marston," she smiled, "I shouldn't
find very much except--placidity."

"Placidity has its advantages," he smiled back.

"It has; that's why I asked the Chief for you. You were not as happy in
your choice of assistants, Marston. They are a stupid lot. You may send
them back to New York. We'll handle this matter ourselves, with Mrs.
Chartrand's involuntary assistance."

"Very good, madame!" said Marston. "The trouble, you see, came with that
chap Harleston's butting into the affair. Who would have foreseen that
he would happen along just at that particular moment and scoop the
letter without turning a hair. It was rotten luck sure."

"It was all easy enough if the blundering fools had only exercised an
atom of sense," Mrs. Spencer retorted. "Mrs. Clephane couldn't deceive a
normal two-year-old child; she is as transparent as plate glass."