"I best get on with my tale," she said. "So, once upon a time, which
means, to be accurate, about ten days ago, I took a steamer at
Cherbourg for New York. On the boat was a Madame Durrand, whom I had
known on the Continent and in London for a number of years. Neither was
aware of the other's sailing until we met aboard. I think that it was on
the fourth day out she asked me to come to her state-room; there she
told me that she was a secret agent of the French Government and the
bearer of a most important letter from a high official, written however
in his private capacity to their Ambassador in Washington; that she had
a presentiment ill fortune would befall her on the way; that there was
no one else on the ship in whom she trusted; and that she wanted me to
accompany her to Washington, and, if she were to meet with an accident,
to deliver the letter to the Ambassador. I consented, wishing to oblige
her, and being bound for Washington. She showed me where she carried the
letter, and gave me the verbal message that went with it, which was the
name of the Minister and that he sent it in his private capacity and not
officially.

"I'm not in the secret service of a government, as you doubtless can
infer from my knowledge of matters and use of technical language!" she
smiled. "And the affair rather fascinated me, I admit, by its
unusualness. Moreover, I knew Madame Durrand intimately--how intimately
may be inferred from the circumstances.

"Well, we landed, had our baggage chalked, and went to the Plaza for the
night. In the morning, we took a taxi to the Pennsylvania Station, were
held up by traffic, and were hurrying down the marble steps to catch our
train, when a man, hurrying also, jostled Madame Durrand. Her heel
caught and she plunged head first down to the landing. Of course men