Mr. Cadwallader went to the door, spoke to the servant there, then returned and busied himself about the car.  Hastings and Blair watched intently both the door and the window for a long time; finally a closely veiled and muffled figure appeared at the bay-window, and waved a gloved hand at Mr. Cadwallader, who again lifted his cap.  A minute later the veiled woman came out of the front door, shook hands with Mr. Cadwallader, and got in the car.  He also climbed in, and the car moved slowly away.

Simultaneously the front door of the house on the corner, where Hastings had been hiding, and the front door of the house near the corner, where Blair had been hiding, opened and two heads peered out.  As the car approached Hastings’ hiding-place he withdrew into the hallway; but Blair came out and hurried past the legation in the direction of the rapidly disappearing motor.  Hastings joined him; they spoke together, then turned the corner.

It was about ten o’clock that night when Hastings reported to Mr. Campbell at his home.

“We followed the car in a rented automobile from the time it turned the corner, out through Alexandria, and along the old Baltimore Road into the city of Baltimore,” he explained.  “It was dark by the time we reached Alexandria, but we stuck to the car ahead, running without lights until we came in sight of Druid Hill Park, and then we had to show lights or be held up.  We covered those forty miles going in less than two hours.

“After the car passed Druid Hill it slowed up a little, and ran off the turnpike into North Avenue, then into North Charles Street, and slowly along that as if they were looking for a number.  At last it stopped and Miss Thorne got out and entered a house.  She was gone for more than half an hour, leaving Mr. Cadwallader with the car.  While she was gone I made some inquiries and learned that the house was occupied by a Mr. Thomas Q. Griswold.  I don’t know anything else about him; Blair may have learned something.

“Now comes the curious part of it,” and Hastings looked a little sheepish.  “When Miss Thorne came out of the house she was not Miss Thorne at all—­she was Senorita Inez Rodriguez, daughter of the Venezuelan minister.  She wore the same clothing Miss Thorne had worn going, but her veil was lifted.  Veiled and all muffled up one would have taken oath it was the same woman.  She and Cadwallader are back in Washington now, or are coming.  That’s all, except Blair is still in Baltimore, awaiting orders.  I caught the train from the Charles Street station and came back.  Johnson, you know—­”

“Yes, I’ve seen Johnson,” interrupted Campbell.  “Are you absolutely positive that the woman you saw get into the automobile with Mr. Cadwallader was Miss Thorne?”

“Absolutely,” replied Hastings without hesitation.  “I saw her in her own room with her wraps on, then saw her come down and get into the car.”

“That’s all,” said the chief.  “Good night.”  For an hour or more he sat in a great, comfortable chair in the smoking-room of his own home, the guileless blue eyes vacant, staring, and spidery lines in the benevolent forehead.