Harleston made a couple of turns up and down the room; then he sat down and drummed a bit on the table; finally he reached for the telephone.  It was very late, but he would call her—­she would understand.

He got the Chateau and, giving his name, asked whether Mrs. Clephane was on the first floor of the hotel.  In a few minutes the answer came:  she was not; should they give him her apartment?  He said yes.  Presently a sleepy voice answered.  He recognized it as Marie—­the maid—­and had some difficulty in convincing her of his identity.  He did it at last only by speaking French to her—­which, as he had hitherto addressed her only in French, was not extraordinary.

And, being convinced, she answered promptly enough that Mrs. Clephane was not in—­she had gone down-stairs about two hours ago telling her not to wait up.  She had no idea where Mrs. Clephane went; she had said nothing about leaving the hotel.

“Ask her to call me at the Collingwood the moment she comes in,” said Harleston.

Then he got Ranleigh and told him of the Spencer episode and of Mrs. Clephane’s disappearance.

“You would better put Mrs. Clephane under lock and key—­or else stay with her and keep her from rash adventures,” Ranleigh commented.

“I quite agree with you,” said Harleston.  “Meanwhile I might inquire where was Mrs. Spencer’s shadow while she was taxiing up the avenue?”

“I fancy he was on his job, though you may not have seen him,” Ranleigh replied.  “His report in the morning will tell.”

“I would sooner have a report as to Mrs. Clephane’s whereabouts,” Harleston remarked.

“I can’t see what good she would be to them now?” said Ranleigh.  “She hasn’t a thing they want.”

“Granted; yet where is she? moreover, she promised me to do nothing unusual and to beware of traps.”

“She has the feminine right to reconsider,” Ranleigh reminded him.  “However, I’ll instruct the bureau to get busy and—­”

“Wait until morning,” Harleston interjected.  “If Mrs. Clephane hasn’t appeared by nine o’clock, I’ll telephone you.”

Harleston leaned back in his chair frowning.  Washington was not a large city, yet under certain circumstances she could be lost in it—­and stay lost, with all the efforts of the police quite unavailing to find her.  It seemed improbable that she had been abducted; as Ranleigh had said, they had nothing to gain from her.  She could neither advance their plans nor hinder them; she was purely a negative quantity.  Spencer might be striking at him through Mrs. Clephane, intending to hold her surety for his neutrality, or to feed her own revenge, or maybe both.  Yet, somehow, he could not hold to the notion; it was too petty for their game.  Moreover, Spencer knew that it would be ineffective, and she was not one to waste time in methods, petty or inefficient.  Of course, it might be that she had merely twitted him about the episode, as a jealous woman would do.