"
"You've bumped into them?"
"Frequently."
"Ever encounter the clever lady, with the assortment of husbands?"
"Once or twice. Moreover, having known her as a little girl, and her
family before her, I've been interested to watch her travelling--her
remarkable career. And it has been a career, Clarke; believe me, it's
been a career. For pure cleverness, and the appreciation of
opportunities with the ability to grasp them, the devil himself can't
show anything more picturesque. My hat's off to her!"
"I should like to meet her," Clarke said.
"Come to Paris, sometime when I'm there, and I'll be delighted to
present you to her."
"Doesn't she ever come to America?"
"I think not. She says the Continent, and Paris in particular, is good
enough for her."
Harleston left Clarke at Dupont Circle and turned down Massachusetts
Avenue.
The broad thoroughfare was deserted, yet at the intersection of
Eighteenth Street he came upon a most singular sight.
A cab was by the curb, its horse lying prostrate on the asphalt, its box
vacant of driver.
Harleston stopped. What had he here! Then he looked about for a
policeman. Of course, none was in sight. Policemen never are in sight on
Massachusetts Avenue.
As a general rule, Harleston was not inquisitive as to things that did
not concern him--especially at one o'clock in the morning; but the
waiting cab, the deserted box, the recumbent horse in the shafts excited
his curiosity.
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