As I was
debating whether to risk the jump from the window, a man came down the
street and halted at the cab.--That man was you, Mr. Harleston. The rest
of the tale you know much better than I--and the material portion you
are to tell me, or rather to give me."
"How did you know the man at the cab was I? You didn't recognize me in
the corridor, this afternoon."
"Oh, yes I did--but I waited to see if you would follow me, or would go
up to the other woman in black and roses."
"I never was in doubt!" Harleston laughed. "I told you, on the
telephone, that I could pick you out in a crowd; after a glimpse of you,
I could--" he ended with a gesture.
"Still pick me out," she supplied. "Well, the important thing is that
you _did_ pick me out--and that you're a gentleman. Also you forget that
your picture has been pretty prominent lately, on account of the Du
Portal affair; and besides you've been pointed out to me a number of
times during the last few years as something of a celebrity. So, you
see, it was not a great trick to recognize you under the electric
lights, even at one o'clock in the morning."
Harleston nodded. It was plausible surely. Moreover, he was prepared to
accept her story; thus far it seemed straightforward and extremely
credible.
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