Of course, it might be
that she had merely twitted him about the episode, as a jealous woman
would do.
And yet what could have taken Mrs. Clephane from the hotel at such an
hour, and without apprising her maid; and why was she driving up
Sixteenth Street? Or was Spencer's talk just a lie; intended to throw a
scare into him and give him a bad quarter of an hour--until he would
venture to call up Mrs. Clephane's apartment? And if he did not venture,
the bad quarter would last the balance of the night. At all events and
whatever her idea Madeline Spencer had succeeded in disturbing him to an
unusual degree--and all because of Mrs. Clephane.
At last he sprang up, threw on a light top-coat, grabbed a hat, and made
for the door. He would go down to the Chateau and investigate. Anything
was preferable to this miserable waiting.
The corridor door was swinging shut behind him, when his telephone
buzzed. He flung back the door and reached the receiver in a bound.
"Yes!" he exclaimed.
"I forgot to say, Guy," came Madeline Spencer's purring voice, "that
I'll tell you in the morning, if you care to pay me a visit, how my
_alter ego_ came to be on Sixteenth Street at so unusual an hour. It's
rather interesting as to details.
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