he snapped, "who is it?"
"Miss Erith."
"Oh—er—surely—surely! GOOD-evening, Miss Erith!"
"Good-evening, Mr. Vaux. Are you, by any happy chance, quite free this evening?"
"Well—I'm rather busy—unless it is important—hum—hum!—in line of duty, you know—"
"You may judge. I'm going to try to secure that code-book to-night."
"Oh! Have you called in the—"
"No!"
"Haven't you communicated with—"
"No!"
"Why not?"
"Because there's too much confusion already—too much petty jealousy and working at cross-purposes. I have been thinking over the entire problem. You yourself know how many people have escaped through jealous or over-zealous officers making premature arrests. We have six different secret-service agencies, each independent of the other and each responsible to its own independent chief, all operating for the Government in New York City. You know what these agencies are—the United States Secret Service, the Department of Justice Bureau of Investigation, the Army Intelligence Service, Naval Intelligence Service, Neutrality Squads of the Customs, and the Postal Inspection. Then there's the State Service and the police and several other services. And there is no proper co-ordination, no single head for all these agencies. The result is a ghastly confusion and shameful inefficiency.
"This affair which I am investigating is a delicate one, as you know. Any blundering might lose us the key to what may be a very dangerous conspiracy. So I prefer to operate entirely within the jurisdiction of our own Service—"
"What you propose to do is OUTSIDE of our province!" he interrupted.
"I'm not so sure. Are you?"
"Well—hum—hum!—what is it you propose to do to-night?"
"I should like to consult my Chief of Division."
"Meaning me?"
"Of course."
"When?"
"Now!"
"Where are you just now, Miss Erith?"
"At home. Could you come to me?"
Vaux shivered again.
"Where d-do you live?" he asked, with chattering teeth.
She gave him the number of a private house on 83d Street just off Madison Avenue. And as he listened he began to shiver all over in the anticipated service of his country.
"Very well," he said, "I'll take a taxi. But this has Valley Forge stung to death, you know."
She said:
"I took the liberty of sending my car to the Racquet Club for you. It should be there now. There's a foot-warmer in it."
"Thank you so much," he replied with a burst of shivers. "I'll b-b-be right up."
As he left the telephone the doorman informed him that an automobile was waiting for him.
So, swearing under his frosty breath, he went to the cloak-room, got into his fur coat, walked back to the card-room and gazed wrathfully upon the festivities.
"What did my hand do, Bill?" he inquired glumly, when at last the scorer picked up his pad and the dealer politely shoved the pack toward his neighbour for cutting.
"You ruined me with your four silly hearts," replied the man who had taken his cards. "Did you think you were playing coon-can?"
"Sorry, Bill. Sit in for me, there's a good chap. I'm not likely to be back to-night—hang it!"
Perfunctory regrets were offered by the others, already engrossed in their new hands; Vaux glanced unhappily at the tall, steaming glass, which had been untouched when he left, but which was now merely half full. Then, with another lingering look at the cheerful fire, he sighed, buttoned his fur coat, placed his hat firmly upon his carefully parted hair, and walked out to perish bravely for his native land.
On the sidewalk a raccoon-furred chauffeur stepped up with all the abandon of a Kadiak bear:
"Mr. Vaux, sir?"
"Yes."
"Miss Erith's car."
"Thanks," grunted Vaux, climbing into the pretty coupe and cuddling his shanks under a big mink robe, where, presently, he discovered a foot-warmer, and embraced it vigorously between his patent-leather shoes.
It had now become the coldest night on record in New York City.
Fortunately he didn't know that; he merely sat there and hated Fate.
Up the street and into Fifth Avenue glided the car and sped northward through the cold, silvery lustre of the arc-lights hanging like globes of moonlit ice from their frozen stalks of bronze.
The noble avenue was almost deserted; nobody cared to face such terrible cold. Few motors were abroad, few omnibuses, and scarcely a wayfarer. Every sound rang metallic in the black and bitter air; the windows of the coupe clouded from his breath; the panels creaked.
At the Plaza he peered fearfully out upon the deserted Circle, where the bronze lady of the fountain, who is supposed to represent Plenty, loomed high in the electric glow, with her magic basket piled high with icicles.
"Yes, plenty of ice," sneered Vaux. "I wish she'd bring us a hod or two of coal."
The wintry landscape of the Park discouraged him profoundly.
"A man's an ass to linger anywhere north of the equator," he grumbled. "Dickybirds have more sense." And again he thought of the wood fire in the club and the partly empty but steaming glass, and the aroma it had wafted toward him; and the temperature it must have imparted to "Bill."
He was immersed in arctic gloom when at length the car stopped. A butler admitted him to a brown-stone house, the steps of which had been thoughtfully strewn with furnace cinders.
"Miss Erith?"
"Yes, sir."
"Announce Mr. Vaux, partly frozen."
"The library, if you please, sir," murmured the butler, taking hat and coat.
So Vaux went up stairs with the liveliness of a crippled spider, and Miss Erith came from a glowing fireside to welcome him, giving him a firm and slender hand.
"You ARE cold," she said. "I'm so sorry to have disturbed you this evening."
He said:
"Hum—hum—very kind—m'sure—hum—hum!"
There were two deep armchairs before the blaze; Miss Erith took one, Vaux collapsed upon the other.
She was disturbingly pretty in her evening gown. There were cigarettes on a little table at his elbow, and he lighted one at her suggestion and puffed feebly.
"Which?" she inquired smilingly.
He understood: "Irish, please."
"Hot?"
"Thank you, yes."
When the butler had brought it, the young man began to regret the Racquet Club less violently.
"It's horribly cold out," he said. "There's scarcely a soul on the streets."
She nodded brightly:
"It's a wonderful night for what we have to do. And I don't mind the cold very much."
"Are you proposing to go OUT?" he asked, alarmed.
"Why, yes. You don't mind, do you?"
"Am I to go, too?"
"Certainly. You gave me only twenty-four hours, and I can't do it alone in that time."
He said nothing, but his thoughts concentrated upon a single unprintable word.
"What have you done with the original Lauffer letter, Mr. Vaux?" she inquired rather nervously.
"The usual. No invisible ink had been used; nothing microscopic.