Fischer passed out of the offices a few minutes later,
followed by many curious eyes, and stepped into his
automobile. A young man who had brushed against
him pushed a note into his hand. Fischer opened
it as his car swung slowly through the traffic:—
Guards at all Connecticut factories doubled.
O’Hagan caught last night in precincts of small
arms factory. Was taken alive, disobeying orders.
Be careful.
Fischer tore the note into small pieces. His
face was grimmer than ever as he leaned back amongst
the cushions. There were evil things awaiting
him outside Wall Street.
Lutchester breathed the air of Washington and felt
almost homesick. The stateliness of the city,
its sedate and quiescent air after the turmoil of
New York, impressed him profoundly. Everywhere
its diplomatic associations made themselves felt.
Congress was in session, and the faces of the men
whom he met continually in the hotels and restaurants
seemed to him some index of the world power which flung
its far-reaching arms from beneath the Capitol dome.
One afternoon a few days after his arrival he called
at the Hastings’ house, a great Colonial mansion
within a stone’s throw of his own headquarters.
The mention of his name, however, seemed to chill all
the hospitality out of the smiling face of the southern
butler who answered his ring. Miss Van Teyl was
out, and from the man’s manner it was obvious
that Miss Van Teyl would continue to be out for a very
long time. Lutchester retraced his steps to the
British Embassy, where he had spent most of the morning,
and made his way to the sitting-room of one of the
secretaries. The Honourable Philip Downing, who
was eagerly waiting for a cable recalling him to take
up a promised commission, welcomed him heartily.
“Things are slack here to-day, old fellow.
Let’s go out to the Country Club and have a
few sets of tennis or a game of golf, whichever you
prefer,” he suggested. “I’ve
done my little lot till the evening.”
“Show on to-night, isn’t there?”
Lutchester inquired.
“Just a reception. You’re going to
put in an appearance?”
“I fancy so. Have you got your list of
guests handy?”
The young man dived into a drawer and produced a few
typewritten sheets.
“Alphabetical list of acceptances, with here
and there a few personal notes,” he pointed
out, with an air of self-satisfaction. “I
go through this list with the chief while he’s
changing for dinner.”
Lutchester ran his forefinger down the list.
“Senator Theodore and Mrs. Hastings,”
he quoted. “By the bye, they have a niece
staying with them.”
“Want a card for her?” the Honourable
Philip inquired with a grin.
“I should like it sent off this moment,”
Lutchester replied.
The young man took a square, gilt-edged card from
a drawer by his side, filled it out at Lutchester’s
dictation, rang the bell, and dispatched it by special
messenger.
