"Yes, I know," she said slowly. "It were useless to deny it."
"Who was it?"
"I won't tell you."
Mr. Grimm leaned forward in his chair, and spoke earnestly.
"Understand, please, that by that answer you assume equal guilt with the
person who actually did the shooting," he explained. "If you adhere to
it you compel me to regard you as an accomplice." His questioning took a
different line.
"Will you explain how the revolver came into your possession?"
"Oh, I--I picked it up in the hallway there," she replied vaguely.
"I want to believe you, Miss Thorne," Mr. Grimm said again.
"You may. I picked it up in the hallway," she repeated. "I saw it lying
there and picked it up."
"Why that, instead of giving an alarm?"
"No alarm was necessary. The shot itself was an alarm."
"Then why," Mr. Grimm persisted coldly, "did you run along the hallway
and escape by way of the kitchen? If you did not do the shooting, why
the necessity of escape, carrying the revolver?"
There was that in the blue-gray eyes which brought Mr. Grimm to his
feet. His hands gripped each other cruelly; his tone was calm as always.
"Why did you take the revolver?" he asked.
Miss Thorne's head drooped forward a little, and she was silent.
"There are only two possibilities, of course," he went on. "First, that
you, in spite of your denial, did the shooting."
"I did not!" The words fairly burst from her tightly closed lips.
"Or that you knew the revolver, and took it to save the person, man or
woman, who fired the shot. I will assume, for the moment, that this is
correct. Where is the revolver?"
From the adjoining room there came a slight noise, a faint breath of
sound; or it might have been only an echo of silence. Their eyes were
fixed each upon the others unwaveringly, with not a flicker to indicate
that either had heard. After a moment Miss Thorne returned to her chair
and sat down.
"It's rather a singular situation, isn't it, Mr. Grimm?" she inquired
irrelevantly. "You, Mr. Grimm of the Secret Service of the United
States; I, Isabel Thorne, a secret agent of Italy together here, one
accusing the other of a crime, and perhaps with good reason."
"Where is the revolver?" Mr. Grimm insisted.
"If you were any one else _but_ you! I could not afford to be frank with
you and--"
"If you had been any one else but _you_ I should have placed you under
arrest when I entered the room."
She smiled, and inclined her head.
"I understand," she said pleasantly. "For the reason that you are Mr.
Grimm of the Secret Service I shall tell you the truth. I _did_ take the
revolver because I knew who had fired the shot. Believe me when I tell
you that that person did not act with my knowledge or consent. You do
believe that? You do?" She was pleading, eager to convince him.
After a while Mr. Grimm nodded.
"The revolver is beyond your reach and shall remain so," she resumed.
"According to your laws I suppose I am an accomplice. That is my
misfortune. It will in no way alter my determination to keep silent. If
I am arrested I can't help it." She studied his face with hopeful eyes.
"Am I to be arrested?"
"Where is the paper that was taken from Señor Alvarez immediately after
he was shot?" Mr. Grimm queried.
"I don't know," she replied frankly.
"As I understand it, then, the motive for the shooting was to obtain
possession of that paper? For your government?"
"The individual who shot Señor Alvarez _did_ obtain the paper, yes. And
now, please, am I to be arrested?"
"And just what was the purpose, may I inquire, of the message you
telegraphed with your fan in the ball-room?"
"You read that?" exclaimed Miss Thorne in mock astonishment. "You read
that?"
"And the man who read that message? Perhaps he shot the señor?"
"Perhaps," she taunted.
For a long time Mr. Grimm stood staring at her, staring, staring. She,
too, rose, and faced him quietly.
"Am I to be arrested?" she asked again.
"Why do you make me do it?" he demanded.
"That is my affair."
Mr. Grimm laid a hand upon her arm, a hand that had never known
nervousness. A moment longer he stared, and then:
"Madam, you are my prisoner for the attempted murder of Señor Alvarez!"
The rings on the portières behind him clicked sharply, and the draperies
parted. Mr. Grimm stood motionless, with his hand on Miss Thorne's arm.
"You were inquiring a moment ago for a revolver," came in a man's voice.
"Here it is!"
Mr. Grimm found himself inspecting the weapon from the barrel end. After
a moment his glance shifted to the blazing eyes of the man who held
it--a young man, rather slight, with clean-cut, aristocratic features,
and of the pronounced Italian type.
[Illustration: He found himself inspecting the weapon from the barrel
end.]
"My God!" The words came from Miss Thorne's lips almost in a scream.
"Don't--!"
"I did make some inquiries about a revolver, yes," Mr. Grimm interrupted
quietly. "Is this the one?"
He raised his hand quite casually, and his fingers closed like steel
around the weapon. Behind his back Miss Thorne made some quick emphatic
gesture, and the new-comer released the revolver.
"I shall ask you, please, to free Miss Thorne," he requested
courteously. "I shot Señor Alvarez. I, too, am a secret agent of the
Italian government, willing and able to defend myself. Miss Thorne has
told you the truth; she had nothing whatever to do with it. She took the
weapon and escaped because it was mine. Here is the paper that was taken
from Señor Alvarez," and he offered a sealed envelope. "I have read it;
it is not what I expected. You may return it to Señor Alvarez with my
compliments."
After a moment Mr. Grimm's hand fell away from Miss Thorne's arm, and
he regarded the new-comer with an interest in which admiration, even,
played a part.
"Your name?" he asked finally.
"Pietro Petrozinni," was the ready reply. "As I say, I accept all
responsibility."
A few minutes later Mr. Grimm and his prisoner passed out of the
legation side by side, and strolled down the street together, in
amicable conversation. Half an hour later Señor Alvarez identified
Pietro Petrozinni as the man who shot him; and the maid servant
expressed a belief that he was the man who slammed the door in her face.
VII
THE SIGNAL
"And the original question remains unanswered," remarked Mr. Campbell.
"The original question?" repeated Mr. Grimm.
"_Where_ is Prince Benedetto d'Abruzzi, the secret envoy?" his chief
reminded him.
"I wonder!" mused the young man.
"If the Latin compact is signed in the United States--?"
"The Latin compact will _not_ be signed in the United States," Mr. Grimm
interrupted. And then, after a moment: "Have we received any further
reports on Miss Thorne? I mean reports from our foreign agents?"
The chief shook his head.
"Inevitably, by some act or word, she will lead us to the prince,"
declared Mr. Grimm, "and the moment he is known to us everything becomes
plain sailing. We know she _is_ a secret agent--I expected a denial, but
she was quite frank about it. And I had no intention whatever of placing
her under arrest. I knew some one was in the adjoining room because of a
slight noise in there, and I knew she knew it. She raised her voice a
little, obviously for the benefit of whoever was there. From that point
everything I said and did was to compel that person, whoever it was, to
show himself."
His chief nodded, understandingly. Mr. Grimm was silent for a little,
then went on:
"The last possibility in my mind at that moment," he confessed, "was
that the person in there was the man who shot Señor Alvarez. Frankly I
had half an idea that--that it might be the prince in person." Suddenly
his mood changed: "And now our lady of mystery may come and go as she
likes because I know, even if a dozen of our men have ransacked
Washington in vain for the prince, she will inevitably lead us to him.
And that reminds me: I should like to borrow Blair, and Hastings, and
Johnson. Please plant them so they may keep constant watch on Miss
Thorne. Let them report to you, and, wherever I am, I will reach you
over the 'phone."
"By the way, what was in that sealed packet that was taken from Señor
Alvarez?" Campbell inquired curiously.
"It had something to do with some railroad franchises," responded Mr.
Grimm as he rose. "I sealed it again and returned it to the señor.
Evidently it was not what Signor Petrozinni expected to find--in fact,
he admitted it wasn't what he was looking for."
For a little while the two men gazed thoughtfully, each into the eyes of
the other, then Mr. Grimm entered his private office where he sat for an
hour with his immaculate boots on his desk, thinking. A world-war--he
had been thrust forward by his government to prevent it--subtle
blue-gray eyes--his Highness, Prince Benedetto d'Abruzzi--a haunting
smile and scarlet lips.
At about the moment he rose to go out, Miss Thorne, closely veiled, left
the Venezuelan legation and walked rapidly down the street to a corner,
where, without a word, she entered a waiting automobile. The wheels spun
and the car leaped forward. For a mile or more it wound aimlessly in and
out, occasionally bisecting its own path; finally Miss Thorne leaned
forward and touched the chauffeur on the arm.
"Now!" she said.
The car straightened out into a street of stately residences and
scuttled along until the placid bosom of the Potomac came into view;
beside that for a few minutes, then over the bridge to the Virginia
side, in the dilapidated little city of Alexandria. The car did not
slacken its speed, but wound in and out through dingy streets, past
tumble-down negro huts, for half an hour before it came to a standstill
in front of an old brick mansion.
"This is number ninety-seven," the chauffeur announced.
Miss Thorne entered the house with a key and was gone for ten minutes,
perhaps. She was readjusting her veil when she came out and stepped into
the car silently. Again it moved forward, on to the end of the dingy
street, and finally into the open country. Three, four, five miles,
perhaps, out the old Baltimore Road, and again the car stopped, this
time in front of an ancient colonial farm-house.
Outwardly the place seemed to be deserted. The blinds, battered and
stripped of paint by wind and rain, were all closed, and one corner of
the small veranda had crumbled away from age and neglect. A narrow path,
strewn with pine needles, led tortuously up to the door. In the rear of
the house, rising from an old barn, a thin pole with a cup-like
attachment at the apex, thrust its point into the open above the dense,
odorous pines. It appeared to be a wireless mast. Miss Thorne passed
around the house, and entered the barn.
A man came forward and kissed her--a thin, little man of indeterminate
age--drying his hands on a piece of cotton waste. His face was pale with
the pallor of one who knows little outdoor life, his eyes deep-set and
a-glitter with some feverish inward fire, and the thin lips were pressed
together in a sharp line. Behind him was a long bench on which were
scattered tools of various sorts, fantastically shaped chemical
apparatus, two or three electric batteries of odd sizes, and ranged
along one end of it, in a row, were a score or more metal spheroids, a
shade larger than a one-pound shell. From somewhere in the rear came the
clatter of a small gasoline engine, and still farther away was an
electric dynamo.
"Is the test arranged, Rosa?" the little man queried eagerly in Italian.
"The date is not fixed yet," she replied in the same language. "It will
be, I hope, within the next two weeks. And then--"
"Fame and fortune for both of us," he interrupted with quick enthusiasm.
"Ah, Rosa, I have worked and waited so long for this, and now it will
come, and with it the dominion of the world again by our country. How
will I know when the date is fixed? It would not be well to write me
here."
My lady of mystery stroked the slender, nervous hand caressingly, and a
great affection shone in the blue-gray eyes.
"At eight o'clock on the night of the test," she explained, still
speaking Italian, "a single light will appear at the apex of the capitol
dome in Washington. That is the signal agreed upon; it can be seen by
all in the city, and is visible here from the window of your bedroom."
"Yes, yes," he exclaimed. The feverish glitter in his eyes deepened.
"If there is a fog, of course you will not attempt the test," she went
on.
"No, not in a fog," he put in quickly. "It must be clear."
"And if it is clear you can see the light in the dome without
difficulty."
"And all your plans are working out well?"
"Yes. And yours?"
"I don't think there is any question but that both England and the
United States will buy. Do you know what it means? Do you know what it
means?" He was silent a moment, his hands working nervously. Then, with
an effort: "And his Highness?"
"His Highness is safe." The subtle eyes grew misty, thoughtful for a
moment, then cleared again. "He is safe," she repeated.
"Mexico and Venezuela were--?" he began.
"We don't know, yet, what they will do. The Venezuelan answer is locked
in the safe at the legation; I will know what it is within forty-eight
hours." She was silent a little. "Our difficulty now, our greatest
difficulty, is the hostility of the French ambassador to the compact.
His government has not yet notified him of the presence of Prince
d'Abruzzi; he does not believe in the feasibility of the plan, and we
have to--to proceed to extremes to prevent him working against us."
"But they _must_ see the incalculable advantages to follow upon such a
compact, with the vast power that will be given to them over the whole
earth by this." He indicated the long, littered work-table. "They _must_
see it."
"They will see it, Luigi," said Miss Thorne gently. "And now, how are
you? Are you well? Are you comfortable? It's such a dreary old place
here."
"I suppose so," he replied, and he met the solicitous blue-gray eyes for
an instant. "Yes, I am quite comfortable," he added. "I have no time to
be otherwise with all the work I must do. It will mean so much!"
They were both silent for a time. Finally Miss Thorne walked over to the
long table and curiously lifted one of the spheroids. It was a sinister
looking thing, nickeled, glittering. At one end of it was a delicate,
vibratory apparatus, not unlike the transmitter of a telephone, and the
other end was threaded, as if the spheroid was made as an attachment to
some other device.
"With that we control the world!" exclaimed the man triumphantly. "And
it's mine, Rosa, mine!"
"It's wonderful!" she mused softly. "Wonderful! And now I must go. I may
not see you again until after the test, because I shall be watched and
followed wherever I go. If I get an opportunity I shall reach you by
telephone, but not even that unless it is necessary. There is always
danger, always danger!" she repeated thoughtfully. She was thinking of
Mr. Grimm.
"I understand," said the man simply.
"And look out for the signal--the light in the apex of the capitol
dome," she went on. "I understand the night must be perfectly clear; and
_you_ understand that the test is to be made promptly at three o'clock
by your chronometer?"
"At three o'clock," he repeated.
For a moment they stood with their arms around each other, then tenderly
his visitor kissed him, and went out. He remained looking after her
vacantly until the chug-chug of her automobile, as it moved off down the
road, was lost in the distance, then turned again to the long
work-table.
VIII
MISS THORNE AND NOT MISS THORNE
From a pleasant, wide-open bay-window of her apartments on the second
floor, Miss Thorne looked out upon the avenue with inscrutable eyes.
Behind the closely drawn shutters of another bay-window, farther down
the avenue, on the corner, she knew a man named Hastings was hiding; she
knew that for an hour or more he had been watching her as she wrote. In
the other direction, in a house near the corner, another man named Blair
was similarly ensconced, and he, too, had been watching as she wrote.
There should be a third man, Johnson. Miss Thorne curiously studied the
face of each passer-by, seeking therein something to remember.
She sat at the little mahogany desk and a note with the ink yet wet
upon it lay face up before her. It was addressed to Signor Pietro
Petrozinni in the district prison, and read:
"My Dear Friend:
"I have been waiting to write you with the hope that I could report
Señor Alvarez out of danger, but his condition, I regret to say, remains
unchanged. Shall I send an attorney to you? Would you like a book of any
kind? Or some delicacy sent in from a restaurant? Can I be of any
service to you in any way? If I can please drop me a line.
"Sincerely,
"Isabel Thorne."
At last she rose and standing in the window read the note over, folded
it, placed it in an envelope and sealed it. A maid came in answer to her
ring, and there at the window, under the watchful eyes of Blair and
Hastings--and, perhaps, Johnson--she handed the note to the maid with
instructions to mail it immediately. Two minutes later she saw the maid
go out along the avenue to a post-box on the corner.
Then she drew back into the shadow of the room, slipped on a
dark-colored wrap, and, standing away from the window, safe beyond the
reach of prying eyes, waited patiently for the postman. He appeared
about five o'clock and simultaneously another man turned the corner near
the post-box and spoke to him. Then, together, they disappeared from
view around the corner.
"So that's Johnson, is it?" mused Miss Thorne, and she smiled a little.
"Mr. Grimm certainly pays me the compliment of having me carefully
watched."
A few minutes later she dropped into the seat at the desk again. The
dark wrap had been thrown aside and Hastings and Blair from their
hiding-places could see her distinctly. After a while they saw her rise
quickly, as an automobile turned into the avenue, and lean toward the
window eagerly looking out. The car came to a standstill in front of the
legation, and Mr. Cadwallader, an under-secretary of the British
embassy, who was alone in the car, raised his cap. She nodded and
smiled, then disappeared in the shadows of the room again.
Mr. Cadwallader went to the door, spoke to the servant there, then
returned and busied himself about the car. Hastings and Blair watched
intently both the door and the window for a long time; finally a closely
veiled and muffled figure appeared at the bay-window, and waved a gloved
hand at Mr. Cadwallader, who again lifted his cap. A minute later the
veiled woman came out of the front door, shook hands with Mr.
Cadwallader, and got in the car. He also climbed in, and the car moved
slowly away.
Simultaneously the front door of the house on the corner, where Hastings
had been hiding, and the front door of the house near the corner, where
Blair had been hiding, opened and two heads peered out. As the car
approached Hastings' hiding-place he withdrew into the hallway; but
Blair came out and hurried past the legation in the direction of the
rapidly disappearing motor. Hastings joined him; they spoke together,
then turned the corner.
It was about ten o'clock that night when Hastings reported to Mr.
Campbell at his home.
"We followed the car in a rented automobile from the time it turned the
corner, out through Alexandria, and along the old Baltimore Road into
the city of Baltimore," he explained. "It was dark by the time we
reached Alexandria, but we stuck to the car ahead, running without
lights until we came in sight of Druid Hill Park, and then we had to
show lights or be held up. We covered those forty miles going in less
than two hours.
"After the car passed Druid Hill it slowed up a little, and ran off the
turnpike into North Avenue, then into North Charles Street, and slowly
along that as if they were looking for a number. At last it stopped and
Miss Thorne got out and entered a house. She was gone for more than half
an hour, leaving Mr. Cadwallader with the car. While she was gone I made
some inquiries and learned that the house was occupied by a Mr. Thomas
Q. Griswold. I don't know anything else about him; Blair may have
learned something.
"Now comes the curious part of it," and Hastings looked a little
sheepish. "When Miss Thorne came out of the house she was not Miss
Thorne at all--_she was Señorita Inez Rodriguez_, daughter of the
Venezuelan minister. She wore the same clothing Miss Thorne had worn
going, but her veil was lifted. Veiled and all muffled up one would have
taken oath it was the same woman. She and Cadwallader are back in
Washington now, or are coming. That's all, except Blair is still in
Baltimore, awaiting orders. I caught the train from the Charles Street
station and came back. Johnson, you know--"
"Yes, I've seen Johnson," interrupted Campbell. "Are you absolutely
positive that the woman you saw get into the automobile with Mr.
Cadwallader was Miss Thorne?"
"Absolutely," replied Hastings without hesitation. "I saw her in her
own room with her wraps on, then saw her come down and get into the
car."
"That's all," said the chief. "Good night." For an hour or more he sat
in a great, comfortable chair in the smoking-room of his own home, the
guileless blue eyes vacant, staring, and spidery lines in the benevolent
forehead.
* * * * *
On the morning of the second day following, Señor Rodriguez, the
minister from Venezuela, reported to the Secret Service Bureau the
disappearance of fifty thousand dollars in gold from a safe in his
private office at the legation.
IX
FIFTY THOUSAND DOLLARS
Mr. Campbell was talking.
"For several months past," he said, "the International Investment
Company, through its representative, Mr. Cressy, has been secretly
negotiating with Señor Rodriguez for certain asphalt properties in
Venezuela. Three days ago these negotiations were successfully
concluded, and yesterday afternoon Mr. Cressy, in secret, paid to Señor
Rodriguez, fifty thousand dollars in American gold, the first of four
payments of similar sums. This gold was to have been shipped to
Philadelphia by express to-day to catch a steamer for Venezuela." Mr.
Grimm nodded.
"The fact that this gold was in Señor Rodriguez's possession could not
have been known to more than half a dozen persons, as the negotiations
throughout have been in strict secrecy," and Mr. Campbell smiled
benignly. "So much! Now, Señor Rodriguez has just telephoned asking that
I send a man to the legation at once. The gold was kept there over
night; or perhaps I should say that the señor intended to keep it there
over night." Mr. Campbell stared at Mr. Grimm for a moment, then: "Miss
Thorne, you know, is a guest at the legation, that is why I am referring
the matter to you."
"I understand," said Mr. Grimm.
And ten minutes later Mr. Grimm presented himself to Señor Rodriguez.
The minister from Venezuela, bubbling with excitement, was pacing forth
and back across his office, ruffling his gray-black hair with nervous,
twining fingers. Mr. Grimm sat down.
"Señor," he inquired placidly, "fifty thousand dollars in gold would
weigh nearly two hundred pounds, wouldn't it?"
Señor Rodriguez stared at him blankly.
"_Si, Señor_," he agreed absently. And then, in English: "Yes, I should
imagine so."
"Well, was all of it stolen, or only a part of it?" Mr. Grimm went on.
The minister gazed into the listless eyes for a time, then, apparently
bewildered, walked forth and back across the room again. Finally he sat
down.
"All of it," he admitted. "I can't understand it. No one, not a soul in
this house, except myself, knew it was here."
"In addition to this weight of, say two hundred pounds, fifty thousand
dollars would make considerable bulk," mused Mr. Grimm. "Very well!
Therefore it would appear that the person, or persons, who got it must
have gone away from here heavily laden?"
Señor Rodriguez nodded.
"And now, Señor," Mr. Grimm continued, "if you will kindly state the
circumstances immediately preceding and following the theft?"
A slight frown which had been growing upon the smooth brow of the
diplomatist was instantly dissipated.
"The money--fifty thousand dollars in gold coin--was paid to me
yesterday afternoon about four o'clock," he began slowly, in
explanation.
"By Mr. Cressy of the International Investment Company," supplemented
Mr. Grimm. "Yes. Go on."