She and Mr. Cadwallader made the trip to Baltimore in his automobile,
and--and--!" She stopped. "He knows nothing of it," she added.
"Yes, I know," said Mr. Grimm.
He stood looking at her in silence for a moment, staring deeply into the
pleading eyes; and a certain tense expression about his lips passed. For
an instant her hand trembled on his arm, and he caught the fragrance of
her hair.
"Where is she now?" he asked.
"Playing bridge," replied Miss Thorne, with a sad little smile. "It is
always so--at least twice a week, and she rarely returns before two or
half-past." She extended both hands impetuously, entreatingly. "Please
be generous, Mr. Grimm. You have the gold; don't destroy her."
Señor Rodriguez, the minister from Venezuela, found the gold in his safe
on the following morning, with a brief note from Mr. Grimm, in which
there was no explanation of how or where it had been found.... And two
hours later Monsieur Boisségur, ambassador from France to the United
States, disappeared from the embassy, vanished!
XII
THE VANISHING DIPLOMATIST
It was three days after the ambassador's disappearance that Monsieur
Rigolot, secretary of the French embassy and temporary
_chargé-d'affaires_, reported the matter to Chief Campbell in the Secret
Service Bureau, adding thereto a detailed statement of several singular
incidents following close upon it. He told it in order, concisely and to
the point, while Grimm and his chief listened.
"Monsieur Boisségur, the ambassador, you understand, is a man whose
habits are remarkably regular," he began. "He has made it a rule to be
at his desk every morning at ten o'clock, and between that time and one
o'clock he dictates his correspondence, and clears up whatever routine
work there is before him. I have known him for many years, and have
been secretary of the embassy under him in Germany and Japan and this
country. I have never known him to vary this general order of work
unless because of illness, or necessary absence.
"Well, Monsieur, last Tuesday--this is Friday--the ambassador was at his
desk as usual. He dictated a dozen or more letters, and had begun
another--a private letter to his sister in Paris. He was well along in
this letter when, without any apparent reason, he rose from his desk and
left the room, closing the door behind him. His stenographer's
impression was that some detail of business had occurred to him, and he
had gone into the general office farther down the hall to attend to it.
I may say, Monsieur, that this impression seemed strengthened by the
fact that he left a fresh cigarette burning in his ash tray, and his pen
was behind his ear. It was all as if he had merely stepped out,
intending to return immediately--the sort of thing, Monsieur, that any
man might have done.
"It so happened that when he went out he left a sentence of his letter
incomplete. I tell you this to show that the impulse to go must have
been a sudden one, yet there was nothing in his manner, so his
stenographer says, to indicate excitement, or any other than his usual
frame of mind. It was about five minutes of twelve o'clock--high
noon--when he went out. When he didn't return immediately the
stenographer began transcribing the letters. At one o'clock Monsieur
Boisségur still had not returned and his stenographer went to luncheon."
As he talked some inbred excitement seemed to be growing upon him, due,
perhaps, to his recital of the facts, and he paused at last to regain
control of himself. Incidentally he wondered if Mr. Grimm was taking the
slightest interest in what he was saying. Certainly there was nothing in
his impassive face to indicate it.
"Understand, Monsieur," the secretary continued, after a moment, "that I
knew nothing whatever of all this until late that afternoon--that is,
Tuesday afternoon about five o'clock. I was engaged all day upon some
important work in my own office, and had had no occasion to see Monsieur
Boisségur since a word or so when he came in at ten o'clock. My
attention was called to the affair finally by his stenographer, Monsieur
Netterville, who came to me for instructions. He had finished the
letters and the ambassador had not returned to sign them. At this point
I began an investigation, Monsieur, and the further I went the more
uneasy I grew.
"Now, Monsieur, there are only two entrances to the embassy--the front
door, where a servant is in constant attendance from nine in the morning
until ten at night, and the rear door, which can only be reached through
the kitchen. Neither of the two men who had been stationed at the front
door had seen the ambassador since breakfast, therefore he could not
have gone out that way. _Comprenez_? It seemed ridiculous, Monsieur, but
then I went to the kitchen. The _chef_ had been there all day, and he
had not seen the ambassador at all. I inquired further. No one in the
embassy, not a clerk, nor a servant, nor a member of the ambassador's
family had seen him since he left his office."
Again he paused and ran one hand across his troubled brow.
"Monsieur," he went on, and there was a tense note in his voice, "the
ambassador of France had disappeared, gone, vanished! We searched the
house from the cellar to the servants' quarters, even the roof, but
there was no trace of him. The hat he usually wore was in the hall, and
all his other hats were accounted for. You may remember, Monsieur, that
Tuesday was cold, but all his top-coats were found in their proper
places. So it seems, Monsieur," and repression ended in a burst of
excitement, "if he left the embassy he did not go out by either door,
and he went without hat or coat!"
He stopped helplessly and his gaze alternated inquiringly between the
benevolent face of the chief and the expressionless countenance of Mr.
Grimm.
"_If_ he left the embassy?" Mr. Grimm repeated. "If your search of the
house proved conclusively that he wasn't there, he _did_ leave it,
didn't he?"
Monsieur Rigolot stared at him blankly for a moment, then nodded.
"And there are windows, you know," Mr. Grimm went on, then: "As I
understand it, Monsieur, no one except you and the stenographer saw the
ambassador after ten o'clock in the morning?"
"_Oui, Monsieur. C'est--_" Monsieur Rigolot began excitedly. "I beg
pardon. I believe that is correct."
"You saw him about ten, you say; therefore no one except the
stenographer saw him after ten o'clock?"
"That is also true, as far as I know."
"Any callers? Letters? Telegrams? Telephone messages?"
"I made inquiries in that direction, Monsieur," was the reply. "I have
the words of the servants at the door and of the stenographer that there
were no callers, and the statement of the stenographer that there were
no telephone calls or telegrams. There were only four letters for him
personally. He left them all on his desk--here they are."
Mr. Grimm looked them over leisurely. They were commonplace enough,
containing nothing that might be construed into a reason for the
disappearance.
"The letters Monsieur Boisségur had dictated were laid on his desk by
the stenographer," Monsieur Rigolot rushed on volubly, excitedly. "In
the anxiety and uneasiness following the disappearance they were allowed
to remain there overnight. On Wednesday morning, Monsieur"--and he
hesitated impressively--"_those letters bore his signature in his own
handwriting_!"
Mr. Grimm turned his listless eyes full upon Monsieur Rigolot's
perturbed face for one scant instant.
"No doubt of it being his signature?" he queried.
"_Non, Monsieur, non!_" the secretary exclaimed emphatically. "_Vous
avez_--that is, I have known his signature for years. There is no doubt.
The letters were not of a private nature. If you would care to look at
copies of them?"
He offered the duplicates tentatively. Mr. Grimm read them over slowly,
the while Monsieur Rigolot sat nervously staring at him. They, too,
seemed meaningless as bearing on the matter in hand. Finally, Mr. Grimm
nodded, and Monsieur Rigolot resumed:
"And Wednesday night, Monsieur, another strange thing happened. Monsieur
Boisségur smokes many cigarettes, of a kind made especially for him in
France, and shipped to him here. He keeps them in a case on his
dressing-table. On Thursday morning his valet reported to me that _this
case of cigarettes had disappeared_!"
"Of course," observed Mr. Grimm, "Monsieur Boisségur has a latch-key to
the embassy?"
"Of course."
"Anything unusual happen last night--that is, Thursday night?"
"Nothing, Monsieur--that is, nothing we can find."
Mr. Grimm was silent for a time and fell to twisting the seal ring on
his finger. Mr. Campbell turned around and moved a paper weight one inch
to the left, where it belonged, while Monsieur Rigolot, disappointed at
their amazing apathy, squirmed uneasily in his chair.
"It would appear, then," Mr. Grimm remarked musingly, "that after his
mysterious disappearance the ambassador has either twice returned to his
house at night, or else sent some one there, first to bring the letters
to him for signature, and later to get his cigarettes?"
"_Certainement, Monsieur_--I mean, that seems to be true. But where is
he? Why should he not come back? What does it mean? Madame Boisségur is
frantic, prostrated! She wanted me to go to the police, but I did not
think it wise that it should become public, so I came here."
"Very well," commented Mr. Grimm. "Let it rest as it is. Meanwhile you
may reassure madame. Point out to her that if Monsieur Boisségur signed
the letters Tuesday night he was, at least, alive; and if he came or
sent for the cigarettes Wednesday night, he was still alive. I shall
call at the embassy this afternoon. No, it isn't advisable to go with
you now. Give me your latch-key, please."
Monsieur Rigolot produced the key and passed it over without a word.
"And one other thing," Mr. Grimm continued, "please collect all the
revolvers that may be in the house and take charge of them yourself. If
any one, by chance, heard a burglar prowling around there to-night he
might shoot, and in that event either kill Monsieur Boisségur or--or
me!"
When the secretary had gone Mr. Campbell idly drummed on his desk as he
studied the face of his subordinate.
"So much!" he commented finally.
"It's Miss Thorne again," said the young man as if answering a question.
"Perhaps these reports I have received to-day from the Latin capitals
may aid you in dispelling that mystery," Campbell suggested, and Mr.
Grimm turned to them eagerly. "Meanwhile our royal visitor, Prince
Benedetto d'Abruzzi, remains unknown?"
The young man's teeth closed with a snap.
"It's only a question of time, Chief," he said abruptly. "I'll find
him--I'll find him!"
And he sat down to read the reports.
XIII
A CONFERENCE IN THE DARK
The white rays of a distant arc light filtered through the half-drawn
velvet hangings and laid a faintly illumined path across the
ambassador's desk; the heavy leather chairs were mere impalpable
splotches in the shadows; the cut-glass knobs of a mahogany cabinet
caught the glint of light and reflected it dimly. Outside was the vague,
indefinable night drone of a city asleep, unbroken by any sound that was
distinguishable, until finally there came the distant boom of a clock.
It struck twice.
Seated on a couch in one corner of the ambassador's office was Mr.
Grimm. He was leaning against the high arm of leather, with his feet on
the seat, thoughtfully nursing his knees. If his attitude indicated
anything except sheer comfort, it was that he was listening. He had been
there for two hours, wide-awake, and absolutely motionless. Five, ten,
fifteen minutes more passed, and then Mr. Grimm heard the grind and whir
of an automobile a block or so away, coming toward the embassy. Now it
was in front.
"Honk! Hon-on-onk!" it called plaintively. "Hon-on-onk! Honk!"
The signal! At last! The automobile went rushing on, full tilt, while
Mr. Grimm removed his feet from the seat and dropped them noiselessly to
the floor. Thus, with his hands on his knees, and listening, listening
with every faculty strained, he sat motionless, peering toward the open
door that led into the hall. The car was gone now, the sound of it was
swallowed up in the distance, still he sat there. It was obviously some
noise in the house for which he was waiting.
Minute after minute passed, and still nothing. There was not even the
whisper of a wind-stirred drapery. He was about to rise when, suddenly,
with no other noise than that of the sharp click of the switch, the
electric lights in the room blazed up brilliantly. The glare dazzled Mr.
Grimm with its blinding flood, but he didn't move. Then softly, almost
in a whisper:
"Good evening, Mr. Grimm."
It was a woman's voice, pleasant, unsurprised, perfectly modulated. Mr.
Grimm certainly did not expect it now, but he knew it instantly--there
was not another quite like it in the wide, wide world--and though he was
still blinking a little, he came to his feet courteously.
"Good morning, Miss Thorne," he corrected gravely.
Now his vision was clearing, and he saw her, a graceful figure,
silhouetted against the rich green of the wall draperies. Her lips were
curled the least bit, as if she might have been smiling, and her
wonderful eyes reflected a glint of--of--was it amusement? The folds of
her evening dress fell away from her, and one bare, white arm was
extended, as her hand still rested on the switch.
"And you didn't hear me?" still in the half whisper. "I didn't think you
would. Now I'm going to put out the lights for an instant, while you
pull the shades down, and then--then we must have a--a conference."
The switch snapped. The lights died as suddenly as they had been born,
and Mr. Grimm, moving noiselessly, visited each of the four windows in
turn. Then the lights blazed brilliantly again.
"Just for a moment," Miss Thorne explained to him quietly, and she
handed him a sheet of paper. "I want you to read this--read it
carefully--then I shall turn out the lights again. They are dangerous.
After that we may discuss the matter at our leisure."
Mr. Grimm read the paper while Miss Thorne's eyes questioned his
impassive face. At length he looked up indolently, listlessly, and the
switch snapped. She crossed the room and sat down; Mr. Grimm sat beside
her.
"I think," Miss Thorne suggested tentatively, "that that accounts
perfectly for Monsieur Boisségur's disappearance."
"It gives one explanation, at least," Mr. Grimm assented musingly.
"Kidnapped--held prisoner--fifty thousand dollars demanded for his
safety and release." A pause. "And to whom, may I ask, was this demand
addressed?"
"To Madame Boisségur," replied Miss Thorne. "I have the envelope in
which it came. It was mailed at the general post-office at half-past one
o'clock this afternoon, so the canceling stamp shows, and the envelope
was addressed, as the letter was written, on a typewriter."
"And how," inquired Mr. Grimm, after a long pause, "how did it come into
your possession?" He waited a little. "Why didn't Monsieur Rigolot
report this development to me this afternoon when I was here?"
"Monsieur Rigolot did not inform you of it because he didn't know of it
himself," she replied, answering the last question first. "It came into
my possession directly from the hands of Madame Boisségur--she gave it
to me."
"Why?"
Mr. Grimm was peering through the inscrutable darkness, straight into
her face--a white daub in the gloom, shapeless, indistinct.
"I have known Madame Boisségur for half a dozen years," Miss Thorne
continued, in explanation. "We have been friends that long. I met her
first in Tokio, later in Berlin, and within a few weeks, here in
Washington. You see I have traveled in the time I have been an agent for
my government. Well, Madame Boisségur received this letter about
half-past four o'clock this afternoon; and about half-past five she sent
for me and placed it in my hands, together with all the singular details
following upon the ambassador's disappearance. So, it would seem that
you and I are allies for this once, and the problem is already solved.
There merely remains the task of finding and releasing the ambassador."
Mr. Grimm sat perfectly still.
"And why," he asked slowly, "are you here now?"
"For the same reason that you are here," she replied readily, "to see
for myself if the--the person who twice came here at night--once for the
ambassador's letters and once for his cigarettes--would, by any chance,
make another trip. I knew you were here, of course."
"You knew I was here," repeated Mr. Grimm musingly. "And, may I--?"
"Just as you knew that I, or some one, at least, had entered this house
a few minutes ago," she interrupted. "The automobile horn outside was a
signal, wasn't it? Hastings was in the car? Or was it Blair or Johnson?"
Mr. Grimm did not say.
"Didn't you anticipate any personal danger when you entered?" he queried
instead. "Weren't you afraid I might shoot?"
"No."
There was a long silence. Mr. Grimm still sat with his elbows on his
knees, staring, staring at the vague white splotch which was Miss
Thorne's face and bare neck. One of her white arms hung at her side like
a pallid serpent, and her hand was at rest on the seat of the couch.
"It seems, Miss Thorne," he said at length, casually, quite casually,
"that our paths of duty are inextricably tangled. Twice previously we
have met under circumstances that were more than strange, and now--this!
Whatever injustice I may have done you in the past by my suspicions has,
I hope, been forgiven; and in each instance we were able to work side by
side toward a conclusion. I am wondering now if this singular affair
will take a similar course."
He paused. Miss Thorne started to speak, but he silenced her with a
slight gesture of his hand.
"It is only fair to you to say that we--that is, the Secret
Service--have learned many things about you," he resumed in the same
casual tone. "We have, through our foreign agents, traced you step by
step from Rome to Washington. We know that you are, in a way, a
representative of a sovereign of Europe; we know that you were on a
secret mission to the Spanish court, perhaps for this sovereign, and
remained in Madrid for a month; we know that from there you went to
Paris, also on a secret mission--perhaps the same--and remained there
for three weeks; we know that you met diplomatic agents of those
governments later in London. We know all this; we know the manner of
your coming to this country; of your coming to Washington. But we don't
know _why_ you are here."
Again she started to speak, and again he stopped her.
"We don't know your name, but that is of no consequence. We _do_ know
that in Spain you were Señora Cassavant, in Paris Mademoiselle
d'Aubinon, in London Miss Jane Kellog, and here Miss Isabel Thorne. We
realize that exigencies arise in your calling, and mine, which make
changes of name desirable, necessary even, and there is no criticism of
that. Now as the representative of your government--rather _a_
government--you have a right to be here, although unaccredited; you have
a right to remain here as long as your acts are consistent with our
laws; you have a right to your secrets as long as they do not, directly
or indirectly, threaten the welfare of this country. Now, why are you
here?"
He received no answer; he expected none. After a moment he went on:
"Admitting that you are a secret agent of Italy, admitting everything
that you claim to be, you haven't convinced me that you are not the
person who came here for the letters and cigarettes. You have said
nothing to prove to my satisfaction that you are not the individual I
was waiting for to-night."
"You don't mean that you suspect--?" she began in a tone of amazement.
"I don't mean that I suspect anything," he interposed. "I mean merely
that you haven't convinced me. There's nothing inconsistent in the fact
that you are what you say you are, and that in spite of that, you came
to-night for--"
He was interrupted by a laugh, a throaty, silvery note that he
remembered well. His idle hands closed spasmodically, only to be
instantly relaxed.
"Suppose, Mr. Grimm, I should tell you that immediately after Madame
Boisségur placed the matter in my hands this afternoon I went straight
to your office to show this letter to you and to ask your assistance?"
she inquired. "Suppose that I left my card for you with a clerk there on
being informed that you were out--remember I knew you were on the case
from Madame Boisségur--would that indicate anything except that I wanted
to put the matter squarely before you, and work with you?"
"We will suppose that much," Mr. Grimm agreed.
"That is a statement of fact," Miss Thorne added. "My card, which you
will find at your office, will show that. And when I left your office I
went to the hotel where you live, with the same purpose. You were not
there, and I left a card for you. And _that_ is a statement of fact. It
was not difficult, owing to the extraordinary circumstances, to imagine
that you would be here to-night--just as you are--and I came here. My
purpose, still, was to inform you of what I knew, and work with you.
Does that convince you?"
"And how did you enter the embassy?" Mr. Grimm persisted.
"Not with a latch-key, as you did," she replied. "Madame Boisségur, at
my suggestion, left the French window in the hall there unfastened, and
I came in that way--the way, I may add, that _Monsieur l'Ambassadeur_
went out when he disappeared."
"Very well!" commented Mr. Grimm, and finally: "I think, perhaps, I owe
you an apology, Miss Thorne--another one. The circumstances now, as
they were at our previous meetings, are so unusual that--is it necessary
to go on?" There was a certain growing deference in his tone. "I wonder
if you account for Monsieur Boisségur's disappearance as I do?" he
inquired.
"I dare say," and Miss Thorne leaned toward him with sudden eagerness in
her manner and voice. "Your theory is--?" she questioned.
"If we believe the servants we know that Monsieur Boisségur did not go
out either by the front door or rear," Mr. Grimm explained. "That being
true the French window by which you entered seems to have been the way."
"Yes, yes," Miss Thorne interpolated. "And the circumstances attending
the disappearance? How do you account for the fact that he went,
evidently of his own will?"
"Precisely as you must account for it if you have studied the situation
here as I have," responded Mr. Grimm. "For instance, sitting at his desk
there"--and he turned to indicate it--"he could readily see out the
windows overlooking the street. There is only a narrow strip of lawn
between the house and the sidewalk. Now, if some one on the sidewalk,
or--or--"
"In a carriage?" promptly suggested Miss Thorne.
"Or in a carriage," Mr. Grimm supplemented, "had attracted his
attention--some one he knew--it is not at all unlikely that he rose, for
no apparent reason, as he did do, passed along the hall--"
"And through the French window, across the lawn to the carriage, and not
a person in the house would have seen him go out? Precisely! There seems
no doubt that was the way," she mused. "And, of course, he must have
entered the carriage of his own free will?"
"In other words, on some pretext or other, he was lured in, then made
prisoner, and--!"
He paused suddenly and his hand met Miss Thorne's warningly. The silence
of the night was broken by the violent clatter of footsteps, apparently
approaching the embassy. The noise was unmistakable--some one was
running.
"The window!" Miss Thorne whispered.
She rose quickly and started to cross the room, to look out; Mr. Grimm
sat motionless, listening. An instant later and there came a tremendous
crash of glass--the French window in the hallway by the sound--then
rapid footsteps, still running, along the hall. Mr. Grimm moved toward
the door unruffled, perfectly self-possessed; there was only a narrowing
of his eyes at the abruptness and clatter of it all. And then the
electric lights in the hall flashed up.
Before Mr. Grimm stood a man, framed by the doorway, staring unseeingly
into the darkened room. His face was haggard and white as death; his
mouth agape as if from exertion, and the lips bloodless; his eyes were
widely distended as if from fright--clothing disarranged, collar
unfastened and dangling.