Miss Thorne's voice startled Mr. Grimm a little, but he had no doubts. It was Monsieur Boisségur. Mr. Grimm was going toward the enframed figure when, without any apparent reason, the ambassador turned and ran along the hall; and at that instant the lights went out again. For one moment Grimm stood still, dazed and blinded by the sudden blackness, and again he started toward the door. Miss Thorne was beside him.
"The lights!" he whispered tensely. "Find the switch!"
He heard the rustle of her skirts as she moved away, and stepped out into the hall, feeling with both his hands along the wall. A few feet away, in the direction the ambassador had gone, there seemed to be a violent struggle in progress—there was the scuffling of feet, and quick-drawn breaths as muscle strained against muscle. The lights! If he could only find the switch! Then, as his hands moved along the wall, they came in contact with another hand—a hand pressed firmly against the plastering, barring his progress. A light blow in the face caused him to step back quickly.
The scuffling sound suddenly resolved itself into moving footsteps, and the front door opened and closed with a bang. Mr. Grimm's listless eyes snapped, and his white teeth came together sharply as he started toward the front door. But fate seemed to be against him still. He stumbled over a chair, and his own impetus forward sent him sprawling; his head struck the wall with a resounding whack; and then, over the house, came utter silence. From outside he heard the clatter of a cab. Finally that died away in the distance.
"Miss Thorne?" he inquired quietly.
"I'm here," she answered in a despairing voice. "But I can't find the switch."
"Are you hurt?"
"No."
And then she found the switch; the lights flared up. Mr. Grimm was sitting thoughtfully on the floor.
"That simplifies the matter considerably," he observed complacently, as he rose. "The men who signaled to me when you entered the embassy will never let that cab get out of their sight."
Miss Thorne stood leaning forward a little, eagerly gazing at him with those wonderful blue-gray eyes, and an expression of—of—perhaps it was admiration on her face.
"Are you sure?" she demanded, at last.
"I know it," was his response.
And just then Monsieur Rigolot, secretary of the embassy, thrust an inquisitive head timidly around the corner of the stairs. The crash of glass had aroused him.
"What happened?" he asked breathlessly.
"We don't know just yet," replied Mr. Grimm. "If the noise aroused any one else please assure them that there's nothing the matter. And you might inform Madame Boisségur that the ambassador will return home to-morrow. Good night!"
At his hotel, when he reached there, Mr. Grimm found Miss Thorne's card—and he drew a long breath; at his office he found another of her cards, and he drew another long breath. He did like corroborative details, did Mr. Grimm, and, of course, this—! On the following day Miss Thorne accompanied him to Alexandria, and they were driven in a closed carriage out toward the western edge of the city. Finally the carriage stopped at a signal from Mr. Grimm, and he assisted Miss Thorne out, after which he turned and spoke to some one remaining inside—a man.
"The house is two blocks west, along that street there," he explained, and he indicated an intersecting thoroughfare just ahead. "It is number ninety-seven. Five minutes after we enter you will drive up in front of the door and wait. If we don't return in fifteen minutes—come in after us!"
"Do you anticipate danger?" Miss Thorne queried quickly.
"If I had anticipated danger," replied Mr. Grimm, "I should not have permitted you to come with me."
They entered the house—number ninety-seven—with a key which Mr. Grimm produced, and a minute or so later walked into a room where three men were sitting. One of them was of a coarse, repulsive type, large and heavy; another rather dapper, of superficial polish, evidently a foreigner, and the third—the third was Ambassador Boisségur!
"Good morning, gentlemen!" Mr. Grimm greeted them, then ceremoniously: "Monsieur Boisségur, your carriage is at the door."
The three men came to their feet instantly, and one of them—he of the heavy face—drew a revolver. Mr. Grimm faced him placidly.
"Do you know what would happen to you if you killed me?" he inquired pleasantly. "You wouldn't live three minutes. Do you imagine I came in here blindly? There are a dozen men guarding the entrances to the house—a pistol shot would bring them in. Put down the gun!"
Eyes challenged eyes for one long tense instant, and the man carefully laid the weapon on the table. Mr. Grimm strolled over and picked it up, after which he glanced inquiringly at the other man—the ambassador's second guard.
"And you are the gentleman, I dare say, who made the necessary trips to the ambassador's house, probably using his latch-key?" he remarked interrogatively. "First for the letters to be signed, and again for the cigarettes?"
There was no answer and Mr. Grimm turned questioningly to Monsieur Boisségur, silent, white of face, motionless.
"Yes, Monsieur," the ambassador burst out suddenly. His eyes were fixed unwaveringly on Miss Thorne.
"And your escape, Monsieur?" continued Mr. Grimm.
"I did escape, Monsieur, last night," the ambassador explained, "but they knew it immediately—they pursued me into my own house, these two and another—and dragged me back here!Mon Dieu, Monsieur, c'est—!"
"That's all that's necessary," remarked Mr. Grimm. "You are free to go now."
"But there are others," Monsieur Boisségur interposed desperately, "two more somewhere below, and they will not allow—they will attack—!"
Mr. Grimm's listless eyes narrowed slightly and he turned to Miss Thorne. She was a little white, but he saw enough in her face to satisfy him.
"I shall escort Monsieur Boisségur to his carriage, Miss Thorne," he said calmly. "These men will remain here until I return. Take the revolver. If either of them so much as wags his head—shoot! You are not—not afraid?"
"No." She smiled faintly. "I am not afraid."
Mr. Grimm and the ambassador went down the stairs, and out the front door. Mr. Grimm was just turning to reenter the house when from above came a muffled, venomous cra-as-ash!—a shot! He took the steps going up, two at a time. Miss Thorne was leaning against the wall as if dazed; the revolver lay at her feet. A door in a far corner of the room stood open; and the clatter of footsteps echoed through the house.
"One of them leaped at me and I fired," she gasped in explanation. "He struck me, but I'm—I'm not hurt."
She stooped quickly, picked up the revolver and made as if to follow the dying footsteps. Mr. Grimm stopped her.
"It doesn't matter," he said quietly. "Let them go." And after a while, earnestly: "If I had dreamed of such a—such a thing as this I should never have consented to allow you—"
"I understand," she interrupted, and for one instant her outstretched hand rested on his arm. "The ambassador?"
"Perfectly safe," responded Mr. Grimm. "Two of my men are with him."
As the women rose and started out, leaving the gentlemen over their coffee and cigars, Miss Thorne paused at the door and the blue-gray eyes flashed some subtle message to the French ambassador who, after an instant, nodded comprehendingly, then resumed his conversation. As he left the room a few minutes later he noticed that Mr. Grimm had joined a group of automaniacs of which Mr. Cadwallader was the enthusiastic center. He spoke to his hostess, the wife of the minister from Portugal, for a moment, then went to Miss Thorne and dropped into a seat beside her. She greeted him with a smile and was still smiling as she talked.
"I believe, Monsieur," she said in French, "you sent a code message to the cable office this afternoon?"
His eyes questioned hers quickly.
"And please bear in mind that we probably are being watched as we talk," she went on pleasantly. "Mr. Grimm is the man to be afraid of. Smile—don't look so serious!" She laughed outright.
"Yes, I sent a code message," he replied.
"It was your resignation?"
"Yes."
"Well, it wasn't sent, of course," she informed him, and her eyes were sparkling as if something amusing had been said. "One of my agents stopped it. I may add that it will not be sent."
The ambassador's eyes grew steely, then blank again.
"Mademoiselle, what am I to understand from that?" he demanded.
"You are to understand that I am absolute master of the situation in Washington at this moment," she replied positively. The smile on her lips and the tone of her voice were strangely at variance. "From the beginning I let you understand that ultimately you would receive your instructions from Paris; now I know they will reach you by cable to-morrow. Within a week the compact will be signed. Whether you approve of it or not it will be signed for your country by a special envoy whose authority is greater than yours—his Highness, the Prince Benedetto d'Abruzzi."
"Has he reached Washington?"
"He is in Washington. He has been here for some time, incognito." She was silent a moment. "You have been a source of danger to our plans," she added. "If it had not been for an accident you would still have been comfortably kept out in Alexandria where Mr. Grimm and I found you. Please remember, Monsieur, that we will accomplish what we set out to do. Nothing can stop us—nothing."
At just about the same moment the name of Prince d'Abruzzi had been used in the dining-room, but in a different connection. Mr. Cadwallader was reciting some incident of an automobile trip in Italy when he had been connected with the British embassy there.
"The prince was driving," he said, "and one of the best I ever saw. Corking chap, the prince; democratic, you know, and all that sort of thing. He was one scion of royalty who didn't mind soiling his hands by diving in under a car and fixing it himself. At that time he was inclined to be wild—that was eight or nine years ago—but they say now he has settled down to work, and is one of the real diplomatic powers of Italy. I haven't seen him for a half dozen years."
"How old a man is he?" asked Mr. Grimm carelessly.
"Thirty-five, thirty-eight, perhaps; I don't know," replied Mr. Cadwallader. "It's odd, you know, the number of princes and blue-bloods and all that sort of thing one can find knocking about in Italy and Germany and Spain. One never hears of half of them. I never had heard of the Prince d'Abruzzi until I went to Italy, and I've heard jolly well little of him since, except indirectly."
Mr. Cadwallader lapsed into silence as he sat staring at a large group photograph which was framed on a wall of the dining-room.
"Isn't that the royal family of Italy?" he asked. He rose and went over to it. "By Jove, it is, and here is the prince in the group. The picture was taken, I should say, about the time I knew him."
Mr. Grimm strolled over idly and stood for a long time staring at the photograph.
"He can drive a motor, you know," said Mr. Cadwallader admiringly. "And Italy is the place to drive them. They forgot to make any speed laws over there, and if a chap gets in your way and you knock him silly they arrest him for obstructing traffic, you know. Over here if a chap really starts to go any place in a hurry some bally idiot holds him up."
"Have you ever been held up?" queried Mr. Grimm.
"No, but I expect to be every day," was the reply. "I've got a new motor, you know, and I've never been able to see how fast it is. The other evening I ran up to Baltimore with it in an hour and thirty-seven minutes from Alexandria to Druid Hill Park, and that's better than forty miles. I never did let the motor out, you know, because we ran in the dark most of the way."
Mr. Grimm was still gazing at the photograph.
"Did you go alone?" he asked.
"There's no fun motoring alone, you know. Señorita Rodriguez was with me. Charming girl, what?"
A little while later Mr. Grimm sauntered out into the drawing-room and made his way toward Miss Thorne and the French ambassador. Monsieur Boisségur rose, and offered his hand cordially.
"I hope, Monsieur," said Mr. Grimm, "that you are no worse off for your—your unpleasant experience?"
"Not at all, thanks to you," was the reply. "I have just thanked Miss Thorne for her part in the affair, and—"
"I'm glad to have been of service," interrupted Mr. Grimm lightly.
The ambassador bowed ceremoniously and moved away. Mr. Grimm dropped into the seat he had just left.
"You've left the legation, haven't you?" he asked.
"You drove me out," she laughed.
"Drove you out?" he repeated. "Drove you out?"
"Why, it was not only uncomfortable, but it was rather conspicuous because of the constant espionage of your Mr. Blair and your Mr. Johnson and your Mr. Hastings," she explained, still laughing. "So I have moved to the Hotel Hilliard."
Mr. Grimm was twisting the seal ring on his little finger.
"I'm sorry if I've made it uncomfortable for you," he apologized. "You see it's necessary to—"
"No explanation," Miss Thorne interrupted. "I understand."
"I'm glad you do," he replied seriously. "How long do you intend to remain in the city?"
"Really I don't know—two, three, four weeks, perhaps. Why?"
"I was just wondering."
Señorita Rodriguez came toward them.
"We're going to play bridge," she said, "and we need you, Isabel, to make the four. Come. I hate to take her away, Mr. Grimm."
Mr. Grimm and Miss Thorne rose together. For an instant her slim white hand rested on Mr. Grimm's sleeve and she stared into his eyes understandingly with a little of melancholy in her own. They left Mr. Grimm there.
For two weeks Signor Pietro Petrozinni, known to the Secret Service as an unaccredited agent of the Italian government, and the self-confessed assailant of Señor Alvarez of the Mexican legation, had been taking his ease in a cell. He had been formally arraigned and committed without bail to await the result of the bullet wound which had been inflicted upon the diplomatist from Mexico at the German Embassy Ball, and, since then, undisturbed and apparently careless of the outcome, he had spent his time in reading and smoking. He had answered questions with only a curt yes or no when he deigned to answer them at all; and there had been no callers or inquiries for him. He had abruptly declined a suggestion of counsel.
Twice each day, morning and night, he had asked a question of the jailer who brought his simple meals.
"How is Señor Alvarez?"
"He is still in a critical condition." The answer was always the same.
Whereupon the secret agent would return to his reading with not a shadow of uneasiness or concern on his face.
Occasionally there came a courteous little note from Miss Thorne, which he read without emotion, afterward casting them aside or tearing them up. He never answered them. And then one day there came another note which, for no apparent reason, seemed to stir him from his lethargy. Outwardly it was like all the others, but when Signor Petrozinni scanned the sheet his eyes lighted strangely, and he stood staring down at it as though to hide a sudden change of expression in his face. His gaze was concentrated on two small splotches of ink where, it seemed, the pen had scratched as Miss Thorne signed her name.
The guard stood at the barred door for a moment, then started to turn away. The prisoner stopped him with a quick gesture.
"Oh, Guard, may I have a glass of milk, please?" he asked. "No ice. I prefer it tepid."
He thrust a small coin between the bars; the guard accepted it and passed on. Then, still standing at the door, the prisoner read the note again:
"MY DEAR FRIEND:"I understand, from an indirect source, that there has been a marked improvement in Señor Alvarez's condition, and I am hastening to send you the good news. There is every hope that within a short while, if he continues to improve, we can arrange a bail bond, and you will be free until the time of trial anyway."Might it not be well for you to consult an attorney at once? Drop me a line to let me know you received this."Sincerely,"ISABEL THORNE."
"MY DEAR FRIEND:
"I understand, from an indirect source, that there has been a marked improvement in Señor Alvarez's condition, and I am hastening to send you the good news. There is every hope that within a short while, if he continues to improve, we can arrange a bail bond, and you will be free until the time of trial anyway.
"Might it not be well for you to consult an attorney at once? Drop me a line to let me know you received this.
"Sincerely,
"ISABEL THORNE."
Finally the prisoner tossed the note on a tiny table in a corner of his cell, and resumed his reading. After a time the guard returned with the milk.
"Would it be against the rules for me to write an answer to this?" queried Signor Petrozinni, and he indicated the note.
"Certainly not," was the reply.
"If I might trouble you, then, for pen and ink and paper?" suggested the signor and he smiled a little. "Believe me, I would prefer to get them for myself."
"I guess that's right," the guard grinned good-naturedly.
Again he went away and the prisoner sat thoughtfully sipping the milk. He took half of it, then lighted a cigarette, puffed it once or twice and permitted the light to die. After a little there came again the clatter of the guard's feet on the cement pavement, and the writing materials were thrust through the bars.
"Thank you," said the prisoner.
The guard went on, with a nod, and a moment later the signor heard the clangor of a steel door down the corridor as it was closed and locked. He leaned forward in his chair with half-closed eyes, listening for a long time, then rose and noiselessly approached the cell door. Again he listened intently, after which he resumed his seat. He tossed away the cigarette he had and lighted a fresh one, afterward holding the note over the flame of the match. Here and there, where the paper charred in the heat, a letter or word stood out from the bare whiteness of the paper, and finally, a message complete appeared between the innocuous ink-written lines. The prisoner read it greedily:
"Am privately informed there is little chance of Alvarez's recovery. Shall I arrange escape for you, or have ambassador intercede? Would advise former, as the other might take months, and meeting to sign treaty alliance would be dangerously delayed."
"Am privately informed there is little chance of Alvarez's recovery. Shall I arrange escape for you, or have ambassador intercede? Would advise former, as the other might take months, and meeting to sign treaty alliance would be dangerously delayed."
Signor Petrozinni permitted the sputtering flame to ignite the paper, and thoughtfully watched the blaze destroy it. The last tiny scrap dropped on the floor, burned out, and he crushed the ashes under his heel. Then he began to write:
"My Dear Miss Thorne:"Many thanks for your courteous little note. I am delighted to know of the improvement in Señor Alvarez's condition. I had hoped that my impulsive act in shooting him would not end in a tragedy. Please keep me informed of any further change in his condition. As yet I do not see the necessity of consulting an attorney, but later I may be compelled to do so."Respectfully,"Pietro Petrozinni."
"My Dear Miss Thorne:
"Many thanks for your courteous little note. I am delighted to know of the improvement in Señor Alvarez's condition. I had hoped that my impulsive act in shooting him would not end in a tragedy. Please keep me informed of any further change in his condition. As yet I do not see the necessity of consulting an attorney, but later I may be compelled to do so.
"Respectfully,
"Pietro Petrozinni."
This done the secret agent carefully cleaned the ink from the pen, wiping it dry with his handkerchief, then thrust it into the half empty glass of milk. The fluid clung to the steel nib thinly; he went on writing with it, between the lines of ink:
"I am in no danger. I hold credentials to United States, which, when presented, will make me responsible only to the Italian government as special envoy, according to international law. Arrange escape for one week from to-night; use any money necessary. Make careful arrangements for the test and signing of compact for two nights after."
"I am in no danger. I hold credentials to United States, which, when presented, will make me responsible only to the Italian government as special envoy, according to international law. Arrange escape for one week from to-night; use any money necessary. Make careful arrangements for the test and signing of compact for two nights after."
Again the prisoner cleaned the steel nib, after which he put it back in the bottle of ink, leaving it there. He waved the sheet of paper back and forth to dry it, and at last scrutinized it minutely, standing under the light from the high-up window of his cell. Letter by letter the milk evaporated, leaving the sheet perfectly clean and white except for the ink-written message. This sheet he folded, placed in an envelope, and addressed.
Later the guard passed along the corridor, and Signor Petrozinni thrust the letter out to him.
"Be good enough to post that, please," he requested. "It isn't sealed. I don't know if your prison rules require you to read the letters that go out. If so, read it, or have it read, then seal it."
For answer the guard dampened the flap of the envelope, sealed it, thrust it into his pocket and passed on. The secret agent sat down again, and sipped his milk meditatively.
One hour later Mr. Grimm, accompanied by Johnson, came out of a photographer's dark room in Pennsylvania Avenue with a developed negative which he set on a rack to dry. At the end of another hour he was sitting at his desk studying, under a magnifying glass, a finished print of the negative. Word by word he was writing on a slip of paper what his magnifying glass gave him and so, curiously enough, it came to pass that Miss Thorne and Chief Campbell of the Secret Service were reading the hidden, milk-written message at almost the identical moment.
"Johnson got Petrozinni's letter from the postman," Mr. Grimm was explaining. "I opened it, photographed it, sealed it again and remailed it. There was not more than half an hour's delay; and Miss Thorne can not possibly know of it." He paused a moment. "It's an odd thing that writing such as that is absolutely invisible to the naked eye, and yet when photographed becomes decipherable in the negative."
"What do you make of it?" Mr. Campbell asked. The guileless blue eyes were alive with eagerness.
"Well, he's right, of course, about not being in danger," said Mr. Grimm. "If he came with credentials as special envoy this government must respect them, even if Señor Alvarez dies, and leave it to his own government to punish him. If we were officially aware that he has such credentials I doubt if we would have the right to keep him confined; we would merely have to hand him over to the Italian embassy and demand his punishment. And, of course, all that makes him more dangerous than ever."
"Yes, I know that," said the chief a little impatiently. "But who is this man?"
"Who is this man?" Mr. Grimm repeated as if surprised at the question. "I was looking for Prince Benedetto d'Abruzzi, of Italy. I have found him."
Mr. Campbell's clock-like brain ticked over the situation in detail.
"It's like this," Mr. Grimm elucidated. "He has credentials which he knows will free him if he is forced to present them, but I imagine they were given to him more for protection in an emergency like this than for introducing him to our government. As the matter stands he can't afford to discover himself by using those credentials, and yet, if the Latin compact is signed, he must be free. Remember, too, that he is accredited from three countries—Italy, France and Spain." He was silent for a moment. "Naturally his escape from prison would preserve his incognito, and at the same time permit him to sign the compact."
There was silence for a long time.
"I believe the situation is without precedent," said Mr. Campbell slowly. "The special envoy of three great powers held for attempted—!"
"Officially we are not aware of his purpose, or his identity," Mr. Grimm reminded him. "If he escaped it would clarify the situation tremendously."
"If he escaped!" repeated Mr. Campbell musingly.
"But, of course, the compact would not be signed, at least in this country," Mr. Grimm went on tentatively.
Mr. Campbell gazed straight into the listless eyes of the young man for a minute or more, and gradually full understanding came home to him. Finally he nodded his head.
"Use your own judgment, Mr. Grimm," he directed.
The restful silence of night lay over the great prison. Here and there in the grim corridors a guard dozed in the glare of an electric light; and in the office, too, a desk light glimmered where the warden sat at his desk, poring over a report. Once he glanced up at the clock—it was five minutes of eleven—and then he went on with his reading.
After a little the silence was broken by the whir of the clock and the first sharp stroke of the hour; and at just that moment the door from the street opened and a man entered. He was rather tall and slender, and a sinister black mask hid his face from the quickly raised eyes of the warden. For a bare fraction of a second the two men stared at each other, then, instinctively, the warden's right hand moved toward the open drawer of his desk where a revolver lay, and his left toward several electrically connected levers. The intruder noted both gestures, and, unarmed himself, stood silent. The warden was first to speak.
"Well, what is it?"
"You have a prisoner here, Pietro Petrozinni," was the reply, in a pleasant voice. "I have come to demand his release."
The warden's right hand was raised above the desk top, and the revolver in it clicked warningly.
"You have come to demand his release, eh?" he queried. He still sat motionless, with his eyes fixed on the black mask. "How did you pass the outside guard?"
"He was bribed," was the ready response. "Now, Warden," the masked intruder continued pacifically, "it would be much more pleasant all around and there would be less personal danger in it for both of us if you would release Signor Petrozinni without question. I may add that no bribe was offered to you because your integrity was beyond question."
"Thank you," said the warden grimly, "and it shall remain so as long as I have this." He tapped on the desk with the revolver.
"Oh, that isn't loaded," said the masked man quietly.
One quick glance at the weapon showed the warden that the cartridges had been drawn! His teeth closed with a snap at the treachery of it, and with his left hand he pulled back one of the levers—that which should arouse the jailers, turnkeys and guards. Instead of the insistent clangor which he expected, there was silence.
"That wire has been cut," the stranger volunteered.
With clenched teeth the warden pulled the police alarm.
"And that wire was cut, too," the stranger explained.
The warden came to his feet with white face, and nails biting into the palms of his hands. He still held the revolver as he advanced upon the masked man threateningly.
"Not too close, now," warned the intruder, with a sudden hardening of his voice. "Believe me, it would be best for you to release this man, because it must be done, pleasantly or otherwise. I have no desire to injure you, still less do I intend that you shall injure me; and it would be needless for either of us to make a personal matter of it. I want your prisoner, Signor Petrozinni—you will release him at once! That's all!"
The warden paused, dazed, incredulous before the audacity of it, while he studied two calm eyes which peered at him through the slits of the mask.
"And if Idon'trelease him?" he demanded at last, fiercely.
"Then I shall take him," was the reply. "It has been made impossible for you to give an alarm," the stranger went on. "The very men on whom you most depended have been bought, and even if they were within sound of your voice now they wouldn't respond. One of your assistants who has been here for years unloaded the revolver in the desk there, and less than an hour ago cut the prison alarm wire. I, personally, cut the police alarm outside the building. So you see!"
As yet there was no weapon in sight, save the unloaded revolver in the warden's hand; at no time had the stranger's voice been raised. His tone was a perfectly normal one.
"Besides yourself there are only five other men employed here who are now awake," the masked man continued. "These are four inner guards and the outer guard. They have all been bought—the turnkeys at five thousand dollars each, and the outer guard at seven thousand. The receipt of all of this money is conditional upon the release of Signor Petrozinni, therefore it is to their interest to aid me as against you. I am telling you all this, frankly and fully, to make you see how futile any resistance would be."
"But who—who is this Signor Petrozinni, that such powerful influences should be brought to bear in his behalf?" demanded the bewildered warden.
"He is a man who can command a vast fortune—and Señor Alvarez is at the point of death. That, I think, makes it clear. Now, if you'll sit down, please!"
"Sit down?" bellowed the warden.
Suddenly he was seized by a violent, maddening rage. He took one step forward and raised the empty revolver to strike. The masked man moved slightly to one side and his clenched fist caught the warden on the point of the chin. The official went down without a sound and lay still, inert. A moment later the door leading into the corridor of the prison opened, and Signor Petrozinni, accompanied by one of the guards, entered the warden's office. The masked man glanced around at them, and with a motion of his head indicated the door leading to the street. They passed through, closing the door behind them.
For a little time the intruder stood staring down at the still body, then he went to the telephone and called police headquarters.
"There has been a jail delivery at the prison," he said in answer to the "hello" of the desk-sergeant at the other end of the wire. "Better send some of your men up to investigate."
"Who is that?" came the answering question.
The stranger replaced the receiver on the hook, stripped off his black mask, dropped it on the floor beside the motionless warden, and went out. It was Mr. Grimm!
At fifteen minutes of midnight when Miss Thorne, followed by Signor Petrozinni, entered the sitting-room of her apartments in the hotel and turned up the light they found Mr. Grimm already there. He rose courteously. At sight of him Miss Thorne's face went deathly white, and the escaped prisoner turned toward the door again.
"I would advise that you stay, your Highness," said Mr. Grimm coldly. Signor Petrozinni paused, amazed. "You will merely subject yourself to the humiliation of arrest if you attempt to leave. The house is guarded by a dozen men."
"Your Highness?" Miss Thorne repeated blankly. "You are assuming a great deal, aren't you, Mr. Grimm?"
"I don't believe," and Mr. Grimm's listless eyes were fixed on those of the escaped prisoner, "I don't believe that Prince Benedetto d'Abruzzi will deny his identity?"
There was one of those long tense silences when eye challenges eye, when wit is pitted against wit, and mind is hauled around to a new, and sometimes unattractive, view of a situation. Miss Thorne stood silent with rigid features, colorless as marble; but slowly a sneer settled about the lips of Signor Petrozinni that was, and he sat down.
A Long Tense Silence when Eye Challenges Eye."A Long Tense Silence when Eye Challenges Eye."
"You seem to know everything, Mr. Grimm," he taunted.
"Itryto know everything, your Highness," was the reply. Mr. Grimm was still standing. "I know, for instance, that one week ago the plot which had your freedom for its purpose was born; I know the contents of every letter that passed between you and Miss Thorne here, notwithstanding the invisible ink; I know that four days ago several thousand dollars was smuggled in to you concealed in a basket of fruit; I know, with that money, you bribed your way out, while Miss Thorne or one of her agents bribed the guard in front; I know that the escape was planned for to-night, and that the man who was delegated to take charge of it is now locked in my office under guard. It may interest you to know that it was I who took his place and made the escape possible. I know that much!"
"You—you—!" the prince burst out suddenly. "Youaided me to escape?"
Miss Thorne was staring, staring at them with her eyes widely distended, and her red lips slightly parted.
"Whydid you assist him?" she demanded.
"Details are tiresome, Miss Thorne," replied Mr. Grimm with the utmost courtesy. "There is one other thing I know—that the Latin compact will not be signed in the United States."
The prince's eyes met Miss Thorne's inquiringly, and she shook her head. The sneer was still playing about his mouth.
"Anything else of special interest that you know?" he queried.
"Yes, of interest to both you and Miss Thorne. That is merely if the Latin compact is signed anywhere, the English-speaking countries of the world might construe it as acasus belliand strike soon enough, and hard enough, to put an end to it once for all."
Again there was silence for a little while. Slowly the prince's eyes were darkening, and a shadow flitted across Miss Thorne's face. The prince rose impatiently.
"Well, what is the meaning of all this? Are you going to take me back to prison?"
"No," said Mr. Grimm. He glanced at his watch. "I will give each of you one-half hour to pack your belongings. We must catch a train at one o'clock."
"Leave the city?" gasped Miss Thorne.
"Impossible!" exclaimed the prince.
"One-half hour," said Mr. Grimm coldly.
"But—but it's out of the question," expostulated Miss Thorne.
"One-half hour," repeated Mr. Grimm. He didn't dare to meet those wonderful blue-gray eyes now. "A special car with private compartments will be attached to the regular train, and the only inconvenience to you will be the fact that the three of us will be compelled to sit up all night. Half a dozen other Secret Service men will be on the train with us."
And then the prince's entire manner underwent a change.
"Mr. Grimm," he said earnestly, "it is absolutely necessary that I remain in Washington for another week—remain here even if I am locked up again—lock me up again if you like. I can't sign compacts in prison."
"Twenty-five minutes," replied Mr. Grimm quietly.
"But here," exclaimed the prince explosively, "I have credentials which will insure my protection in spite of your laws."
"I know that," said Mr. Grimm placidly. "Credentials of that nature can not be presented at midnight, and you will not be here to-morrow to present them. The fact that you have those credentials, your Highness, is one reason why you must leave Washington now, to-night."
They paused in the office, the three of them, and while Miss Thorne was giving some instructions as to her baggage the prince went over to the telegraph booth and began to write a message on a blank. Mr. Grimm appeared at his elbow.
"No," he said.
"Can't I send a telegram if I like?" demanded the prince sharply.
"No, nor a note, nor a letter, nor may you speak to any one," Mr. Grimm informed him quietly.
"Why, it's an outrage!" flamed the prince.
"It depends altogether on the view-point, your Highness," said Mr. Grimm courteously. "If you will pardon me I might suggest that it is needless to attract attention by your present attitude. You may—I say youmay—compel me to humiliate you." The prince glared at him angrily. "I mean handcuff you," Mr. Grimm added gratuitously.
"Handcuffme?"
"I shouldn't hesitate, your Highness, if it was necessary."
After a moment Miss Thorne signified her readiness, and they started out. At the door Mr. Grimm stopped and turned back to the desk, as if struck by some sudden thought, leaving them together.
"Oh, Miss Thorne left a message for some one," Mr. Grimm was saying to the clerk. "She's decided it is unnecessary." He turned and glanced toward her, and the clerk's eyes followed his. "Please give it to me."
It was passed over without comment. It was a sealed envelope addressed to Mr. Charles Winthrop Rankin. Mr. Grimm glanced at the superscription, tore the envelope into bits and dropped it into a basket. A minute later he was assisting Miss Thorne and the prince into an automobile that was waiting in front. As the car moved away two other automobiles appeared from corners near-by and trailed along behind to the station. There a private compartment-car was in readiness for them.
It was a long, dreary ride—a ride of utter silence save for the roar and clatter of the moving train. Mr. Grimm, vigilant, implacable, sat at ease; Miss Thorne, resigned to the inevitable, whatever it might be, studied the calm, quiet face from beneath drooping lids; and the prince, sullen, scowling, nervously wriggled in his seat. Philadelphia was passed, and Trenton, and then the dawn began to break through the night. It was quite light when they rolled into Jersey City.
"I'm sorry for all the inconvenience I have caused," Mr. Grimm apologized to Miss Thorne as he assisted her to alight. "You must be exhausted."
"If it were only that!" she replied, with a slight smile. "And is it too early to ask where we are going?"
The prince turned quickly at the question.
"We take theLusitaniafor Liverpool at ten o'clock," said Mr. Grimm obligingly. "Meanwhile let's get some coffee and a bite to eat."
"Are you going to make the trip with us?" asked the prince.
Mr. Grimm shrugged his shoulders.
Weary and spiritless they went aboard the boat, and a little while later they steamed out into the stream and threaded their way down the bay. Miss Thorne stood at the rail gazing back upon the city they were leaving. Mr. Grimm stood beside her; the prince, still sullen, still scowling, sat a dozen feet away.
"This is a wonderful thing you have done, Mr. Grimm," said Miss Thorne at last.
"Thank you," he said simply. "It was a destructive thing that you intended to do. Did you ever see a more marvelous thing than that?" and he indicated the sky-line of New York. "It's the most marvelous bit of mechanism in the world; the dynamo of the western hemisphere. You would have destroyed it, because in the world-war that would have been the first point of attack."
She raised her eyebrows, but was silent.
"Somehow," he went on after a moment, "I could never associate a woman with destructiveness, with wars and with violence."
"That is an unjust way of saying it," she interposed. And then, musingly: "Isn't it odd that you and I—standing here by the rail—have, in a way, held the destinies of the whole great earth in our hands? And now your remark makes me feel that you alone have stood for peace and the general good, and I for destruction and evil."
"I didn't mean that," Mr. Grimm said quickly. "You have done your duty as you saw it, and—"
"Failed!" she interrupted.
"And I have done my duty as I saw it."
"And won!" she added. She smiled a little sadly. "I think, perhaps you and I might have been excellent friends if it had not been for all this."
"I know we should have," said Mr. Grimm, almost eagerly. "I wonder if you will ever forgive me for—for—?"
"Forgive you?" she repeated. "There is nothing to forgive. One must do one's duty. But I wish it could have been otherwise."
The Statue of Liberty slid by, and Governor's Island and Fort Hamilton; then, in the distance, Sandy Hook light came into view.
"I'm going to leave you here," said Mr. Grimm, and for the first time there was a tense, strained note in his voice.
Miss Thorne's blue-gray eyes had grown mistily thoughtful; the words startled her a little and she turned to face him.
"It may be that you and I shall never meet again," Mr. Grimm went on.
"Wewillmeet again," she said gravely. "When and where I don't know, but it will come."
"And perhaps then we may be friends?" He was pleading now.
"Why, we are friends now, aren't we?" she asked, and again the smile curled her scarlet lips. "Surely we are friends, aren't we?"
"We are," he declared positively.
As they started forward a revenue cutter which had been hovering about Sandy Hook put toward them, flying some signal at her masthead. Slowly the great boat on which they stood crept along, then the clang of a bell in the engine-room brought her to a standstill, and the revenue cutter came alongside.
"I leave you here," Mr. Grimm said again. "It's good-by."
"Good-by," she said softly. "Good-by, till we meet once more."
She extended both hands impulsively and he stood for an instant staring into the limpid gray eyes, then, turning, went below. From the revenue cutter he waved a hand at her as the greatLusitania, moving again, sped on her way. The prince joined Miss Thorne at the rail. The scowl was still on his face.
"And now what?" he demanded abruptly. "This man has treated us as if we were a pair of children."
"He's a wonderful man," she replied.
"That may be—but we have been fools to allow him to do all this."
Miss Thorne turned flatly and faced him.
"We are not beaten yet," she said slowly. "If all things go well we—we are not beaten yet."
TheLusitaniawas rounding Montauk Point when the wireless brought her to half-speed with a curt message:
"Isabel Thorne and Pietro Petrozinni aboardLusitaniawanted on warrants charging conspiracy. Tug-boat will take them off, intercepting you beyond Montauk Point.
"CAMPBELL, Secret Service."
"What doesthatmean?" asked the prince, bewildered.
"It means that the compact will be signed in Washington in spite of Mr. Grimm," and there was the glitter of triumph in her eyes. "With the aid of one of the maids in the depot at Jersey City I managed to get a telegram of explanation and instruction to De Foe in New York, and this is the result. He signed Mr. Campbell's name, I suppose, to give weight to the message."
An hour later a tug-boat came alongside, and they went aboard.