Elusive Isabel, by Jacques Futrelle Unknown (best fiction novels to read TXT) 📖

learned it in any of a dozen ways. And, in addition, is the fact that the handkerchief is odd, therefore noticeable. A lace expert assures me there’s probably not another like it in the world.”

He stopped. Miss Thorne’s eyes sparkled and a smile seemed to be tugging at the corners of her mouth. She spread out the handkerchief on her knees.

“You could identify this again, of course?” she queried.

“Yes.”

She thoughtfully crumpled up the bit of lace in both hands, then opened them. There were two handkerchiefs now—they were identical.

“Which is it, please?” she asked.

If Mr. Grimm was disappointed there was not a trace of it on his face. She laughed outright, gleefully, mockingly, then, demurely:

“Pardon me! You see, it’s absurd. The handkerchief the butler restored to me at dinner, after I lost one in the senor’s office, might have been either of these, or one of ten other duplicates in my room, all given to me by her Maj—I mean,” she corrected quickly, “by a friend in Europe.” She was silent for a moment. “Is that all?”

“No,” replied Mr. Grimm gravely, decisively. “I’m not satisfied. I shall insist upon the return of the money, and if it is not forthcoming I dare say Count di Rosini, the Italian ambassador, would be pleased to give his personal check rather than have the matter become public.” She started to interrupt; he went on. “In any event you will be requested to leave the country.”

Then, and not until then, a decided change came over Miss Thorne’s face. A deeper color leaped to her cheeks, the smile faded from her lips, and there was a flash of uneasiness in her eyes.

“But if I am innocent?” she protested.

“You must prove it,” continued Mr. Grimm mercilessly. “Personally, I am convinced, and Count di Rosini has practically assured me that—”

“It’s unjust!” she interrupted passionately. “It’s—it’s—you have proved nothing. It’s unheard of! It’s beyond—!”

Suddenly she became silent. A minute, two minutes, three minutes passed; Mr. Grimm waited patiently.

“Will you give me time and opportunity to prove my innocence?” she demanded finally. “And if I do convince you—?”

“I should be delighted to believe that I have made a mistake,” Mr. Grimm assured her. “How much time? One day? Two days?”

“I will let you know within an hour at your office,” she told him.

Mr. Grimm rose.

“And meanwhile, in case of accident, I shall look to Count di Rosini for adjustment,” he added pointedly. “Good morning.”

One hour and ten minutes later he received this note, unsigned:

“Closed carriage will stop for you at southeast corner of Pennsylvania Avenue and Fourteenth Street to-night at one.”

He was there; the carriage was on time; and my lady of mystery was inside. He stepped in and they swung out into Pennsylvania Avenue, noiselessly over the asphalt.

“Should the gold be placed in your hands now, within the hour,” she queried solicitously, “would it be necessary for you to know who was the—the thief?”

“It would,” Mr. Grimm responded without hesitation.

“Even if it destroyed a reputation?” she pleaded.

“The Secret Service rarely destroys a reputation, Miss Thorne, although it holds itself in readiness to do so. I dare say in this case there would be no arrest or prosecution, because of—of reasons which appear to be good.”

“There wouldn’t?” and there was a note of eagerness in her voice. “The identity of the guilty person would never appear?”

“It would become a matter of record in our office, but beyond that I think not—at least in this one instance.”

Miss Thorne sat silent for a block or more.

“You’ll admit, Mr. Grimm, that you have forced me into a most remarkable position. You seemed convinced of my guilt, and, if you’ll pardon me, without reason; then you made it compulsory upon me to establish my innocence. The only way for me to do that was to find the guilty one. I have done it, and I’m sorry, because it’s a little tragedy.”

Mr. Grimm waited.

“It’s a girl high in diplomatic society. Her father’s position is an honorable rather than a lucrative one; he has no fortune. This girl moves in a certain set devoted to bridge, and stakes are high. She played and won, and played and won, and on and on, until her winnings were about eight thousand dollars. Then luck turned. She began to lose. Her money went, but she continued to play desperately. Finally some old family jewels were pawned without her father’s knowledge, and ultimately they were lost. One day she awoke to the fact that she owed some nine or ten thousand dollars in bridge debts. They were pressing and there was no way to meet them. This meant exposure and utter ruin, and women do strange things, Mr. Grimm, to postpone such an ending to social aspirations. I know this much is true, for she related it all to me herself.

“At last, in some way—a misplaced letter, perhaps, or a word overheard—she learned that fifty thousand dollars would be in the legation safe overnight, and evidently she learned the precise night.” She paused a moment. “Here is the address of a man in Baltimore, Thomas Q. Griswold,” and she passed a card to Mr. Grimm, who sat motionless, listening. “About four years ago the combination on the legation safe was changed. This man was sent here to make the change, therefore some one besides Senor Rodriguez does know the combination. I have communicated with this man to-day, for I saw the possibility of just such a thing as this instead of your stethoscope. By a trick and a forged letter this girl obtained the combination from this man.”

Mr. Grimm drew a long breath.

“She intended to take, perhaps, only what she desperately needed—but at sight of it all—do you see what must have been the temptation then? We get out here.”

There were many unanswered questions in Mr. Grimm’s mind. He repressed them for the time, stepped out and assisted Miss Thorne to alight. The carriage had turned out of Pennsylvania Avenue, and at the moment he didn’t quite place himself.