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

summoned into the cabinet chamber. The president met him with outstretched hand. There was more than mere perfunctory thanks in this—there was the understanding of man and man.

“You will proceed with the case to the end, Mr. Grimm,” he instructed abruptly. “If you need assistance ask for it; if not, proceed alone. You will rely upon your own judgment entirely. If there are circumstances which make it inadvisable to move against an individual by legal process, even if that individual is amenable to our laws, you are not constrained so to do if your judgment is against it. There is one stipulation: You will either secure the complete rights of the wireless percussion cap to this government or learn the secret of the invention so that at no future time can we be endangered by it.”

“Thank you,” said Mr. Grimm quietly. “I understand.”

“I may add that it is a matter of deep regret to me,” and the president brought one vigorous hand down on the young man’s shoulder, “that our government has so few men of your type in its service. Good day.”

XXV

WE TWO

Mr. Grimm turned from Pennsylvania Avenue into a cross street, walked along half a block or so, climbed a short flight of stairs and entered an office.

“Is Mr. Howard in?” he queried of a boy in attendance.

“Name, please.”

Mr. Grimm handed over a sealed envelope which bore the official imprint of the Department of War in the upper left hand corner; and the boy disappeared into a room beyond. A moment later he emerged and held open the door for Mr. Grimm. A gentleman—Mr. Howard—rose from his seat and stared at him as he entered.

“This note, Mr. Grimm, is surprising,” he remarked.

“It is only a request from the secretary of war that I be permitted to meet the inventor of the wireless percussion cap,” Mr. Grimm explained carelessly. “The negotiations have reached a point where the War Department must have one or two questions answered directly by the inventor. Simple enough, you see.”

“But it has been understood, and I have personally impressed it upon the secretary of war that such a meeting is impossible,” objected Mr. Howard. “All negotiations have been conducted through me, and I have, as attorney for the inventor, the right to answer any question that may properly be answered. This now is a request for a personal interview with the inventor.”

“The necessity for such an interview has risen unexpectedly, because of a pressing need of either closing the deal or allowing it to drop,” Mr. Grimm stated. “I may add that the success of the deal depends entirely on this interview.”

Mr. Howard was leaning forward in his chair with wrinkled brow intently studying the calm face of the young man. Innocent himself of all the intrigue and international chicanery back of the affair, representing only an individual in these secret negotiations, he saw in the statement, as Mr. Grimm intended that he should, the possible climax of a great business contract. His greed was aroused; it might mean hundreds of thousands of dollars to him.

“Do you think the deal can be made?” he asked at last.

“I have no doubt there will be some sort of a deal,” replied Mr. Grimm. “As I say, however, it is absolutely dependent on an interview between the inventor and myself at once—this afternoon.”

Mr. Howard thoughtfully drummed on his desk for a little while. From the first, save in so far as the patent rights were concerned, he had seen no reasons for the obligations of utter secrecy which had been enforced upon him. Perhaps, if he laid it before the inventor in this new light, with the deal practically closed, the interview would be possible!

“I have no choice in the matter, Mr. Grimm,” he said at last. “I shall have to put it to my client, of course. Can you give me, say, half an hour to communicate with him?”

“Certainly,” and Mr. Grimm rose obligingly. “Shall I wait outside here or call again?”

“You may wait if you don’t mind,” said Mr. Howard. “I’ll be able to let you know in a few minutes, I hope.”

Mr. Grimm bowed and passed out. At the end of twenty-five minutes the door of Mr. Howard’s private office opened and he appeared. His face was violently red, evidently from anger, and perspiration stood on his forehead.

“I can’t do anything with him,” he declared savagely. “He says simply that negotiations must be conducted through me or not at all.”

Mr. Grimm had risen; he bowed courteously.

“Very well,” he said placidly. “You understand, of course, as the note says, that this refusal of his terminates the negotiations, so—”

“But just a moment—” interposed Mr. Howard quickly.

“Good day,” said Mr. Grimm.

The door opened and closed; he was gone. Three minutes later he stepped into a telephone booth at a near-by corner and took down the receiver.

“Hello, central!” he called, and then: “This is Mr. Grimm of the Secret Service. What number was Mr. Howard talking to?”

“Eleven double-nought six, Alexandria,” was the reply.

“Where is the connection? In whose name?”

“The connection is five miles out from Alexandria in a farmhouse on the old Baltimore Road,” came the crisp, business-like answer. “The name is Murdock Williams.”

“Thank you,” said Mr. Grimm. “Good-by.”

A moment later he was standing by the curb waiting for a car, when Howard, still angry, and with an expression of deep chagrin on his face, came bustling up.

“If you can give me until to-morrow afternoon, then—” he began.

Mr. Grimm glanced around at him, and with a slight motion of his head summoned two men who had been chatting near-by. One of them was Blair, and the other Hastings.

“Take this man in charge,” he directed. “Hold him in solitary confinement until you hear from me. Don’t talk to him, don’t let any one else talk to him, and don’t let him talk. If any person speaks to him before he is locked up, take that person in charge also. He is guilty of no crime, but a single word from