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

been for that act of—consideration and kindness to me—”

“We would have succeeded in spite of you,” explained Isabel. “We were afraid of you, Mr. Grimm. It was a compliment to you that we considered it necessary to account for your whereabouts at the time of the signing of the compact.”

“And if you had succeeded,” remarked Mr. Grimm, “the whole civilized world would have come to war.”

“I never permitted myself to think of it that way,” she replied frankly. “There is something splendid to me in a battle of brains; there is exaltation, stimulation, excitement in it. It has always possessed the greatest fascination for me. I have always won, you know, until now. I failed! And my reward is ‘Traitor!’”

“Just a word of assurance now,” she went on after a moment. “The Latin compact has been definitely given up; the plan has been dismissed, thanks to you; the peace of the world is unbroken. And who am I? I know you have wondered; I know your agents have scoured the world to find out. I am the daughter of a former Italian ambassador to the Court of St. James. My mother was an English woman. I was born and received my early education in England, hence my perfect knowledge of that tongue. In Rome I am, or have been, alas, the Countess Rosa d’Orsetti; now I am an exile with a price on my head. That is all, except for several years I was a trusted agent of my government, and a friend of my queen.”

She rose and extended both hands graciously. Mr. Grimm seized the slender white fingers and stood with eyes fixed upon hers. Slowly a flush crept into her pallid cheeks, and she bowed her head.

“Wonderful woman!” he said softly.

“I shall ask a favor of you now,” she went on gently. “Let all this that you have learned take the place of whatever you expected to learn, and go. Believe me, there can only be one result if you meet—if you meet the inventor of the wireless cap upon which so much was staked, and so much lost.” She shuddered a little, then raised the blue-gray eyes beseechingly to his face. “Please go.”

Go! The word straightened Mr. Grimm in his tracks and he allowed her hands to fall limply. Suddenly his face grew hard. In the ecstasy of adoration he had momentarily forgotten his purpose here. His eyes lost their ardor; his nerveless hands dropped beside him.

“No,” he said.

“You must—you must,” she urged gently. “I know what it means to you. You feel it your duty to unravel the secret of the percussion cap? You can’t; no man can. No one knows the inventor more intimately than I, and even I couldn’t get it from him. There are no plans for it in existence, and even if there were he would no more sell them than you would have accepted a fortune at the hands of Prince d’Abruzzi to remain silent. The compact has failed; you did that. The agents have scattered—gone to other duties. That is enough.”

“No,” said Mr. Grimm. There was a strange fear tearing at his heart,—“No one knows the inventor more intimately than I.” “No,” he said again. “I won from my government a promise to be made good upon a condition—I must fulfil that condition.”

“But there is nothing, promotion, honor, reward, that would compensate you for the loss of your life,” she entreated. “There is still time.” She was pleading now, with her slim white hands resting on his shoulders, and the blue-gray eyes fixed upon his face.

“It’s more than all that,” he said. “That condition is you—your safety.”

“For me?” she repeated. “For me? Then, won’t you go for—for my sake?”

“No.”

“Won’t you go if you know you will be killed,” and suddenly her face turned scarlet, “and that your life is dear to me?”

“No.”

Isabel dropped upon her knees before him.

“This inventor—this man whom you insist on seeing is half insane with disappointment and anger,” she rushed on desperately. “Remember that a vast fortune, honor, fame were at his finger tips when you—you placed them beyond his reach by the destruction of the compact. He has sworn to kill you.”

“I can’t go!”

“If you know that when you meet one of you will die?”

“No.” The answer came fiercely, through clenched teeth. Mr. Grimm disengaged his right hand and drew his revolver; the barrel clicked under his fingers as it spun.

“If I tell you that of the two human beings in this world whom I love this man is one?”

“No.”

A shuffling step sounded in the hallway just outside. Mr. Grimm stepped back from the kneeling figure, and turned to face the door with his revolver ready.

“Great God!” It was a scream of agony. “He is my brother! Don’t you see?”

She came to her feet and went staggering across to the door. The key clicked in the lock.

“Your brother!” exclaimed Mr. Grimm.

“He wouldn’t listen to me—you wouldn’t listen to me, and now—and now! God have mercy!”

There was a sharp rattling, a clamor at the door, and Isabel turned to Mr. Grimm mutely, with arms outstretched. The revolver barrel clicked under his hand, then, after a moment, he replaced the weapon in his pocket.

“Please open the door,” he requested quietly.

“He’ll kill you!” she screamed.

Exhausted, helpless, she leaned against a chair with her face in her hands. Mr. Grimm went to her suddenly, tore the hands from her face, and met the tear-stained eyes.

“I love you,” he said. “I want you to know that!”

“And I love you—that’s why it matters so.”

Leaving her there, Mr. Grimm strode straight to the door and threw it open. He saw only the outline of a thin little man of indeterminate age, then came a blinding flash under his eyes, and he leaped forward. There was a short, sharp struggle, and both went down. The revolver! He must get that! He reached for it with the one idea of disarming this madman. The muzzle was thrust toward him, he threw up his arm