Elusive Isabel, by Jacques Futrelle by Unknown (good short books .TXT) 📗

“Fame and fortune for both of us,” he interrupted with quick enthusiasm. “Ah, Rosa, I have worked and waited so long for this, and now it will come, and with it the dominion of the world again by our country. How will I know when the date is fixed? It would not be well to write me here.”

My lady of mystery stroked the slender, nervous hand caressingly, and a great affection shone in the blue-gray eyes.

“At eight o’clock on the night of the test,” she explained, still speaking Italian, “a single light will appear at the apex of the capitol dome in Washington. That is the signal agreed upon; it can be seen by all in the city, and is visible here from the window of your bedroom.”

“Yes, yes,” he exclaimed. The feverish glitter in his eyes deepened.

“If there is a fog, of course you will not attempt the test,” she went on.

“No, not in a fog,” he put in quickly. “It must be clear.”

“And if it is clear you can see the light in the dome without difficulty.”

“And all your plans are working out well?”

“Yes. And yours?”

“I don’t think there is any question but that both England and the United States will buy. Do you know what it means? Do you know what it means?” He was silent a moment, his hands working nervously. Then, with an effort: “And his Highness?”

“His Highness is safe.” The subtle eyes grew misty, thoughtful for a moment, then cleared again. “He is safe,” she repeated.

“Mexico and Venezuela were—?” he began.

“We don’t know, yet, what they will do. The Venezuelan answer is locked in the safe at the legation; I will know what it is within forty-eight hours.” She was silent a little. “Our difficulty now, our greatest difficulty, is the hostility of the French ambassador to the compact. His government has not yet notified him of the presence of Prince d’Abruzzi; he does not believe in the feasibility of the plan, and we have to—to proceed to extremes to prevent him working against us.”

“But they must see the incalculable advantages to follow upon such a compact, with the vast power that will be given to them over the whole earth by this.” He indicated the long, littered work-table. “They must see it.”

“They will see it, Luigi,” said Miss Thorne gently. “And now, how are you? Are you well? Are you comfortable? It’s such a dreary old place here.”

“I suppose so,” he replied, and he met the solicitous blue-gray eyes for an instant. “Yes, I am quite comfortable,” he added. “I have no time to be otherwise with all the work I must do. It will mean so much!”

They were both silent for a time. Finally Miss Thorne walked over to the long table and curiously lifted one of the spheroids. It was a sinister looking thing, nickeled, glittering. At one end of it was a delicate, vibratory apparatus, not unlike the transmitter of a telephone, and the other end was threaded, as if the spheroid was made as an attachment to some other device.

“With that we control the world!” exclaimed the man triumphantly. “And it’s mine, Rosa, mine!”

“It’s wonderful!” she mused softly. “Wonderful! And now I must go. I may not see you again until after the test, because I shall be watched and followed wherever I go. If I get an opportunity I shall reach you by telephone, but not even that unless it is necessary. There is always danger, always danger!” she repeated thoughtfully. She was thinking of Mr. Grimm.

“I understand,” said the man simply.

“And look out for the signal—the light in the apex of the capitol dome,” she went on. “I understand the night must be perfectly clear; and you understand that the test is to be made promptly at three o’clock by your chronometer?”

“At three o’clock,” he repeated.

For a moment they stood with their arms around each other, then tenderly his visitor kissed him, and went out. He remained looking after her vacantly until the chug-chug of her automobile, as it moved off down the road, was lost in the distance, then turned again to the long work-table.

VIII

MISS THORNE AND NOT MISS THORNE

From a pleasant, wide-open bay-window of her apartments on the second floor, Miss Thorne looked out upon the avenue with inscrutable eyes. Behind the closely drawn shutters of another bay-window, farther down the avenue, on the corner, she knew a man named Hastings was hiding; she knew that for an hour or more he had been watching her as she wrote. In the other direction, in a house near the corner, another man named Blair was similarly ensconced, and he, too, had been watching as she wrote. There should be a third man, Johnson. Miss Thorne curiously studied the face of each passer-by, seeking therein something to remember.

She sat at the little mahogany desk and a note with the ink yet wet upon it lay face up before her. It was addressed to Signor Pietro Petrozinni in the district prison, and read:

“My Dear Friend:

“I have been waiting to write you with the hope that I could report Senor Alvarez out of danger, but his condition, I regret to say, remains unchanged. Shall I send an attorney to you? Would you like a book of any kind? Or some delicacy sent in from a restaurant? Can I be of any service to you in any way? If I can please drop me a line.

“Sincerely,

“Isabel Thorne.”

At last she rose and standing in the window read the note over, folded it, placed it in an envelope and sealed it. A maid came in answer to her ring, and there at the window, under the watchful eyes of Blair and Hastings—and, perhaps, Johnson—she handed the note to the maid with instructions to mail it immediately. Two minutes later she saw the maid go out along the avenue to a post-box on the corner.

Then she drew back into the shadow of the room, slipped on a dark-colored wrap,