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

the talking darted out, seized the compact, and held it behind him.

“If you will be good enough to give that to me, your Highness,” suggested Mr. Grimm quietly.

For half a minute the masked man stared straight into the listless eyes of the intruder, and then:

“Mr. Grimm, you are in very grave danger.”

“That is beside the question,” was the reply. “Be good enough to give me that document.”

He backed away as he spoke, kicked the door closed with one heel, then leaned against it, facing them.

“Or better yet,” he went on after a moment, “burn it. There is a lamp in front of you.” He paused for an answer. “It would be absurd of me to attempt to take it by force,” he added.

XXIII

THE PERCUSSION CAP

There was a long, tense silence. The cowled figures had risen ominously; Miss Thorne paled behind her mask, and her fingers gripped her palms fiercely, still she sat motionless. Prince d’Abruzzi broke the silence. He seemed perfectly calm and self-possessed.

“How did you get in?” he demanded.

“Throttled your guard at the front door, took him down cellar and locked him in the coal-bin,” replied Mr. Grimm tersely. “I am waiting for you to burn it.”

“And how did you escape from—from the other place?”

Mr. Grimm shrugged his shoulders.

“The lamp is in front of you,” he said.

“And find your way here?” the prince pursued.

Again Mr. Grimm shrugged his shoulders. For an instant longer the prince gazed straight into his inscrutable face, then turned accusing eyes on the masked figures about him.

“Is there a traitor?” he demanded suddenly. His gaze settled on Miss Thorne and lingered there.

“I can relieve your mind on that point—there is not,” Mr. Grimm assured him. “Just a final word, your Highness, if you will permit me. I have heard everything that has been said here for the last fifteen minutes. The details of your percussion cap are interesting. I shall lay them before my government and my government may take it upon itself to lay them before the British government. You yourself said a few minutes ago that this compact was not possible before this cap was invented and perfected. It isn’t possible the minute my government is warned against its use. That will be my first duty.”

“You are giving some very excellent reasons, Mr. Grimm,” was the deliberate reply, “why you should not be permitted to leave this room alive.”

“Further,” Mr. Grimm resumed in the same tone, “I have been ordered to prevent the signing of that compact, at least in this country. It seems that I am barely in time. If it is signed—and it will be useless now on your own statement unless you murder me—every man who signs it will have to reckon with the highest power of this country. Will you destroy it? I don’t want to know what countries already stand committed by the signatures there.”

“I will not,” was the steady response. And then, after a little: “Mr. Grimm, the inventor of this little cap, insignificant as it seems, will receive millions for it. Your silence would be worth—just how much?”

Mr. Grimm’s face turned red, then white again.

“Which would you prefer? An independence by virtue of a great fortune, or—or the other thing?”

Suddenly Miss Thorne tore the mask from her face and came forward. Her cheeks were scarlet, and anger flamed in the blue-gray eyes.

“Mr. Grimm has no price—I happen to know that,” she declared hotly. “Neither money nor a consideration for his own personal safety will make him turn traitor.” She stared coldly into the prince’s eyes. “And we are not assassins here,” she added.

“Miss Thorne has stated the matter fairly, I believe, your Highness,” and Mr. Grimm permitted his eyes to linger a moment on the flushed face of this woman who, in a way, was defending him. “But there is only one thing to do, Miss Thorne.” He was talking to her now. “There is no middle course. It is a problem that has only one possible answer—the destruction of that document, and the departure of you, and you, your Highness, for Italy under my personal care all the way. I imagined this matter had ended that day on the steamer; it will end here, now, to-night.”

The prince glanced again at his watch, then thoughtfully weighed the percussion cap in his hand, after which, with a curious laugh, he walked over to the squat iron globe in an opposite corner of the room. He bent over it half a minute, then straightened up.

“That cap, Mr. Grimm, has one disadvantage,” he remarked casually. “When it is attached to a mine or torpedo it can not be disconnected without firing it. It is attached.” He turned to the others. “It is needless to discuss the matter further just now. If you will follow me? We will leave Mr. Grimm here.”

With a strange little cry, neither anger nor anguish, yet oddly partaking of the quality of each, Isabel went quickly to the prince.

“How dare you do such a thing?” she demanded fiercely. “It is murder.”

“This is not a time, Miss Thorne, for your interference,” replied the prince coldly. “It has all passed beyond the point where the feelings of any one person, even the feelings of the woman who has engineered the compact, can be considered. A single life can not be permitted to stand in the way of the consummation of this world project. Mr. Grimm alive means the compact would be useless, if not impossible; Mr. Grimm dead means the fruition of all our plans and hopes. You have done your duty and you have done it well; but now your authority ends, and I, the special envoy of—”

“Just a moment, please,” Mr. Grimm interrupted courteously. “As I understand it, your Highness, the mine there in the corner is charged?”

“Yes. It just happened to be here for purposes of experiment.”

“The cap is attached?”

“Quite right.” The prince laughed.

“And at three o’clock, by your watch, the mine will be fired by a wireless operator fifteen miles from here?”

“Something like