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

his clock-like genius was habitually hidden. The choleric blue eyes of the president of the United States shifted inquiringly to the thoughtful countenance of the secretary of state at his right, thence along the table around which the official family was gathered. It was a special meeting of the cabinet called at the suggestion of Chief Campbell, and for more than an hour he had done the talking. There had been no interruption.

“So much!” he concluded, at last. “If there is any point I have not made clear Mr. Grimm is here to explain it in person.”

Mr. Grimm rose at the mention of his name and stood with his hands clasped behind his back. His eyes met those of the chief executive listlessly.

“We understand, Mr. Grimm,” the president began, and he paused for an instant to regard the tall, clean-cut young man with a certain admiration, “we understand that there does not actually exist such a thing as a Latin compact against the English-speaking peoples?”

“On paper, no,” was the reply.

“You personally prevented the signing of the compact?”

“I personally caused the destruction of the compact after several signatures had been attached,” Mr. Grimm amended. “Throughout I have acted under the direction of Mr. Campbell, of course.”

“You were in very grave personal danger?” the president went on.

“It was of no consequence,” said Mr. Grimm simply.

The president glanced at Mr. Campbell and the chief shrugged his shoulders.

“You are certain, Mr. Grimm,” and the president spoke with great deliberation, “you are certain that the representatives of the Latin countries have not met since and signed the compact?”

“I am not certain—no,” replied Mr. Grimm promptly. “I am certain, however, that the backbone of the alliance was broken—its only excuse for existence destroyed—when they permitted me to learn of the wireless percussion cap which would have placed the navies of the world at their mercy. Believe me, gentlemen, if they had kept their secret it would have given them dominion of the earth. They made one mistake,” he added in a most matter-of-fact tone. “They should have killed me; it was their only chance.”

The president seemed a little startled at the suggestion.

“That would have been murder,” he remarked.

“True,” Mr. Grimm acquiesced, “but it seems an absurd thing that they should have permitted the life of one man to stand between them and the world power for which they had so long planned and schemed. His Highness, Prince Benedetto d’Abruzzi believed as I do, and so expressed himself.” He paused a moment; there was a hint of surprise in his manner. “I expected to be killed, of course. It seemed to me the only thing that could happen.”

“They must have known of the far-reaching consequences which would follow upon your escape, Mr. Grimm. Why didn’t they kill you?”

Mr. Grimm made a little gesture with both hands and was silent.

“May they not yet attempt it?” the president insisted.

“It’s too late now,” Mr. Grimm explained. “They had everything to gain by killing me there as I stood in the room where I had interrupted the signing of the compact, because that would have been before I had placed the facts in the hands of my government. I was the only person outside of their circle who knew all of them. Only the basest motive could inspire them to attempt my life now.”

There was a pause. The secretary of state glanced from Mr. Grimm to Mr. Campbell with a question in his deep-set eyes.

“Do I understand that you placed a Miss Thorne and the prince under—that is, you detained them?” he queried. “If so, where are they now?”

“I don’t know,” was the reply. “Just before the explosion the three of us entered an automobile together, and then as we were starting away I remembered something which made it necessary for me to reenter the house. When I came out again, just a few seconds before the explosion, the prince and Miss Thorne had gone.”

The secretary’s lips curled down in disapproval.

“Wasn’t it rather unusual, to put it mildly, to leave your prisoners to their own devices that way?” he asked.

“Well, yes,” Mr. Grimm admitted. “But the circumstances were unusual. When I entered the house I had locked a man in the cellar. I had to go back to save his life, otherwise—”

“Oh, the guard at the door, you mean?” came the interruption. “Who was it?”

Mr. Grimm glanced at his chief, who nodded.

“It was Mr. Charles Winthrop Rankin of the German embassy,” said the young man.

“Mr. Rankin of the German embassy was on guard at the door?” demanded the president quickly.

“Yes. We got out safely.”

“And that means that Germany was—!”

The president paused and startled glances passed around the table. After a moment of deep abstraction the secretary went on:

“So Miss Thorne and the prince escaped. Are they still in this country?”

“That I don’t know,” replied Mr. Grimm. He stood silent a moment, staring at the president. Some subtle change crept into the listless eyes, and his lips were set. “Perhaps I had better explain here that the personal equation enters largely into an affair of this kind,” he said at last, slowly. “It happens that it entered into this. Unless I am ordered to pursue the matter further I think it would be best for all concerned to accept the fact of Miss Thorne’s escape, and—” He stopped.

There was a long, thoughtful silence. Every man in the room was studying Mr. Grimm’s impassive face.

“Personal equation,” mused the president. “Just how, Mr. Grimm, does the personal equation enter into the affair?”

The young man’s lips closed tightly, and then:

“There are some people, Mr. President, whom we meet frankly as enemies, and we deal with them accordingly; and there are others who oppose us and yet are not enemies. It is merely that our paths of duty cross. We may have the greatest respect for them and they for us, but purposes are unalterably different. In other words there is a personal enmity and a political enmity. You, for instance, might be a close personal