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

That was all. It was said and done so quickly that Howard, dazed, confused and utterly unable to account for anything, was led away without a protest. Mr. Grimm, musing gently on the stupidity of mankind in general and the ease with which it is possible to lead even a clever individual into a trap, if the bait appeals to greed, took a car and went up town.

Some three hours later he walked briskly along a narrow path strewn with pine needles, which led tortuously up to an old colonial farmhouse. Outwardly the place seemed to be deserted. The blinds, battered and stripped of paint by wind and rain, were all closed and one corner of the small veranda had crumbled away from age and neglect. In the rear of the house, rising from an old barn, a thin pole with a cup-like attachment at the apex, thrust its point into the open above the dense, odorous pines. Mr. Grimm noted these things as he came along.

He stepped up quietly on the veranda and had just extended one hand to rap on the door when it was opened from within, and Miss Thorne stood before him. He was not surprised; intuition had told him he would meet her again, perhaps here in hiding. A sudden quick tenderness lighted the listless eyes. For an instant she stood staring, her face pallid against the gloom of the hallway beyond, and she drew a long breath of relief, as she pressed one hand to her breast. The blue-gray eyes were veiled by drooping lids, then she recovered herself and they opened into his. In them he saw anxiety, apprehension, fear even.

“Miss Thorne!” he greeted, and he bowed low over the white hand which she impulsively thrust toward him.

“I—I knew some one was coming,” she stammered in a half whisper. “I didn’t know it was you; I hadn’t known definitely until this instant that you were safe from the explosion. I am glad—glad, you understand; glad that you were not—” She stopped and fought back her emotions, then went on: “But you must not come in; you must go away at once. Your—your life is in danger here.”

“How did you know I was coming?” inquired Mr. Grimm.

“From the moment Mr. Howard telephoned,” she replied, still hastily, still in the mysterious half whisper. “I knew that it could only be some one from your bureau, and I hoped that it was you. I saw how you forced him to call us up here, and that was all you needed. It was simple, of course, to trace the telephone call.” Both of her hands closed over one of his desperately. “Now, go, please. The Latin compact is at an end; you merely invite death here. Now, go!”

Her eyes were searching the listless face with entreaty in them; the slender fingers were fiercely gripping one of Mr. Grimm’s nerveless hands. For an instant some strange, softening light flickered in the young man’s eyes, then it passed.

“I have no choice, Miss Thorne,” he said gravely at last. “I am honor bound by my government to do one of two things. If I fail in the first of those—the greater—it can only be because—”

He stopped; hope flamed up in her eyes and she leaned forward eagerly studying the impassive face.

“Because—?” she repeated.

“It can only be because I am killed,” he added quietly. Suddenly his whole manner changed. “I should like to see the—the inventor?”

“But don’t you see—don’t you see you will be killed if—?” she began tensely.

“May I see the inventor, please?” Mr. Grimm interrupted.

For a little time she stood, white and rigid, staring at him. Then her lids fluttered down wearily, as if to veil some crushing agony within her, and she stepped aside. Mr. Grimm entered and the door closed noiselessly behind him. After a moment her hand rested lightly on his arm, and he was led into a room to his left. This door, too, she closed, immediately turning to face him.

“We may talk here a few minutes without interruption,” she said in a low tone. Her voice was quite calm now. “If you will be—?”

“Please understand, Miss Thorne,” he interposed mercilessly, “that I must see the inventor, whoever he is. What assurance have I that this is not some ruse to permit him to escape?”

“You have my word of honor,” she said quite simply.

“Please go on.” He sat down.

“You will see him too soon, I fear,” she continued slowly. “If you had not come to him he would have gone to you.” She swayed a little and pressed one hand to her eyes. “I would to God it were in my power to prevent that meeting!” she exclaimed desperately. Then, with an effort: “There are some things I want to explain to you. It may be that you will be willing to go then of your own free will. If I lay bare to you every step I have taken since I have been in Washington; if I make clear to you every obscure point in this hideous intrigue; if I confess to you that the Latin compact has been given up for all time, won’t that be enough? Won’t you go then?”

Mr. Grimm’s teeth closed with a snap.

“I don’t want that—from you,” he declared.

“But if I should tell it all to you?” she pleaded.

“I won’t listen, Miss Thorne. You once paid me the compliment of saying that I was one man you knew in whom you had never been disappointed.” The listless eyes were blazing into her own now. “I have never been disappointed in you. I will not permit you to disappoint me now. The secrets of your government are mine if I can get them—but I won’t allow you to tell them to me.”

“My government!” Miss Thorne repeated, and her lips curled sadly. “I—I have no government. I have been cast off by that government, stripped of my rank, and branded as a traitor!”

“Traitor!” Mr. Grimm’s lips