tly. Was it to be a knife thrust in the dark? If not--then what? He
expected the flare of a match; instead there was a soft tread, and the
rustle of skirts. A woman! Mr. Grimm's caution was all but forgotten in
his surprise. As the steps drew nearer his clenched fingers loosened; he
waited.

Two hands stretched forward in the dark, touched him
simultaneously--one on the face, one on the breast. A singular thrill
shot through him, but there was not the flicker of an eye or the
twitching of a finger. The woman--it _was_ a woman--seemed now to be
bending over him, then he heard her drop on her knees beside him, and
she pressed an inquiring ear to his left side. It was the heart test.

"Thank God!" she breathed softly.

It was only by a masterful effort that Mr. Grimm held himself limp and
inert, for a strange fragrance was enveloping him--a fragrance he well
knew.

The hands were fumbling at his breast again, and there was the sharp
crackle of paper. At first he didn't understand, then he knew that the
woman had pinned a paper to the lapel of his coat. Finally she
straightened up, and took two steps away from him, after which came a
pause. His keenly attuned ears caught her faint breathing, then the
rustle of her skirts as she turned back. She was leaning over him
again--her lips touched his forehead, barely; again there was a quick
rustling of skirts, the door creaked, and--silence, deep, oppressive,
overwhelming silence.

Isabel! Was he dreaming? And then he ceased wondering and fell to
remembering her kiss--light as air--and the softly spoken "Thank God!"
She did care, then! She _had_ understood, that day!

The kiss of a woman beloved is a splendid heart tonic. Mr. Grimm
straightened up suddenly on the couch, himself again. He touched the
slip of paper which she had pinned to his coat to make sure it was not
all a dream, after which he recalled the fact that while he had heard
the door creak before she went out he had not heard it creak afterward.
Therefore, the door was open. She had left it open. Purposely? That was
beside the question at the moment.

And why--how--was she in Washington? Pondering that question, Mr.
Grimm's excellent teeth clicked sharply together and he rose. He knew
the answer. The compact was to be signed--the alliance which would array
the civilized world in arms. He had failed to block that, as he thought.
If Miss Thorne had returned, then Prince Benedetto d'Abruzzi, who held
absolute po