singular situation, isn't it, Mr. Grimm?" she inquired
irrelevantly. "You, Mr. Grimm of the Secret Service of the United
States; I, Isabel Thorne, a secret agent of Italy together here, one
accusing the other of a crime, and perhaps with good reason."

"Where is the revolver?" Mr. Grimm insisted.

"If you were any one else _but_ you! I could not afford to be frank with
you and--"

"If you had been any one else but _you_ I should have placed you under
arrest when I entered the room."

She smiled, and inclined her head.

"I understand," she said pleasantly. "For the reason that you are Mr.
Grimm of the Secret Service I shall tell you the truth. I _did_ take the
revolver because I knew who had fired the shot. Believe me when I tell
you that that person did not act with my knowledge or consent. You do
believe that? You do?" She was pleading, eager to convince him.

After a while Mr. Grimm nodded.

"The revolver is beyond your reach and shall remain so," she resumed.
"According to your laws I suppose I am an accomplice. That is my
misfortune. It will in no way alter my determination to keep silent. If
I am arrested I can't help it." She studied his face with hopeful eyes.
"Am I to be arrested?"

"Where is the paper that was taken from Senor Alvarez immediately after
he was shot?" Mr. Grimm queried.

"I don't know," she replied frankly.

"As I understand it, then, the motive for the shooting was to obtain
possession of that paper? For your government?"

"The individual who shot Senor Alvarez _did_ obtain the paper, yes. And
now, please, am I to be arrested?"

"And just what was the purpose, may I inquire, of the message you
telegraphed with your fan in the ball-room?"

"You read that?" exclaimed Miss Thorne in mock astonishment. "You read
that?"

"And the man who read that message? Perhaps he shot the senor?"

"Perhaps," she taunted.

For a long time Mr. Grimm stood staring at her, staring, staring. She,
too, rose, and faced him quietly.

"Am I to be arrested?" she asked again.

"Why do you make me do it?" he demanded.

"That is my affair."

Mr. Grimm laid a hand upon her arm, a hand that had never known
nervousness. A moment longer he stared, and then:

"Madam, you are my prisoner for the attempted murder of Senor Alvarez!"

The rings on the portieres behind him clicked sharply, and the draperies
parted. Mr. Grimm stood motionless, with his hand on Miss Thorne's arm.

"You were inquiring a momen