"Do you ladies feel it? No? Well, if you'll excuse
me--?"
Mr. Grimm glanced back languidly. The speaker was Charles Winthrop
Rankin, a brilliant young American lawyer who was attached to the German
embassy in an advisory capacity. Among other things he was a Heidelberg
man, having spent some dozen years of his life in Germany, where he
established influential connections. Mr. Grimm knew him only by sight.
And now the rhythmical tapping of Miss Thorne's fan underwent a change.
There was a flutter of gaiety in her voice the while the ivory fan
tapped steadily.
"Dot-dot-dot! Dash! Dash-dash-dash! Dot-dot-dash! Dash!"
"S--t--5--u--t," Mr. Grimm read in Morse. He laughed pleasantly at some
remark of his companion.
"Dash-dash! Dot-dash! Dash-dot!" said the fan.
"M--a--n," Mr. Grimm spelled it out, the while his listless eyes roved
aimlessly over the throng. "S--t--5--u--t m--a--n!" Was it meant for
"stout man?" Mr. Grimm wondered.
"Dot-dash-dot! Dot! Dash-dot-dot!"
"F--e--d," that was.
"Dot-dot-dash-dot! Dot-dash! Dash-dot-dash-dot! Dot!"
"Q--a--j--e!" Mr. Grimm was puzzled a little now, but there was not a
wrinkle, nor the tiniest indication of perplexity in his face.
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