Grimm entered his private office where he sat for an
hour with his immaculate boots on his desk, thinking. A world-war--he
had been thrust forward by his government to prevent it--subtle
blue-gray eyes--his Highness, Prince Benedetto d'Abruzzi--a haunting
smile and scarlet lips.
At about the moment he rose to go out, Miss Thorne, closely veiled, left
the Venezuelan legation and walked rapidly down the street to a corner,
where, without a word, she entered a waiting automobile. The wheels spun
and the car leaped forward. For a mile or more it wound aimlessly in and
out, occasionally bisecting its own path; finally Miss Thorne leaned
forward and touched the chauffeur on the arm.
"Now!" she said.
The car straightened out into a street of stately residences and
scuttled along until the placid bosom of the Potomac came into view;
beside that for a few minutes, then over the bridge to the Virginia
side, in the dilapidated little city of Alexandria. The car did not
slacken its speed, but wound in and out through dingy streets, past
tumble-down negro huts, for half an hour before it came to a standstill
in front of an old brick mansion.
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