Finally he
turned and stared at Miss Thorne, who, pallid and weary, stood looking
on.
"Where are we?" he asked. "What house is this?"
"The Venezuelan legation," she answered. "We are standing less than
forty feet from the safe that was robbed. You see how easy--!"
"And whose room?" inquired Mr. Grimm slowly.
"Must I answer?" she asked appealingly.
"You must!"
"Senorita Rodriguez--my hostess! Don't you see what you've made me do?
She and Mr. Cadwallader made the trip to Baltimore in his automobile,
and--and--!" She stopped. "He knows nothing of it," she added.
"Yes, I know," said Mr. Grimm.
He stood looking at her in silence for a moment, staring deeply into the
pleading eyes; and a certain tense expression about his lips passed. For
an instant her hand trembled on his arm, and he caught the fragrance of
her hair.
"Where is she now?" he asked.
"Playing bridge," replied Miss Thorne, with a sad little smile. "It is
always so--at least twice a week, and she rarely returns before two or
half-past." She extended both hands impetuously, entreatingly. "Please
be generous, Mr. Grimm. You have the gold; don't destroy her.
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