Outside was the vague,
indefinable night drone of a city asleep, unbroken by any sound that was
distinguishable, until finally there came the distant boom of a clock.
It struck twice.
Seated on a couch in one corner of the ambassador's office was Mr.
Grimm. He was leaning against the high arm of leather, with his feet on
the seat, thoughtfully nursing his knees. If his attitude indicated
anything except sheer comfort, it was that he was listening. He had been
there for two hours, wide-awake, and absolutely motionless. Five, ten,
fifteen minutes more passed, and then Mr. Grimm heard the grind and whir
of an automobile a block or so away, coming toward the embassy. Now it
was in front.
"Honk! Hon-on-onk!" it called plaintively. "Hon-on-onk! Honk!"
The signal! At last! The automobile went rushing on, full tilt, while
Mr. Grimm removed his feet from the seat and dropped them noiselessly to
the floor. Thus, with his hands on his knees, and listening, listening
with every faculty strained, he sat motionless, peering toward the open
door that led into the hall. The car was gone now, the sound of it was
swallowed up in the distance, still he sat there.
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