Grimm did not say.
"Didn't you anticipate any personal danger when you entered?" he queried
instead. "Weren't you afraid I might shoot?"
"No."
There was a long silence. Mr. Grimm still sat with his elbows on his
knees, staring, staring at the vague white splotch which was Miss
Thorne's face and bare neck. One of her white arms hung at her side like
a pallid serpent, and her hand was at rest on the seat of the couch.
"It seems, Miss Thorne," he said at length, casually, quite casually,
"that our paths of duty are inextricably tangled. Twice previously we
have met under circumstances that were more than strange, and now--this!
Whatever injustice I may have done you in the past by my suspicions has,
I hope, been forgiven; and in each instance we were able to work side by
side toward a conclusion. I am wondering now if this singular affair
will take a similar course."
He paused. Miss Thorne started to speak, but he silenced her with a
slight gesture of his hand.
"It is only fair to you to say that we--that is, the Secret
Service--have learned many things about you," he resumed in the same
casual tone.
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