He had been formally arraigned and committed without
bail to await the result of the bullet wound which had been inflicted
upon the diplomatist from Mexico at the German Embassy Ball, and, since
then, undisturbed and apparently careless of the outcome, he had spent
his time in reading and smoking. He had answered questions with only a
curt yes or no when he deigned to answer them at all; and there had been
no callers or inquiries for him. He had abruptly declined a suggestion
of counsel.
Twice each day, morning and night, he had asked a question of the
jailer who brought his simple meals.
"How is Senor Alvarez?"
"He is still in a critical condition." The answer was always the same.
Whereupon the secret agent would return to his reading with not a shadow
of uneasiness or concern on his face.
Occasionally there came a courteous little note from Miss Thorne, which
he read without emotion, afterward casting them aside or tearing them
up. He never answered them. And then one day there came another note
which, for no apparent reason, seemed to stir him from his lethargy.
Outwardly it was like all the others, but when Signor Petrozinni scanned
the sheet his eyes lighted strangely, and he stood staring down at it as
though to hide a sudden change of expression in his face.
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