Elusive Isabel | Page 5

built a sail-boat, and an American boy will erect a tent. That fully
illustrates the difference in the races."
He abandoned the didactic tone, and returned to the material matter in
hand. Mr. Grimm passed him the despatch and he sat down again.
"'Will soon sign compact in Washington,'" he read musingly. "Now I
don't know that the signing of that compact can be prevented, but the
signing of it on United States soil can be prevented. You will see to that,
Mr. Grimm."
"Very well," the young man agreed carelessly. The magnitude of such a
task made, apparently, not the slightest impression on him. He
languidly drew on his gloves.
"And meanwhile I shall take steps to ascertain the attitude of Russian
and Japanese representatives in this city."
Mr. Grimm nodded.
"And now, for Prince Benedetto d'Abruzzi," Mr. Campbell went on

slowly. "Officially he is not in Washington, nor the United States, for
that matter. Naturally, on such a mission, he would not come as a
publicly accredited agent, therefore, I imagine, he is to be sought under
another name."
"Of course," Mr. Grimm acquiesced.
"And he would avoid the big hotels."
"Certainly."
Mr. Campbell permitted his guileless blue eyes to linger inquiringly
upon those of the young man for half a minute. He caught himself
wondering, sometimes, at the perfection of the deliberate indifference
with which Mr. Grimm masked his emotions. In his admiration of this
quality he quite overlooked the remarkable mask of benevolence
behind which he himself hid.
"And the name, D'Abruzzi," he remarked, after a time. "What does it
mean to you, Mr. Grimm?"
"It means that I am to deal with a prince of the royal blood of Italy,"
was the unhesitating response. Mr. Grimm picked up the Almanac de
Gotha and glanced at the open page. "Of course, the first thing to do is
to find him; the rest will be simple enough." He perused the page
carelessly. "I will begin work at once."

III
THE LANGUAGE OF THE FAN
Mr. Grimm was chatting idly with Señorita Rodriguez, daughter of the
minister from Venezuela, the while he permitted his listless eyes to
wander aimlessly about the spacious ball-room of the German embassy,
ablaze with festooned lights, and brilliant with a multi-colored chaos of
uniforms. Gleaming pearl-white, translucent in the mass, were the bare
shoulders of women; and from far off came the plaintive whine of an

orchestra, a pulsing sense rather than a living sound, of music, pointed
here and there by the staccato cry of a flute. A zephyr, perfumed with
the clean, fresh odor of lilacs, stirred the draperies of the archway
which led into the conservatory and rustled the bending branches of
palms and ferns.
For a scant instant Mr. Grimm's eyes rested on a young woman who sat
a dozen feet away, talking, in playful animation, with an undersecretary
of the British embassy--a young woman severely gowned in some
glistening stuff which fell away sheerly from her splendid bare
shoulders. She glanced up, as if in acknowledgment of his look, and her
eyes met his. Frank, blue-gray eyes they were, stirred to their depths
now by amusement. She smiled at Señorita Rodriguez, in token of
recognition.
"Aren't they wonderful?" asked Señorita Rodriguez with the quick,
bubbling enthusiasm of her race.
"What?" asked Mr. Grimm.
"Her eyes," was the reply. "Every person has one dominant
feature--with Miss Thorne it is her eyes."
"Miss Thorne?" Mr. Grimm repeated.
"Haven't you met her?" the señorita went on. "Miss Isabel Thorne? She
only arrived a few days ago--the night of the state ball. She's my guest
at the legation. When an opportunity comes I shall present you to her."
She ran on, about other things, with only an occasional remark from Mr.
Grimm, who was thoughtfully nursing his knee. Somewhere through
the chatter and effervescent gaiety, mingling with the sound of the
pulsing music, he had a singular impression of a rhythmical beat, an
indistinct tattoo, noticeable, perhaps, only because of its monotony.
After a moment he shot a quick glance at Miss Thorne and understood;
it was the tapping of an exquisitely wrought ivory fan against one of
her tapering, gloved fingers. She was talking and smiling.

"Dot-dash-dot! Dot-dash-dot! Dot-dash-dot!" said the fan.
Mr. Grimm twisted around in his seat and regaled his listless eyes with
a long stare into the señorita's pretty face. Behind the careless ease of
repose he was mechanically isolating the faint clatter of the fan.
"Dot-dash-dot! Dot-dash-dot! Dot-dash-dot!"
"Did any one ever accuse you of staring, Mr. Grimm?" demanded the
señorita banteringly.
For an instant Mr. Grimm continued to stare, and then his listless eyes
swept the ball-room, pausing involuntarily at the scarlet splendor of the
minister from Turkey.
"I beg your pardon," he apologized contritely. There was a