Elusive Isabel, by Jacques Futrelle by Unknown (interesting books to read for teens .txt) 📕

on her white neck. At sight of Mr. Grimm the blue-gray eyes opened as if in surprise, and she paused irresolutely.

“I beg your pardon, Senor,” she said, addressing the diplomatist. “I did not know you were engaged. And Mr. Grimm!” She extended a slim, white hand, and the young man bowed low over it. “We are old friends,” she explained, smilingly, to the minister. Then: “I think I must have dropped my handkerchief when I was in here yesterday with Inez. Perhaps you found it?”

“Si, Senorita,” replied Senor Rodriguez gallantly. “It is on my desk in here. Just a moment.”

He opened the door and passed into the adjoining room. Mr. Grimm’s eyes met those of Miss Isabel Thorne, and there was no listlessness in them now, only interest. She smiled at him tauntingly and lowered her lids. Senor Rodriguez appeared from the other room with the handkerchief.

“Mil gracias, Senor,” she thanked him.

“No hay de que, Senorita,” he returned, as he opened the door for her.

“Monsieur Grimm, au revoir!” She dropped a little curtsey, and still smiling, went out.

“She is charming, Senor,” the diplomatist assured him enthusiastically, albeit irrelevantly. “Such vivacity, such personality, such—such—she is charming.”

“The safe, please,” Mr. Grimm reminded him.

X

A SAFE OPENING

Together they entered the adjoining room, which was small compared to the one they had just left. Senor Rodriguez used it as a private office. His desk was on their right between two windows overlooking the same pleasant little garden which was visible from the suite of tiny drawing-rooms farther along. The safe, a formidable looking receptacle of black enameled steel, stood at their left, closed and locked. The remaining wall space of the room was given over to oak cabinets, evidently a storage place for the less important legation papers.

“Has any one besides yourself been in this room to-day?” Mr. Grimm inquired.

“Not a soul, Senor,” was the reply.

Mr. Grimm went over and examined the windows. They were both locked inside; and there were no marks of any sort on the sills.

“They are just as I left them last night,” explained Senor Rodriguez. “I have not touched them to-day.”

“And there’s only one door,” mused Mr. Grimm, meaning that by which they had entered. “So it would appear that whoever was here last night entered through that room. Very well.”

He walked around the room once, opening and shutting the doors of the cabinets as he passed, and finally paused in front of the safe. A brief examination of the nickeled dial and handle and of the enameled edges of the heavy door satisfied him that no force had been employed—the safe had merely been unlocked. Whereupon he sat himself down, cross-legged on the floor, in front of it.

“What are the first and second figures of the combination?” he asked.

“Thirty-six, then back to ten.”

Mr. Grimm set the dial at thirty-six, and then, with his ear pressed closely against the polished door, turned the dial slowly back. Senor Rodriguez stood looking on helplessly, but none the less intently. The pointer read ten, then nine, eight, seven, five. Mr. Grimm gazed at it thoughtfully, after which he did it all over again, placidly and without haste.

“Now, we’ll look inside, please,” he requested, rising.

Senor Rodriguez unlocked the safe the while Mr. Grimm respectfully turned his eyes away, then pulled the door wide open. The books had been piled one on top of another and thrust into various pigeonholes at the top. Mr. Grimm understood that this disorder was the result of making room at the bottom for the bulk of gold, and asked no questions. Instead, he sat down upon the floor again.

“The lock on this private compartment at the top is broken,” he remarked after a moment.

“Si, Senor,” the diplomatist agreed. “Evidently the robbers were not content with only fifty thousand dollars in gold—they imagined that something else of value was hidden there.”

“Was there?” asked Mr. Grimm naively. He didn’t look around.

“Nothing of monetary value,” the senor explained. “There were some important state papers in there—they are there yet—but no money.”

“None of the papers was stolen?”

“No, Senor. There were only nine packets—they are there yet.”

“Contents all right?”

“Yes. I personally looked them over.”

Mr. Grimm drew out the packets of papers, one by one. They were all unsealed save the last. When he reached for that, Senor Rodriguez made a quick, involuntary motion toward it with his hand.

“This one’s sealed,” commented Mr. Grimm. “It doesn’t happen that you opened it and sealed it again?”

Senor Rodriguez stood staring at him blankly for a moment, then some sudden apprehension was aroused, for a startled look came into his eyes, and again he reached for the packet.

“Dios mio!” he exclaimed, “let me see, Senor.”

“Going to open it?” asked Mr. Grimm.

“Yes, Senor. I had not thought of it before.”

Mr. Grimm rose and walked over to the window where the light was better. He scrutinized the sealed packet closely. There were three red splotches of wax upon it, each impressed with the legation seal; the envelope was without marks otherwise. He turned and twisted it aimlessly, and peered curiously at the various seals, after which he handed it to the frankly impatient diplomatist.

Senor Rodriguez opened it, with nervous, twitching fingers. Mr. Grimm had turned toward the safe again, but he heard the crackle of parchment as some document was drawn out of the envelope, and then came a deep sigh of relief. Having satisfied his sudden fears for the safety of the paper, whatever it was, the senor placed it in another envelope and sealed it again with elaborate care. Mr. Grimm dropped into the swivel chair at the desk.

“Senor,” he inquired pleasantly, “your daughter and Miss Thorne were in this room yesterday afternoon?”

“Yes,” replied the diplomatist as if surprised at the question.

“What time, please?”

“About three o’clock. They were going out driving. Why?”

“And just where, please, did you find that handkerchief?” continued Mr. Grimm.

“Handkerchief?” repeated the diplomatist. “You mean Miss Thorne’s handkerchief?” He paused and regarded Mr. Grimm keenly. “Senor, what am I to understand from that question?”

“It was