Elusive Isabel, by Jacques Futrelle Read Online Free PDF Page B

relief.
    “Why do you come to me with such a query?” she asked in turn.
    “I beg your pardon,” interposed Mr. Grimm steadily. “Did you, or did you not, shoot him?”
    “No, of course I didn’t shoot him,” was the reply. If there was any emotion in the tone it was merely impatience. “Why do you come to me?” she repeated.
    “Why do I come to you?” Mr. Grimm echoed the question, while his listless eyes rested on her face. “I will be absolutely frank, as I feel sure you would be under the same circumstances.” He paused a moment; she nodded. “Well, immediately after the shooting you ran along the hallway with a revolver in your hand; you ran down the steps into the kitchen, and out through the back door, where you entered an automobile. That is not conjecture; it is susceptible of proof by eye witnesses.”
    Miss Thorne rose suddenly with a queer, helpless little gesture of her arms, and walked to the window. She stood there for a long time with her hands clasped behind her back.
    “That brings us to another question,” Mr. Grimm continued mercilessly. “If you did not shoot Senor Alvarez, do you know who did?”
    There was another long pause.
    “I want to believe you, Miss Thorne,” he supplemented.
    She turned quickly with something of defiance in her attitude.
    “Yes, I know,” she said slowly. “It were useless to deny it.”
    “Who was it?”
    “I won’t tell you.”
    Mr. Grimm leaned forward in his chair, and spoke earnestly.
    “Understand, please, that by that answer you assume equal guilt with the person who actually did the shooting,” he explained. “If you adhere to it you compel me to regard you as an accomplice.” His questioning took a different line.
    “Will you explain how the revolver came into your possession?”
    “Oh, I—I picked it up in the hallway there,” she replied vaguely.
    “I want to believe you, Miss Thorne,” Mr. Grimm said again.
    “You may. I picked it up in the hallway,” she repeated. “I saw it lying there and picked it up.”
    “Why that, instead of giving an alarm?”
    “No alarm was necessary. The shot itself was an alarm.”
    “Then why,” Mr. Grimm persisted coldly, “did you run along the hallway and escape by way of the kitchen? If you did not do the shooting, why the necessity of escape, carrying the revolver?”
    There was that in the blue-gray eyes which brought Mr. Grimm to his feet. His hands gripped each other cruelly; his tone was calm as always.
    “Why did you take the revolver?” he asked.
    Miss Thorne’s head drooped forward a little, and she was silent.
    “There are only two possibilities, of course,” he went on. “First, that you, in spite of your denial, did the shooting.”
    “I did not!” The words fairly burst from her tightly closed lips.
    “Or that you knew the revolver, and took it to save the person, man or woman, who fired the shot. I will assume, for the moment, that this is correct. Where is the revolver?”
    From the adjoining room there came a slight noise, a faint breath of sound; or it might have been only an echo of silence. Their eyes were fixed each upon the others unwaveringly, with not a flicker to indicate that either had heard. After a moment Miss Thorne returned to her chair and sat down.
    “It’s rather a singular situation, isn’t it, Mr. Grimm?” she inquired irrelevantly. “You, Mr. Grimm of the Secret Service of the United States; I, Isabel Thorne, a secret agent of Italy together here, one accusing the other of a crime, and perhaps with good reason.”
    “Where is the revolver?” Mr. Grimm insisted.
    “If you were any one else but you! I could not afford to be frank with you and—”
    “If you had been any one else but you I should have placed you under arrest when I entered the room.”
    She smiled, and inclined her head.
    “I understand,” she said pleasantly. “For the reason that you are Mr. Grimm of the Secret Service I shall tell you the truth. I did take the revolver