questioning upward slant of her arched brows.

"I am not mistaken in assuming that you are a secret agent of the
Italian government, am I?" he queried finally.

"No," she responded readily.

"In that event I may speak with perfect frankness?" he went on. "It
would be as useless as it would be absurd to approach the matter in any
other manner?" It was a question.

Miss Thorne was still smiling, but again the vague, indefinable shadow,
momentarily lifted, darkened her eyes.

"You may be frank, of course," she said pleasantly. "Please go on."

"Señor Alvarez was shot at the German Embassy Ball last night," Mr.
Grimm told her.

Miss Thorne nodded, as if in wonder.

"Did you, or did you not, shoot him?"

It was quite casual. She received the question without change of
countenance, but involuntarily she caught her breath. It might have
been a sigh of 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