Cleo threw herself into a chair, sprang up again, listened for a moment at the door, her hand pressed to her side.
“Mademoiselle,” Grant said to her soothingly, “consider. You’re in no such great danger. Mademoiselle Yvonne is, I understand, unhurt. Even if you should be arrested the charge will not be a serious one.”
“They will keep me in prison a month, perhaps two months,” she cried. “And all that time he will be with her. It is not to be borne. I meant to kill her. I wish I had killed her.”
He tried to reason with her.
“Mademoiselle Cleo,” he pointed out, “you are young, extremely attractive, a wonderful dancer. I will take an apartment for you and have you appointed principal danseuse at one of our best restaurants here. You shall have two thousand dollars a month and an automobile. I will present to you the young men of the city. Why worry about that faithless Itash? I will do all this for you, if you will tell us in these few seconds, while you still have time, those things which remain in your memory.”
“In five minutes you will know,” she replied. “In five minutes if Itash will not promise to give up Yvonne, I shall tell you all for nothing. Then we will see.”
“You will trust to his promise?”
“If he lies, he knows that this time I shall kill him. I am not a girl who can be treated as he has done. He shall learn that.”
There was a slow and somewhat ponderous knocking at the door. She turned towards it, breathless, expectant. Then suddenly she gave a little cry.
“It is too soon,” she exclaimed. “It must be those others. Protect me. For heaven’s sake, don’t let them take me before Itash comes.”
The knocking was repeated, and this time the door was instantly opened. There was no doubt about the character of the two men who entered; detective was written on every feature. One stood by the door. The other advanced a little into the room.
“Mr. Slattery, I believe,” he said. “Sorry to intrude upon you, sir, but I have a warrant for the arrest of that young woman. You’re Mademoiselle Cleo?” he went on.
“What do you want with me?” she demanded.
“I’ll have to take you to the police station, young lady,” was the brusque reply. “Charge of shooting with the intent to murder. You’d better keep your mouth closed till you get to headquarters.”
She looked around her a little wildly.
“Can’t you make them wait until Itash comes?” she begged of Grant. “He will, perhaps, arrange with them. I didn’t mean to hurt her. All that I want is Itash.”
“Say, young lady,” the detective interposed, “our orders are that you are not to talk. We’ve an automobile outside and if you’ll just allow me to run you over first for arms, I guess we can let you walk ahead of us and no fuss.”
“I have no weapons,” she declared, holding out her arms. “You can search me if you like.”
“Who’s this Itash she’s talking about?” the detective enquired, as he passed his hands over the girl’s quivering body.
“Count Itash. The Japanese gentleman who was with the girl she is supposed to have shot at,” Grant told him.
“So he was the cause of the trouble, was he?” the man observed. “Well, young lady, he’ll be able to see you at Police Headquarters after you’ve been examined.”
“Before I go,” she began
“Stop it!” the detective insisted. “My orders are strict. You are not to be allowed to talk. Special orders from the Chief of Police. I don’t want to do anything harsh and I don’t wish to lay hands on the young lady,” the man went on, turning to Grant, “but she’s got to cut out the gab. This way, young lady.”
They had already taken a step towards the door when it was suddenly opened. The second detective stood on one side, as Itash walked in. He was looking very pale and solemn, but, as usual, neatly and correctly dressed. Cleo would have rushed towards him, but for the restraining hand upon her shoulder.
“Sammy!” she cried. “You see what they’re doing to me. They are taking me to prison. Tell them about it, Sammy. It was not really my fault. Send them away, please. Give them money. Tell them I am sorry. Anything. And tell me that it is finished with Yvonne. Take me away with you, Sammy.”
He looked at her without changing a muscle of his countenance. Then he turned to the detective.
“Where are you taking her?” he enquired.
“To Police Headquarters,” the man replied. “And it’s about time we were off.”
“Do not let me detain you,” Itash said coldly. “Police Headquarters is a very good place indeed for that young lady. She was once a friend of mine, but she is so no longer. She tried to murder the young lady who was my companion last night. I have no wish to stand in the way of her punishment.”
Mademoiselle Cleo seemed to have become suddenly calm. Only her eyes burned as she looked towards Itash.
“It is thus you speak to me?” she moaned. “You have no pity. No longer any love.”
“It is finished,” he pronounced.
She beckoned to Slattery, who stepped quickly forward. The officer would have thrust his hand over her mouth but he was too late. She whispered for a moment in Grant’s ear. Then she turned to the detective.
“I am quite ready,” she announced. “This time you have only a small charge against me. I shot to frighten, not to kill. There is a time coming before very long when I shall kill. Farewell, Itash. You have done an evil day’s work for yourself. If you knew how many of your secrets still lurk in my brain besides those which I have shared with our friend, Mr. Slattery, here, you would not stand like a piece of marble and watch me being led away to prison while you go to take the dejeuner with Yvonne. You would be shaking in every limb, Itash,—shaking. I tell you. For in your heart you know very well that you are a coward.”
“Secrets!” Itash repeated scornfully. “What secrets could you know of? I have given you my caresses—never my confidence.”
She threw her head back and laughed.
“So you did not understand me over the telephone? Go and call on your friend, Mr. Cornelius Blunn,” she jeered. “He knows.”
“Say, young lady, I have been very patient, but orders are orders,” the detective declared savagely. “Out of this room you go and if you utter another word you go with my hand over your mouth.”
“It pleases me to depart,” she replied haughtily. ”Au revoir, Mr. Slattery. Come and see me in prison. There is more to be—”
The detective’s patience was at an end. His hand closed upon her lips. He pushed her from the room. In the hallway they heard her muffled laugh.
“Gentlemen,” Itash said, “I am sorry that you should have been troubled in this matter. I did not know that it was to the apartments of Mr. Grant Slattery that I was coming.”
“Mademoiselle Cleo is an acquaintance of mine from Monte Carlo,” Grant reminded him. “You doubtless remember our little supper party there.”
“With much pleasure,” Itash assented. “Nevertheless, Mr. Slattery, a word of caution may not be out of place. The young lady is not altogether trustworthy. Her tempers are violent. She is not truthful. She is, indeed, dangerous.”
“Then we are both well rid of her. Count,” Grant observed drily.
“It grieves me to speak ill of one of her sex,” the young man continued, drawing on his gloves. “Mademoiselle Cleo was once my very good friend. I tire of her and take another, and she will not accept the situation. It was foolish.”
“Very foolish indeed,” Grant assented.
“The situation,” Itash proceeded, “was probably clear to you when I had the honour of inviting you to supper at the Carlton at Monte Carlo. You are a man of the world, Mr. Slattery. I have been told that Mademoiselle has made scandalous talk of me. You will understand from whence comes the idea to speak evil.”
“The whole situation,” Grant assured him, “is most transparent.”
Itash bowed low.
“I should not mention this matter at all,” he went on, “but we, who are in the Diplomatic Service of our country—you, Mr. Slattery, I believe were once thus engaged—can so easily have mischief made around us—a malicious word, a suggestion of a confidence betrayed, it is sufficient to do much harm. You will bear this in mind, Mr. Slattery, if, by chance, Mademoiselle should have come here with mischievous intent.”
“I will bear it in mind,” Grant promised.
“No word concerning the affairs of my country, no single sentence of political import of any sort whatsoever has ever passed my lips when in the presence of Mademoiselle Cleo,” Itash declared. “Therefore what she says she knows, she invents. I wish you good morning, gentlemen.”
He made a dignified and leisurely exit. They heard the door close behind him, heard him pass down the corridor towards the lift.
“What did she whisper to you?” Stoneham asked.
“She was a trifle cryptic,” Grant replied. “She spoke in French. What she said was simply this—‘The secret of the world is to be found in two small volumes hidden in the box of gold, in number twelve hundred and eight.’ Box of gold! What the mischief was she driving at?”
There was a sudden change in Stoneham’s expression.
“Why, Grant,” he exclaimed, “haven’t you ever heard the story about Cornelius Blunn’s father?”
“I’ve heard one version of it,” Grant acknowledged. “Tell me yours.”
“You remember his history, of course. He was a great friend of the Kaiser Wilhelm’s—one of the war party, one of those who really believed in Germany and her divine right to rule the world. The Treaty of Versailles broke his heart. On his deathbed he wrote a letter, which he placed in a gold casket which the Kaiser had once given him, containing the freedom of the city of Berlin. The idea always has been that that letter was a charge upon his son to see that some day or other Germany was avenged. Cornelius Blunn carries that casket always with him. If there really does exist any document in the world, any secret treaty or understanding between Germany and, say, Japan, having for its object a consummation of this injunction, why that’s the likeliest place in the whole world to find it.”
“What about the twelve hundred and eight?” Grant asked.
“That was what put me on the scent,” Stoneham replied. “Twelve hundred and eight is the number of Cornelius Blunn’s suite on the twelfth floor of this hotel.”