A gentleman rose and bowed gravely.
"I am Mr. Grimm of the Secret Service," he informed her with frank courtesy. "I am afraid you were expecting some one else; I handed my card to the footman."
For an instant the blue-gray eyes opened wide in astonishment, and then some quick, subtle change swept over Miss Thorne's face. She smiled graciously and motioned him to a seat.
"This is quite a different meeting from the one Señorita Rodriguez had planned, isn't it?" she asked.
There was a taunting curve on her scarlet lips; the shadow passed from her eyes; her slim, white hands lay idle in her lap. Mr. Grimm regarded her reflectively. There was a determination of steel back of this charming exterior; there was an indomitable will, a keen brain, and all of a woman's intuition to reckon with. She was silent, with a 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."