"Why do you make me do it?" he demanded.
"That is my affair."
Mr. Grimm laid a hand upon her arm, a hand that had never known nervousness. A moment longer he stared, and then:
"Madam, you are my prisoner for the attempted murder of Señor Alvarez!"
The rings on the portières behind him clicked sharply, and the draperies parted. Mr. Grimm stood motionless, with his hand on Miss Thorne's arm.
"You were inquiring a moment ago for a revolver," came in a man's voice. "Here it is!"
Mr. Grimm found himself inspecting the weapon from the barrel end. After a moment his glance shifted to the blazing eyes of the man who held it—a young man, rather slight, with clean-cut, aristocratic features, and of the pronounced Italian type.
"My God!" The words came from Miss Thorne's lips almost in a scream. "Don't—!"