“I’ll trouble you, please, to return the money,” requested Mr. Grimm courteously.  “No reason appears why you should have taken it.  But I’m not seeking reasons, nor am I seeking disagreeable publicity—­only the money.”

“It seems to me you attach undue importance to the handkerchief,” she objected.

“That’s a matter of opinion,” Mr. Grimm remarked.  “It would be useless, even tedious, to attempt to disprove a burglar theory, but against it is the difficulty of entrance, the weight of the gold, the ingenious method of opening the safe, and the assumption that not more than six persons knew the money was in the safe; while a person in the house might have learned it in any of a dozen ways.  And, in addition, is the fact that the handkerchief is odd, therefore noticeable.  A lace expert assures me there’s probably not another like it in the world.”

He stopped.  Miss Thorne’s eyes sparkled and a smile seemed to be tugging at the corners of her mouth.  She spread out the handkerchief on her knees.

“You could identify this again, of course?” she queried.

“Yes.”

She thoughtfully crumpled up the bit of lace in both hands, then opened them.  There were two handkerchiefs now—­they were identical.

“Which is it, please?” she asked.

If Mr. Grimm was disappointed there was not a trace of it on his face.  She laughed outright, gleefully, mockingly, then, demurely: 

“Pardon me!  You see, it’s absurd.  The handkerchief the butler restored to me at dinner, after I lost one in the senor’s office, might have been either of these, or one of ten other duplicates in my room, all given to me by her Maj—­I mean,” she corrected quickly, “by a friend in Europe.”  She was silent for a moment.  “Is that all?”

“No,” replied Mr. Grimm gravely, decisively.  “I’m not satisfied.  I shall insist upon the return of the money, and if it is not forthcoming I dare say Count di Rosini, the Italian ambassador, would be pleased to give his personal check rather than have the matter become public.”  She started to interrupt; he went on.  “In any event you will be requested to leave the country.”

Then, and not until then, a decided change came over Miss Thorne’s face.  A deeper color leaped to her cheeks, the smile faded from her lips, and there was a flash of uneasiness in her eyes.

“But if I am innocent?” she protested.

“You must prove it,” continued Mr. Grimm mercilessly.  “Personally, I am convinced, and Count di Rosini has practically assured me that—­”

“It’s unjust!” she interrupted passionately.  “It’s—­it’s—­you have proved nothing.  It’s unheard of!  It’s beyond—!”

Suddenly she became silent.  A minute, two minutes, three minutes passed; Mr. Grimm waited patiently.

“Will you give me time and opportunity to prove my innocence?” she demanded finally.  “And if I do convince you—?”