“I should be delighted to believe that I have made a mistake,” Mr. Grimm assured her.  “How much time?  One day?  Two days?”

“I will let you know within an hour at your office,” she told him.

Mr. Grimm rose.

“And meanwhile, in case of accident, I shall look to Count di Rosini for adjustment,” he added pointedly.  “Good morning.”

One hour and ten minutes later he received this note, unsigned: 

“Closed carriage will stop for you at southeast corner of Pennsylvania Avenue and Fourteenth Street to-night at one.”

He was there; the carriage was on time; and my lady of mystery was inside.  He stepped in and they swung out into Pennsylvania Avenue, noiselessly over the asphalt.

“Should the gold be placed in your hands now, within the hour,” she queried solicitously, “would it be necessary for you to know who was the—­the thief?”

“It would,” Mr. Grimm responded without hesitation.

“Even if it destroyed a reputation?” she pleaded.

“The Secret Service rarely destroys a reputation, Miss Thorne, although it holds itself in readiness to do so.  I dare say in this case there would be no arrest or prosecution, because of—­of reasons which appear to be good.”

“There wouldn’t?” and there was a note of eagerness in her voice.  “The identity of the guilty person would never appear?”

“It would become a matter of record in our office, but beyond that I think not—­at least in this one instance.”

Miss Thorne sat silent for a block or more.

“You’ll admit, Mr. Grimm, that you have forced me into a most remarkable position.  You seemed convinced of my guilt, and, if you’ll pardon me, without reason; then you made it compulsory upon me to establish my innocence.  The only way for me to do that was to find the guilty one.  I have done it, and I’m sorry, because it’s a little tragedy.”

Mr. Grimm waited.

“It’s a girl high in diplomatic society.  Her father’s position is an honorable rather than a lucrative one; he has no fortune.  This girl moves in a certain set devoted to bridge, and stakes are high.  She played and won, and played and won, and on and on, until her winnings were about eight thousand dollars.  Then luck turned.  She began to lose.  Her money went, but she continued to play desperately.  Finally some old family jewels were pawned without her father’s knowledge, and ultimately they were lost.  One day she awoke to the fact that she owed some nine or ten thousand dollars in bridge debts.  They were pressing and there was no way to meet them.  This meant exposure and utter ruin, and women do strange things, Mr. Grimm, to postpone such an ending to social aspirations.  I know this much is true, for she related it all to me herself.