“At last, in some way—­a misplaced letter, perhaps, or a word overheard—­she learned that fifty thousand dollars would be in the legation safe overnight, and evidently she learned the precise night.”  She paused a moment.  “Here is the address of a man in Baltimore, Thomas Q. Griswold,” and she passed a card to Mr. Grimm, who sat motionless, listening.  “About four years ago the combination on the legation safe was changed.  This man was sent here to make the change, therefore some one besides Senor Rodriguez does know the combination.  I have communicated with this man to-day, for I saw the possibility of just such a thing as this instead of your stethoscope.  By a trick and a forged letter this girl obtained the combination from this man.”

Mr. Grimm drew a long breath.

“She intended to take, perhaps, only what she desperately needed—­but at sight of it all—­do you see what must have been the temptation then?  We get out here.”

There were many unanswered questions in Mr. Grimm’s mind.  He repressed them for the time, stepped out and assisted Miss Thorne to alight.  The carriage had turned out of Pennsylvania Avenue, and at the moment he didn’t quite place himself.  A narrow passageway opened before them—­evidently the rear entrance to a house possibly in the next street.  Miss Thorne led the way unhesitatingly, cautiously unlocked the door, and together they entered a hall.  Then there was a short flight of stairs, and they stepped into a room, one of a suite.  She closed the door and turned on the lights.

“The bags of gold are in the next room,” she said with the utmost composure.

Mr. Grimm dragged them out of a dark closet, opened one—­there were ten—­and allowed the coins to dribble through his fingers.  Finally he turned and stared at Miss Thorne, who, pallid and weary, stood looking on.

“Where are we?” he asked.  “What house is this?”

“The Venezuelan legation,” she answered.  “We are standing less than forty feet from the safe that was robbed.  You see how easy—!”

“And whose room?” inquired Mr. Grimm slowly.

“Must I answer?” she asked appealingly.

“You must!”

“Senorita Rodriguez—­my hostess!  Don’t you see what you’ve made me do?  She and Mr. Cadwallader made the trip to Baltimore in his automobile, and—­and—!” She stopped.  “He knows nothing of it,” she added.

“Yes, I know,” said Mr. Grimm.

He stood looking at her in silence for a moment, staring deeply into the pleading eyes; and a certain tense expression about his lips passed.  For an instant her hand trembled on his arm, and he caught the fragrance of her hair.

“Where is she now?” he asked.

“Playing bridge,” replied Miss Thorne, with a sad little smile.  “It is always so—­at least twice a week, and she rarely returns before two or half-past.”  She extended both hands impetuously, entreatingly.  “Please be generous, Mr. Grimm.  You have the gold; don’t destroy her.”