Some three hours later he walked briskly along a narrow path strewn with pine needles, which led tortuously up to an old colonial farmhouse.  Outwardly the place seemed to be deserted.  The blinds, battered and stripped of paint by wind and rain, were all closed and one corner of the small veranda had crumbled away from age and neglect.  In the rear of the house, rising from an old barn, a thin pole with a cup-like attachment at the apex, thrust its point into the open above the dense, odorous pines.  Mr. Grimm noted these things as he came along.

He stepped up quietly on the veranda and had just extended one hand to rap on the door when it was opened from within, and Miss Thorne stood before him.  He was not surprised; intuition had told him he would meet her again, perhaps here in hiding.  A sudden quick tenderness lighted the listless eyes.  For an instant she stood staring, her face pallid against the gloom of the hallway beyond, and she drew a long breath of relief, as she pressed one hand to her breast.  The blue-gray eyes were veiled by drooping lids, then she recovered herself and they opened into his.  In them he saw anxiety, apprehension, fear even.

“Miss Thorne!” he greeted, and he bowed low over the white hand which she impulsively thrust toward him.

“I—­I knew some one was coming,” she stammered in a half whisper.  “I didn’t know it was you; I hadn’t known definitely until this instant that you were safe from the explosion.  I am glad—­glad, you understand; glad that you were not—­” She stopped and fought back her emotions, then went on:  “But you must not come in; you must go away at once.  Your—­your life is in danger here.”

“How did you know I was coming?” inquired Mr. Grimm.

“From the moment Mr. Howard telephoned,” she replied, still hastily, still in the mysterious half whisper.  “I knew that it could only be some one from your bureau, and I hoped that it was you.  I saw how you forced him to call us up here, and that was all you needed.  It was simple, of course, to trace the telephone call.”  Both of her hands closed over one of his desperately.  “Now, go, please.  The Latin compact is at an end; you merely invite death here.  Now, go!”

Her eyes were searching the listless face with entreaty in them; the slender fingers were fiercely gripping one of Mr. Grimm’s nerveless hands.  For an instant some strange, softening light flickered in the young man’s eyes, then it passed.

“I have no choice, Miss Thorne,” he said gravely at last.  “I am honor bound by my government to do one of two things.  If I fail in the first of those—­the greater—­it can only be because—­”

He stopped; hope flamed up in her eyes and she leaned forward eagerly studying the impassive face.

“Because—?” she repeated.

“It can only be because I am killed,” he added quietly.  Suddenly his whole manner changed.  “I should like to see the—­the inventor?”