! Dot! Dot-dash! Dot-dash-dot!"

"N--e--a--f." Mr. Grimm was still spelling it out.

Then came a perfect jumble. Mr. Grimm followed it with difficulty, a
difficulty utterly belied by the quizzical lines about his mouth. As he
caught it, it was like this: "J--5--n--s--e--f--v--a--t--5--f,"
followed by an arbitrary signal which is not in the Morse code:
"Dash-dot-dash-dash!"

Mr. Grimm carefully stored that jumble away in some recess of his brain,
along with the unknown signal.

"D--5--5--f," he read, and then, on to the end: "B--f--i--n--g
5--v--e--f w--h--e--n g g--5--e--s."

That was all, apparently. The soft clatter of the fan against the arm of
the chair ran on meaninglessly after that.

"May I bring you an ice?" Mr. Grimm asked at last.

"If you will, please," responded the senorita, "and when you come back
I'll reward you by presenting you to Miss Thorne. You'll find her
charming; and Mr. Cadwallader has monopolized her long enough."

Mr. Grimm bowed and left her. He had barely disappeared when Mr. Rankin
lounged along in front of Miss Thorne. He glanced at her, paused and
greeted her effusively.

"Why, Miss Thorne!" he exclaimed. "I'm delighted to see you here. I
understood you would not be present, and--"

Their hands met in a friendly clasp as she rose and moved away, with a
nod of excuse to Mr. Cadwallader. A thin slip of paper, thrice folded,
passed from Mr. Rankin to her. She tugged at her glove, and thrust the
little paper, still folded, inside the palm.

"Is it yes, or no?" Miss Thorne asked in a low tone.

"Frankly, I can't say," was the reply.

"He read the message," she explained hastily, "and now he has gone to
decipher it."

She gathered up her trailing skirts over one arm, and together they
glided away through the crowd to the strains of a Strauss waltz.

"I'm going to faint in a moment," she said quite calmly to Mr. Rankin.
"Please have me sent to the ladies' dressing-room."

"I understand," he replied quietly.

IV

THE FLEEING WOMAN

Mr. Grimm went straight to a quiet nook of the smoking-room and there,
after a moment, Mr. Campbell joined him. The bland benevolence of the
chief's face was disturbed by the slightest questioning uplift of his
brows as he dropped into a seat opposite Mr. Grimm, and lighted a cigar.
Mr. Grimm raised his hand, and a servant who stood near, approached
them.

"An ice--here," Mr. Grimm directed tersely.

The servant bowed and disappeared,