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"How dare you do such a thing?" she demanded fiercely. "It is murder."

"This is not a time, Miss Thorne, for your interference," replied the prince coldly. "It has all passed beyond the point where the feelings of any one person, even the feelings of the woman who has engineered the compact, can be considered. A single life can not be permitted to stand in the way of the consummation of this world project. Mr. Grimm alive means the compact would be useless, if not impossible; Mr. Grimm dead means the fruition of all our plans and hopes. You have done your duty and you have done it well; but now your authority ends, and I, the special envoy of--"

"Just a moment, please," Mr. Grimm interrupted courteously. "As I understand it, your Highness, the mine there in the corner is charged?"

"Yes. It just happened to be here for purposes of experiment."

"The cap is attached?"

"Quite right." The prince laughed.

"And at three o'clock, by your watch, the mine will be fired by a wireless operator fifteen miles from here?"

"Something like that; yes, very much like that," assented the prince.

"Thank you. I merely wanted to understand it." Mr. Grimm pulled a chair up against the door and sat down, crossing his legs. On his knees rested the barrel of a revolver, glittering, fascinating, in the semi-darkness. "Now, gentlemen," and he glanced at his watch, "it's twenty-one minutes of three o'clock. At three that mine will explode. We will all be in the room when it happens, unless his Highness sees fit to destroy the compact."

Eyes sought eyes, and the prince removed his mask with a sudden gesture. His face was bloodless.

"If any man," and Mr. Grimm gave Miss Thorne a quick glance, "I should say, _any person_, attempts to leave this room I _know_ he will die; and there's a bare chance that the percussion cap will fail to work. I can account for six of you, if there is a rush."

"But, man, if that mine explodes we shall all be killed--blown to pieces!" burst from one of the cowled figures.

"If the percussion cap works," supplemented Mr. Grimm.

Mingled emotions struggled in the flushed face of Isabel as she studied Mr. Grimm's impassive countenance.

"I have never disappointed you yet, Miss Thorne," he remarked as if it were an explanation. "I shall not now."

She turned to the prince.

"Your Highness, I think it needless to argue further," she said. "We have no choice in the matter; there is only one course--destroy the compact."

"No!" was the curt answer.

"I believe I know Mr. Grimm better than you do," she argued. "You think he will weaken; I know he will not. I am not arguing for him, nor for myself; I am arguing against the frightful loss that will come here in this room if the compact is not destroyed."

[Illustration: "You think he will weaken; I know he will not."]

"It's absurd to let one man stand in the way," declared the prince angrily.

"It might not be an impertinent question, your Highness," commented Mr. Grimm, "for me to ask how you are going to _prevent_ one man standing in the way?"

A quick change came over Miss Thorne's face. The eyes hardened, the lips were set, and lines Mr. Grimm had never seen appeared about the mouth. Here, in a flash, the cloak of dissimulation was cast aside, and the woman stood forth, this keen, brilliant, determined woman who did things.

"The compact will be destroyed," she said.

"No," declared the prince.

"It _must_ be destroyed."

"_Must? Must?_ Do you say _must to me?_"

"Yes, _must_," she repeated steadily.

"And by what authority, please, do--"

"By that authority!" She drew a tiny, filigreed gold box from her bosom and cast it upon the table; the prince stared at it. "In the name of your sovereign--_must_!" she said again.

The prince turned away and began pacing, back and forth across the room with the parchment crumpled in his hand. For a minute or more Isabel stood watching him.

"Thirteen minutes!" Mr. Grimm announced coldly.

And now broke out an excited chatter,