<h3> LETTERS FROM JAIL </h3>
<p> </p>
<p>For two weeks Signor Pietro Petrozinni,
known to the Secret Service as an unaccredited
agent of the Italian government,
and the self-confessed assailant of Señor
Alvarez of the Mexican legation, had been taking
his ease in a cell. He had been formally arraigned
and committed without bail to await
the result of the bullet wound which had been
inflicted upon the diplomatist from Mexico at
the German Embassy Ball, and, since then, undisturbed
and apparently careless of the outcome,
he had spent his time in reading and
smoking. He had answered questions with only
a curt yes or no when he deigned to answer them
at all; and there had been no callers or inquiries
for him. He had abruptly declined a suggestion
of counsel.</p>
<p>Twice each day, morning and night, he had
asked a question of the jailer who brought his
simple meals.</p>
<p>"How is Señor Alvarez?"</p>
<p>"He is still in a critical condition." The answer
was always the same.</p>
<p>Whereupon the secret agent would return to
his reading with not a shadow of uneasiness or
concern on his face.</p>
<p>Occasionally there came a courteous little note
from Miss Thorne, which he read without
emotion, afterward casting them aside or tearing
them up. He never answered them. And
then one day there came another note which, for
no apparent reason, seemed to stir him from his
lethargy. Outwardly it was like all the others,
but when Signor Petrozinni scanned the sheet
his eyes lighted strangely, and he stood staring
down at it as though to hide a sudden change of
expression in his face. His gaze was concentrated
on two small splotches of ink where, it
seemed, the pen had scratched as Miss Thorne
signed her name.</p>
<p>The guard stood at the barred door for a moment,
then started to turn away. The prisoner
stopped him with a quick gesture.</p>
<p>"Oh, Guard, may I have a glass of milk,
please?" he asked. "No ice. I prefer it tepid."</p>
<p>He thrust a small coin between the bars; the
guard accepted it and passed on. Then, still
standing at the door, the prisoner read the note
again:</p>
<blockquote><p>"MY DEAR FRIEND:</p>
<p>"I understand, from an indirect source, that
there has been a marked improvement in Señor
Alvarez's condition, and I am hastening to send
you the good news. There is every hope that
within a short while, if he continues to improve,
we can arrange a bail bond, and you will be free
until the time of trial anyway.</p>
<p>"Might it not be well for you to consult an
attorney at once? Drop me a line to let me
know you received this.</p>
<p>"Sincerely,</p>
<p>"ISABEL THORNE."</p>
</blockquote>
<p>Finally the prisoner tossed the note on a tiny
table in a corner of his cell, and resumed his
reading. After a time the guard returned with
the milk.</p>
<p>"Would it be against the rules for me to write
an answer to this?" queried Signor Petrozinni,
and he indicated the note.</p>
<p>"Certainly not," was the reply.</p>
<p>"If I might trouble you, then, for pen and ink
and paper?" suggested the signor and he smiled
a little. "Believe me, I would prefer to get them
for myself."</p>
<p>"I guess that's right," the guard grinned
good-naturedly.</p>
<p>Again he went away and the prisoner sat
thoughtfully sipping the milk. He took half
of it, then lighted a cigarette, puffed it once or
twice and permitted the light to die. After a
little there came again the clatter of the guard's
feet on the cement pavement, and the writing
materials were thrust through the bars.</p>
<p>"Thank you," said the prisoner.</p>
<p>The guard went on, with a nod, and a moment
later the signor heard the clangor of a steel door
down the corridor as it was closed and locked.
He leaned forward in his chair with half-closed
eyes, listening for a long time, then rose and
noiselessly approached the cell door. Again
he listened intently, after which he resumed his
seat. He tossed away the cigarette he had and
lighted a fresh one, afterward holding the note
over the flame of the match. Here and there,
where the paper charred in the heat, a letter or
word stood out from the bare whiteness of the
paper, and finally, a message complete appeared
between the innocuous ink-written lines. The
prisoner read it greedily:</p>
<blockquote><p>"Am privately informed there is little chance
of Alvarez's recovery. Shall I arrange escape
for you, or have ambassador intercede? Would
advise former, as the other might take months,
and meeting to sign treaty alliance would be
dangerously delayed."</p>
</blockquote>
<p>Signor Petrozinni permitted the sputtering
flame to ignite the paper, and thoughtfully
watched the blaze destroy it. The last tiny
scrap dropped on the floor, burned out, and he
crushed the ashes under his heel. Then he began
to write:</p>
<blockquote><p>"My Dear Miss Thorne:</p>
<p>"Many thanks for your courteous little note.
I am delighted to know of the improvement in
Señor Alvarez's condition. I had hoped that my
impulsive act in shooting him would not end in
a tragedy. Please keep me informed of any
further change in his condition. As yet I do
not see the necessity of consulting an attorney,
but later I may be compelled to do so.</p>
<p>"Respectfully,</p>
<p>"Pietro Petrozinni."</p>
</blockquote>
<p>This done the secret agent carefully cleaned
the ink from the pen, wiping it dry with his
handkerchief, then thrust it into the half empty
glass of milk. The fluid clung to the steel nib
thinly; he went on writing with it, between the
lines of ink:</p>
<blockquote><p>"I am in no danger. I hold credentials to
United States, which, when presented, will make
me responsible only to the Italian government
as special envoy, according to international law.
Arrange escape for one week from to-night;
use any money necessary. Make careful arrangements
for the test and signing of compact for
two nights after."</p>
</blockquote>
<p>Again the prisoner cleaned the steel nib, after
which he put it back in the bottle of ink, leaving
it there. He waved the sheet of paper back and
forth to dry it, and at last scrutinized it minutely,
standing under the light from the high-up
window of his cell. Letter by letter the milk
evaporated, leaving the sheet perfectly clean
and white except for the ink-written message.
This sheet he folded, placed in an envelope, and
addressed.</p>
<p>Later the guard passed along the corridor,
and Signor Petrozinni thrust the letter out to
him.</p>
<p>"Be good enough to post that, please," he requested.
"It isn't sealed. I don't know if your
prison rules require you to read the letters that
go out. If so, read it, or have it read, then
seal it."</p>
<p>For answer the guard dampened the flap of
the envelope, sealed it, thrust it into his pocket
and passed on. The secret agent sat down again,
and sipped his milk meditatively.</p>
<p>One hour later Mr. Grimm, accompanied by
Johnson, came out of a photographer's dark
room in Pennsylvania Avenue with a developed
negative which he set on a rack to dry. At the
end of another hour he was sitting at his desk
studying, under a magnifying glass, a finished
print of the negative. Word by word he was
writing on a slip of paper what his magnifying
glass gave him and so, curiously enough, it came
to pass that Miss Thorne and Chief Campbell
of the Secret Service were reading the hidden,
milk-written message at almost the identical moment.</p>
<p>"Johnson got Petrozinni's letter from the
postman," Mr. Grimm was explaining. "I
opened it, photographed it, sealed it again and
remailed it. There was not more than half an
hour's delay; and Miss Thorne can not possibly
know of it." He paused a moment. "It's an
odd thing that writing such as that is absolutely
invisible to the naked eye, and yet when photographed
becomes decipherable in the negative."</p>
<p>"What do you make of it?" Mr. Campbell
asked. The guileless blue eyes were alive with
eagerness.</p>
<p>"Well, he's right, of course, about not being
in danger," said Mr. Grimm. "If he came with
credentials as special envoy this government
must respect them, even if Señor Alvarez dies,
and leave it to his own government to punish
him. If we were officially aware that he has
such credentials I doubt if we would have the
right to keep him confined; we would merely
have to hand him over to the Italian embassy
and demand his punishment. And, of course, all
that makes him more dangerous than ever."</p>
<p>"Yes, I know that," said the chief a little impatiently.
"But who is this man?"</p>
<p>"Who is this man?" Mr. Grimm repeated as
if surprised at the question. "I was looking for
Prince Benedetto d'Abruzzi, of Italy. I have
found him."</p>
<p>Mr. Campbell's clock-like brain ticked over the
situation in detail.</p>
<p>"It's like this," Mr. Grimm elucidated. "He
has credentials which he knows will free him if
he is forced to present them, but I imagine they
were given to him more for protection in an
emergency like this than for introducing him to
our government. As the matter stands he can't
afford to discover himself by using those credentials,
and yet, if the Latin compact is signed,
he must be free. Remember, too, that he is accredited
from three countries—Italy, France
and Spain." He was silent for a moment. "Naturally
his escape from prison would preserve his
incognito, and at the same time permit him to
sign the compact."</p>
<p>There was silence for a long time.</p>
<p>"I believe the situation is without precedent,"
said Mr. Campbell slowly. "The special envoy
of three great powers held for attempted—!"</p>
<p>"Officially we are not aware of his purpose, or
his identity," Mr. Grimm reminded him. "If he
escaped it would clarify the situation tremendously."</p>
<p>"If he escaped!" repeated Mr. Campbell musingly.</p>
<p>"But, of course, the compact would not be
signed, at least in this country," Mr. Grimm
went on tentatively.</p>
<p>Mr. Campbell gazed straight into the listless
eyes of the young man for a minute or more,
and gradually full understanding came home to
him. Finally he nodded his head.</p>
<p>"Use your own judgment, Mr. Grimm," he
directed.</p>
<p> </p>
<p> </p>
<SPAN name="CH17"><!-- CHAPTER 17 --></SPAN>
<h3> XVII </h3>
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