of
feature and of form. The fluent grace of the slender young body was
charming, but the weariness of grief was shadowed under the long-lashed
eyes.

She looked around, hesitating. "I have an appointment with Mr.
Cunningham," she explained.

"My name," answered the young man.

"Mr. James Cunningham?"

"Afraid you've made a mistake. I'm Jack Cunningham. This is my
uncle's office. I'm taking charge of his affairs. You called his
number instead of my brother's. People are always confusing the two."

"I'm sorry."

"If I can be of any service to you," he suggested.

"I read that your brother was trying to arrange bond for Mr. Lane. I
want to see him about that. I am Rose McLean. My sister worked for
your uncle in his office."

"Oh!" A film of wary caution settled over his eyes. It seemed to Rose
that what she had said transformed him into a potential adversary.
"Glad to meet you, Miss McLean. If you'd rather talk with my brother
I'll make an appointment with him for you."

"Perhaps that would be best," she said.

"Of course he's very busy. If it's anything I could do for you--"

"I'd like you both to hear what I have to say."

For the beating of a pulse his eyes thrust at her as though they would
read her soul. Then he was all smiling urbanity.

"That seems to settle the matter. I'll call my brother up and make an
appointment."

Over the wire Jack put the case to his brother. Presently he hung up
the receiver. "We'll go right over, Miss McLean."

They went down the elevator and passed through the lower hall of the
building to Sixteenth Street. As they walked along Stout to the
Equitable Building, Rose made an explanation.

"I saw you and Mr. James Cunningham at the inquest."

His memory stirred. "Think I saw you, too. 'Member your bandaged arm.
Is it broken?"

"Yes."

He felt the need of talking against an inner perturbation he did not
want to show. What was this girl, the sister of Esther McLean, going
to tell him and his brother? What did she know about the murder of his
uncle? Excitement grew in him and he talked at random to cover it.

"Fall down?"

"A horse threw me and trod on my arm."

"Girls are too venturesome nowadays." In point of fact he did not
think so. He liked girls who were good sportsmen and played the game
hard. But he was talking merely to bridge a mental stress. "Think
they can do anything a man can. 'Fess up, Miss McLean. You'd try to
ride an