grapher and I thought you might
prefer working in a place where the surroundings are pleasanter and the
pay probably higher."

She studied me a moment, as though card-indexing me, then having
apparently decided that I was in earnest and not merely trying to
flirt, that elusive smile again played about her mouth.

"You are the first steamfitter I ever met that found himself badly in
need of a stenographer."

Caught! I bit my lip at my stupid blunder, but had to laugh in spite
of myself.

"Your make-up is all wrong, Mr. Anderson--if your name is Anderson. I
don't know what you are trying to do, nor why you picked out
steamfitting as your mythical life-work, but I do know you aren't a
detective."

This time the smile came out in the open. I liked her immensely. She
might make an ally. She would at least know what had happened in the
office during the last few days.

"Miss--?"

"Miller," she added.

"Miss Miller. I am a lawyer, and my sister is about to be accused of a
terrible crime which she didn't commit. I think I know who did commit
it, but so far I haven't been able to connect him definitely with the
crime. I think you can help me. Will you?"

"What makes you think I can help you?" she asked.

"Because you are so situated you can observe the person I believe to be
responsible for the crime," I replied.

Her gaze changed from pleasant questioning to indignant surprise. When
she spoke her voice was coldly final.

"I think you have made a mistake in judgment of character. Please let
me finish my work now."

"Miss Miller, please don't think for a minute that I--"

Behind me a door opened and, as I turned, I found myself looking into
the wrathful eyes of a stunted little man with an enormous head. Any
one who has once seen Zalnitch can never forget him. His wizened,
misshapen body is a grotesque caricature of a man's, which, surmounted
by his huge head with its bushy hair, makes him look for all the world
like some scientist's experiment. In the doorway to Zalnitch's private
office stood Schreiber, a heavy-jowled, unsmiling mastiff of a man.

"What do you want that you should be keeping my stenographer from
working?" Zalnitch's voice rose in a shrill crescendo. "Get out of
here! You have no business here. Get out!"

"Zalnitch, I came here to speak to you."

"Get out!" he screamed. "I won't talk with you. I have no time to
waste, even if you have. I know who you are. You're the