town even--not at the time."

"I didn't say it mattered, Phil," said Ferguson hastily. He laughed at
the idea. "Whatever put it into your head to think this--er--lady was
spying on a--an ordinary business meeting? Supposing she was--why,
what earthly good would it do her?"

"Search me, Blatch. Thought I'd better tell you about it anyway."

"Quite right, of course. Hm--just so. She got away without leaving a
single clue, eh? Not that it matters in the least, but---- You did
right in reporting it. Thanks."

"Would you mind telling me if you had anybody in the office here with
you just before I came in? Or were you using the telephone?"

"Why," hesitated Ferguson in some surprise, "I was called on the 'phone
by an old newspaper acquaintance--yes. Perhaps you know him--Hughey
Podmore? He got a job recently as President Wade's private
secretary--Canadian Lake Shores Railway. We used to work on the same
paper long ago. Why?"

"Oh, nothing--just my idle curiosity. Say, there's something you can
do for me, like a good fellow, before I go. Give me a knock-down to
the lady outside, will you? Didn't know you owned a peach orchard,
Blatch? Who is she?"

Ferguson chuckled as he pressed a button.

"Name's Margaret Williams. My regular stenographer was taken sick
suddenly the other day and she sent around this friend of hers to
substitute. She's a dandy good worker, too. But you're too late, my
boy. She's leaving soon to marry a fellow at Buffalo--er--Miss
Williams, allow me to present Mr. Philip Kendrick."

Her bow was very formal and as, at her employer's request, she escorted
him to the private exit at her own end of the office, her manner was
equally cold.

"I hope you bear me no ill will, Miss Williams," smiled Phil. "I
assure you I have done nothing to merit it."

"That is for me to judge," she retorted calmly. "Please go. I do not
care to know you, Mr. Kendrick."

Phil turned quickly. It was the second time within twelve hours that a
girl had told him that--in those very words, with that same disdainful
tone. Why, if he were to shut his eyes he felt sure he could imagine
it to be the very voice inflection used by his Fog Lady when delivering
the same sentence of exile. Again he found himself guilty of staring.

"Have you ever seen a real, honest-to-goodness amulet, Miss Williams?"
he asked eagerly, reaching into his pocket. "I'd like to show you mine
before I go, if I may." He slowl