e farther end of which was hidden by a screen of wood and frosted
glass. It was from behind that screen that the noise came and she
remembered that she had noted a chair there--evidently a place where
callers waited.

"Who is there?" she asked.

There was a creak as the visitor rose.

"Eggscuse, mattam," said a wheezy voice, "I gall to eng-vire for Mister
Peale, isn't it?"

He shuffled forward into view, a small man with a dead white face and a
head of monstrous size.

She was bereft of speech and could only look at him, for this was the
man she had found in her rooms the night before her dismissal--the man
who carried the Green Rust.

Evidently he did not recognize her.

"Mister Peale, he tolt me, I must gall him mit der telephone, but der
nomber she vas gone oudt of mine head!"

He blinked at her with his short-sighted eyes and laid a big hairy hand
on the gate.

"You must--you mustn't come in," she said breathlessly. "I will call Mr.
Beale--sit--sit down again."

"Sch," he said obediently, and shuffled back to his chair, "dell him der
Herr Brofessor it was."

The girl took up the telephone receiver with a shaking hand and gave the
number. It was Beale's voice that answered her.

"There's a man here," she said hurriedly, "a--a--the man--who was in my
room--the Herr Professor."

She heard his exclamation of annoyance.

"I'm sorry," and if she could judge by the inflection of his voice his
sorrow was genuine. "I'll be with you in ten minutes--he's quite a
harmless old gentleman----"

"Hurry, please."

She heard the "click" of his receiver and replaced her own slowly. She
did not attempt to go back to the outer office, but waited by the closed
door. She recalled the night, the terror of that unknown presence in her
darkened flat, and shuddered. Then Beale, surprisingly sober, had come
in and he and the "burglar" had gone away together.

What had these two, Mr. Beale and the "Herr Professor," in common? She
heard the snap of the outer door, and Beale's voice speaking quickly. It
was probably German--she had never acquired the language and hardly
recognized it, though the guttural "Zu befel, Herr Peale" was distinct.

She heard the shuffle of the man's feet and the closing of the outer
door and then Beale came in, and his face was troubled.

"I can't tell you how sorry I am that the old man called--I'd forgotten
that he was likely to come."

She leant against the table, both hands behind her.