It was nearly dark when the conference finally ended and the men went their several ways. McIver, with some work of special importance waiting his attention, telephoned that he would not be home for dinner. He would finish what he had to do and would dine at the club later in the evening. The big factory inside the high, board fence was silent. The night came on. Save for the armed men who guarded the place, the owner was alone. Absorbed in his consideration of the business before him, the man was oblivious of everything but his game. An hour went by. He forgot that he had had no dinner. Another hour--and another. He was interrupted at last by the entrance of a guard. "Well, what do you want?" he said, shortly, when the man stood before him. "There's a woman outside, sir. She insists that she must see you." "A woman!" "Yes, sir." "Who is she?" "I don't know." "Well, what does she look like?" "I couldn't see her face, she's got a veil on." The factory owner considered. How did any one outside of his home know that he was in his office at that hour? These times were dangerous. "Vodell is likely to try anything," he said, aloud. "Better send her about her business." "I tried to," the guard returned, "but she won't go--says she is a friend of yours and has got to see you to-night." "A friend! Huh! How did she get here?" "In a taxi, and the taxi beat it as soon as she got out." Again McIver considered. Then his heavy jaw set, and he growled, "All right, bring her in--a couple of you--and see that you stand by while she is here. If this is a Vodell trick of some sort, I'll beat him to it." Helen, escorted by two burly guards, entered the office. McIver sprang to his feet with an exclamation of amazement, and his tender concern was unfeigned and very comforting to the young woman after the harrowing experience through which she had just passed. Sending the guards back to their posts, he listened gravely while she told him where she had been and what she had seen. "But, Helen," he cried, when she had finished, "it was sheer madness for you to be alone in the Flats like that--at Whaley's place and in the night, too! Good heavens, girl, don't you realize what a risk you were taking?" "I had to go, Jim," she returned. "You had to go?" he repeated. "Why?" "I had to see for myself if--if things were as bad as the Interpreter said. Oh, can't you understand, Jim, I could not believe it--it all seemed so impossible. Don't you see that I had to know for sure?" "I see that some one ought to break that meddlesome old basket maker's head as well as his legs," growled McIver indignantly. "The idea of sending you, Adam Ward's daughter, of all people, alone into that nest of murdering anarchists." "But the Interpreter didn't send me, Jim," she protested. "He did not even know that I was going. No one knew."