Vaux smiled. "All right; go ahead, my dear Miss Erith. You're officially detailed for this delightful job. Do it your own way, but do it--" "Thank you so much!" "--In twenty-four hours," he added grimly. "Otherwise I'll turn it over to the P.I." "Oh! That IS brutal of you!" "Sorry. But if you can't get the code-book in twenty-four hours I'll have to call in the Service that can." The girl bit her lip and held out her hand for the letter. "I can't let it go out of my office," he remarked. "You know that, Miss Erith." "I merely wish to copy it," she said reproachfully. Her eyes were hazel. "I ought not to let you take a copy out of this office," he muttered. "But you will, won't you?" "All right. Use that machine over there. Hum--hum!" For twenty minutes the girl was busy typing before the copy was finally ready. Then, comparing it and finding her copy accurate, she returned the original to Mr. Vaux, and rose with that disturbing grace peculiar to her every movement. "Where may I telephone you when you're not here?" she inquired diffidently, resting one slim, white hand on his desk. "At the Racquet Club. Are you going out?" "Yes." "What! You abandon me without my permission?" She nodded with one of those winsome smiles which incline young men to revery. Then she turned and walked toward the cloak room. The D. C. was deeply in love with somebody else, yet he found it hard to concentrate his mind for a while, and he chewed his unlighted cigar into a pulp. Alas! Men are that way. Not sometimes. Always. Finally he shoved aside the pile of letters which he had been trying to read, unhooked the telephone receiver, called a number, got it, and inquired for a gentleman named Cassidy. To the voice that answered he gave the name, business and address of Herman Lauffer, and added a request that undue liberties be taken with any out going letters mailed and presumably composed and written by Mr. Lauffer's own fair hand. "Much obliged, Mr. Vaux," cooed Cassidy, in a voice so suave that Vaux noticed its unusual blandness and asked if that particular Service already had "anything on Lauffer." "Not soon but yet!" replied Mr. Cassidy facetiously, "thanks ENTIRELY to your kind tip, Mr. Vaux." And Vaux, suspicious of such urbane pleasantries, rang off and resumed his mutilated cigar. "Now, what the devil does Cassidy know about Herman Lauffer," he mused, "and why the devil hasn't his Bureau informed us?" After long pondering he found no answer. Besides, he kept thinking at moments about Miss Erith, which confused him and diverted his mind from the business on hand. So, in his perplexity, he switched on the electric foot-warmer, spread his fur overcoat over his knees, uncorked a small bottle and swallowed a precautionary formaldehyde tablet, unlocked a drawer of his desk, fished out a photograph, and gazed intently upon it.