"Why not?" he asked. "For let me tell you this, Miss Mary. Those old countries are all grand countries--to somebody's way of thinking. But America is the grandest of them all, or they wouldn't keep coming here as fast as ships can bring them! What they can do, yes, we can do--and add something for good measure, if need be!" "Well, that's it," said Mary, eagerly. "If we go into the war, we shall have to do the same as they are doing in Europe--let women do the factory work. And if it comes to that, I want Spencer & Son to be ready--to be the first to do it--to show the others the way!" Mac nodded. "A bit of your grandfather, that," he thought with approval. "So what I want you to do," she concluded, "is to make me up a list of machines that women can be taught to handle the easiest, and let me have it as soon as you can." "I'll do that," he grimly nodded. "There's far too many vacant now." "And remember, please, you are not to say anything. Because, you know, people would only laugh at the idea of a woman being able to do a man's work." "I'm mute," he nodded again, and started for the door, his mouth buttoned very tightly indeed. But even while his hand was stretched out to reach the knob, he paused and then returned to the desk. "Miss Mary," he said, "I'm an old man, and you're a young girl. I know nothing, mind you, but sometimes there are funny things going on in the world. And a man's not a fool. What I'm going to tell you now, I want you to remember it, but forget who told it to you. Trust nobody. Be careful. I can say no more." "He means Uncle Stanley," thought Mary, uneasily, and a shadow fell upon the day. She was still troubled when another disturbing incident arose. "I'll leave these papers in the desk here," she thought, taking her keys from her handbag. She unlocked the top drawer and was about to place the papers on top of those which already lay there, when suddenly she paused and her eyes opened wide. On the top letter in her drawer--a grey tinted sheet--was a scattered mound of cigarette ash. "Somebody's been here--snooping," she thought. "Somebody with a key to the desk. He must have had a cigarette in his hand when he shut the drawer, and the ashes jarred off without being noticed--" Irresistibly her thoughts turned to Burdon Woodward, with his gold cigarette case and match box. "It was he who gave me the keys," she thought. She sighed. A sense of walking among pitfalls took possession of her. As you have probably often noticed, suspicion feeds upon suspicion, and as Mary walked through the outer office she felt that more than one pair of eyes were avoiding her. The old cashier kept his head buried in his ledger and nearly all the men were busy with their papers and books.