Then, pushed forward by the foreman with a none too gentle hand, her eyes slowly became accustomed to the shadowy interior and in spite of herself they widened with amazement at the splendor she beheld. Sky Line was famed for its luxury, but most of this fame was hearsay. Nance knew instantly that it was pitifully inadequate. The broad windows were shaded with tasseled satin drapes. On the walls hung great paintings, deep and glowing with priceless art. Huge chairs, their rounded arms and rolling backs covered with velvet in pale shades of violet and orchid, sank their feet into the pile of moss green carpet, while here and there gleamed the cool whiteness of marble. This was the Inner Room. Beyond it opened that plainer one wherein Kate Cathrew did her every-day routine of work at the dark wood desk. A man was sitting on a broad couch, a cigarette in his fingers. He was a stranger to Nance, a stranger to the country, but she catalogued him swiftly as the man from New York of whom all Nameless had heard. He was slim and fair skinned, and the grey eyes, set rather close together across the arch of the high-bridged nose, were the sharpest she had ever seen in a human. A fox she had once seen caught in a trap had had just such eyes. They were cold and appraising, without a spark of kindness. In one of the gorgeous chairs Kate Cathrew, dressed like a princess, sat bolt upright. At sight of Nance in her faded garments, straight and defiant in her controlled anger, her handsome face flushed beneath its artistry. “Ah!” she said, like a vixen, “get—out—of—that—door. Step over to the right a bit, you obscure the light.” The big girl did not move. She stood with her hat pulled down above her narrowed eyes, one hand on her hip. “If you’ve got anything to say to me,” she said coldly, “say it.” Kate Cathrew leaped to her feet, but the man put out a hand and touched her. As if a spring had been released she sank down, obeying that calm touch like an automaton. “Miss—ah—Allison,” said Arnold, “there is no need for dramatics. Neither will they avail you. We wanted to see you—to talk business with you. So we sent for you.” “So I see,” said Nance, “or rather you kidnapped me.” “Not so decided, please. We don’t like such words. They are—ah—crude, I might say.” “Not half so crude as you will find the methods of Nameless when this gets out, I guess,” said Nance. “Heaven knows I don’t amount to much, but I am likely to be a torch for a fire that’s smouldering.” “We have extinguishers,” smiled Arnold. “Sky Line is a pretty fire department, if I do say it. The thing for you to do just now is—think, I’ll give you ten minutes.” “I don’t need them,” said Nance. “I’ve thought for several years—about my father’s death—my brother’s crippled body—my missing cattle—my burned stacks—and many other things. I’m thinking now about Sheriff Selwood—and Bossick’s latest loss.” The man’s face hardened, yet a reluctant admiration drew a slight smile across it.