“I will typewrite it from your dictation?” Miss Crandall interposed, taking a seat at one of the typewriters and deftly adjusting a sheet of blank paper. “Shall I date it from here, Mr. Henderson?” “If you please,” said Nick. Click--click--click--click! Miss Crandall’s tapering fingers moved swiftly over the keys. Nick saw at a glance that she was an expert. He moved his chair near the end of the table, to a position enabling him to watch her face. “All ready, Mr. Henderson.” She glanced at him and smiled a bit oddly. Nick began to dictate: “Klein & Coster, Eccles Building, New York.” Click--click--click--clickerty--click! “Dear sirs.” Click--click--clickerty--click--click! Nick continued, amid continuing clicking: “I have to-day made arrangements with a competent stenographer and will set to work upon the series of dramas we were discussing yesterday. You may expect a scenario of the first one early next week. I think you will prefer for a starter the sensational detective drama I mentioned to you, featuring the peerless American sleuth, Nick Carter. The story of the drama relates to the mysterious disappearance of a parish priest, who, in spite of his religious vows, falls desperately in love with a very wealthy and beautiful girl, who----” The clicking suddenly stopped. Kate Crandall’s deft hands had gone wrong. She had struck several wrong keys. She reached for an eraser, saying quickly: “One moment, please.” Nick saw that she was turning pale. Her arching dark brows had knit perceptibly. “Certainty,” he said, suavely. Kate erased the misprinted letters and readjusted the traveler. She then gazed steadily at the detective for a moment, as if fain to read his mind, and she then said tersely: “Continue.” Nick went on without a change of countenance, quite as if there had been no interruption. “The wealthy and beautiful girl, deeply in love with the parish priest, permits him to renounce his vows and pledges her hand to him in marriage.” Click--click--clickerty--click! The shapely, swiftly moving hands of the stenographer were unsteady, were trembling visibly. “It appears, however, that another woman suspects the intentions of the parish priest, a woman involved with him in a way ultimately revealed in the drama, and she subjects him to a secret espionage, which leads to a crime----” The clicking stopped short again. A crimson flood imbued Kate Crandall’s cheeks for a moment, then faded quickly, leaving her ghastly pale. She steadied herself with an effort. She reached up and removed the sheet of paper from the typewriter, tearing it quickly and tossing it into a wastebasket. “Excuse me!” she said curtly, her dark eyes turning upon Nick with a fiery glance. “I have decided, Mr. Henderson, that I will not take your work. Do not call here again, sir. Good day.” She arose while speaking, then turned quickly and gazed from the window.