"Glorious Lutie," she began one of the wordless monologues which she was always addressing to the miniature, "I ought to have known long ago that they were a gang of crooks! Why don't we trust our intuitions? I suppose it's because our intuitions are not always right. I can't quite go with anything so magic, so irrational as intuition! And then again I'm afraid I'm too logical. But I'm always having the same thing happen to me. Perhaps I'm talking with somebody I have met for the first time. Suddenly that person makes a statement. Instantly--it's like a little hammer knocking on my mind--something inside me says: 'That is a lie. He is lying deliberately and he knows he lies.' Now you would think that I would trust that lead, that I would follow it implicitly. But do I? No! Never! I pay no more attention to it than as though it never happened. And generally my intuition is right. But always I find it out too late. Now that little hammer has been knocking its warnings about the Warner-Byan-O'Hearn bunch ever since I started to work for them. But I could not _make_ myself pay any attention to it. I did not want to believe it, for one thing. And then of course the work was awfully interesting. I kept calling myself all kinds of names for thinking-- And they _were_ kind. I _wouldn't_ believe it. But my intuition kept telling me that Warner was a hypocrite. And as for Byan--" Perhaps Susannah could not voice, even to Glorious Lutie, the thoughts that flooded her mind when she conjured up the image of Byan. For in her heart Susannah knew that Byan admired her overmuch, that he would have liked to flirt with her, that he had started-- But Warner had called him off. The enigmatic phrase, which had come to her from Warner's office and in Warner's voice, recurred. "Keep off clients and office employ--" Susannah knew the end of it now--"employees" of course. Warner's rule for his fellow crooks was that they must not flirt with clients or the office force. Again and again in her fitful wakefulness she saw Byan standing before her; slim, blade-like; his smartly cut suit adhering, as though pasted there, to the lithe lines of his active body. And then suddenly that revolver which came from--where? Byan was of course the most attractive of them all. That floating, pathetic smile revealed such white teeth! That deep look came from eyes so long-lashed! Warner with his pseudo-clergyman, pseudo-actor oratory, deep-voiced and vibrant, was the most obvious. O'Hearn, his lids perpetually down, except when they lifted swiftly to let his glance lick up detail, was the most mysterious. But Byan was the most attractive--