She was sure now that some stupid mistake had been made. At any rate, she no longer dreaded dismissal, and the first intuition of impending calamity yielded to a nervous curiosity as she pushed open a door leading to the general office. CHAPTER IV FURTHER SURPRISES A clerk, one of the would-be swains who had met with chilling discouragement after working-hours, was evidently on the lookout for her. An ignoble soul prompted a smirk of triumph now. "Go straight in," he said, jerking a thumb. "A cop's waitin' for you." Winifred did not vouchsafe him even an indignant glance. Holding her head high, she passed through the main office, and made for a door marked "Manager." She knocked, and was admitted by Mr. Fowle. Grouped around a table she saw one of the members of the firm, the manager, a policeman, and a dapper little man, slight of figure, who held himself very erect. He was dressed in blue serge, and had the ivory-white face and wrinkled skin of an actor. She was conscious at once of the penetration of his glance. His eyes were black and luminous. They seemed to pierce her with an X-ray quality of comprehension. "This is the girl," announced Mr. Fowle deferentially. The little man in the blue suit took the lead forthwith. "You are Winifred Bartlett?" he said, and by some subtle inter-flow of magnetism Winifred knew instantly that she had nothing to fear from this diminutive stranger. "Yes," she replied, looking at him squarely. "You live in East One Hundred and Twelfth Street?" "Yes." "With a woman described as your aunt, and known as Miss Rachel Craik?" "Yes." Each affirmative marked a musical crescendo. Especially was Winifred surprised by the sceptical description of her only recognized relative. "Well," went on Clancy, suppressing a smile at the girl's naive astonishment, "don't be alarmed, but I want you to come with me to Mulberry Street." Now, Winifred had just been reading about certain activities in Mulberry Street, and her eyebrows rounded in real amazement. "Isn't that the Police Headquarters?" she asked. Fowle chuckled, whereupon Clancy said pleasantly: "Yes. One man here seems to know the address quite intimately. But that fact need not set your heart fluttering. The chief of the Detective Bureau wishes to put a few questions. That is all." "Questions about what?" Winifred's natural dignity came to her aid. She refused to have this grave matter treated as a joke. "Take my advice, Miss Bartlett, and don't discuss things further until you have met Mr. Steingall," said Clancy. "But I have never even heard of Mr. Steingall," she protested. "What right have you or he to take me away from my work to a police-station? What wrong have I done to any one?" "None, I believe." "Surely I have a right to some explanation." "If you insist I am bound to answer."