They were very interested in what I had to say, but with Mr. Whitney himself you never can guess what he thinks. He sits listening, slouched down in his armchair, with his shirt bosom crumpled, like an old bear ruminating—or hibernating is it?—in a hollow tree. When I was through he stretched out his hand, took a cigar from a box on the table and said: "Just call up the Azalea Woods Estates, George, and find out how long Miss Whitehall expects to be there." Then as Mr. George left the room he turned to me and said, "Want to make some money?" I have a lot of money—ten thousand dollars, the reward they gave me after the Hesketh Mystery was solved—so money doesn’t cut much ice with me. But doing something for Mr. Whitney does, and I guessed right off he had a little job for Molly Babbitts. "I want to do whatever Whitney & Whitney asks," I said. "That’s a privilege and you don’t get paid for privileges." He burst out laughing and said: "It’s easily seen half of you’s Irish, Molly. There is something you can do for me, and whether you want it or not, you’ll be paid for your services just as O’Mally, my own detective, is. Here it is. That information you got from your little friend is valuable. As you were sharp enough to see, Barker may try to get in touch with Miss Whitehall. To my mind he’d be more inclined to try her office than her home where there’s a mother and a servant to overhear and ask questions. What would you think about going on the switchboard again?" My old work, the one thing I _could_ do! "Bully!" I cried out, forgetting my language in my excitement. Mr. Whitney smiled: "Then we’re agreed. As soon as I can arrange matters I’ll let you know, probably this afternoon. I don’t now know just where we’ll put you but I fancy in the Black Eagle’s own central. And I don’t need to say to both of you that you’re to keep as silent as you did in the Hesketh case." I smiled to myself at that. Mr. Whitney knew, no one better, that when it comes to keeping mum a deaf mute hasn’t anything over me. Just then Mr. George came back. He had got Tony Ford on the wire and heard from him that Miss Whitehall might be in her offices some time yet, as she was trying to sublet them. Late that afternoon I had my instructions. The next morning I was to go to the Black Eagle Building and begin work as a hello girl. If questioned I was to answer that all I knew was Miss McCalmont, the old girl, had been transferred and I was temporarily installed in her place. It was my business to listen to every phone message that went into or out from the Azalea Woods Estates. I would be at liberty to give my full attention as almost every office had its own wire. Miss Whitehall had had hers but it had been disconnected since her failure, and she was only accessible through the building’s central. The work was so easy it seemed a shame to take the money.