Believe me I came down to earth with a thud. How could I tell them? Say I listened to everything in the hope of hearing Jack Reddy talking to Sylvia. I looked down on the floor, feeling my cheeks getting as red as fire. "Go ahead," said Babbitts. "Don’t be afraid to say anything." "We’re as close here as the confessional," said old Mr. Whitney, smiling at me like a father. I had to say something and took what seemed to me the most natural. "I’d heard Miss Hesketh was a great one for jollying up the men and I wanted to hear how she did it." And they all—that means Babbitts, too—just burst out and _roared_. "Good for you, Miss Morganthau," said Mr. Whitney, and he put his hand on my shoulder and gave it a shake. "Only I’ll bet a hat you didn’t need any teaching." He turned to his son and said something about "the car being there," and then back to me: "Now for a few days, Miss Morganthau, I’ll expect you to be off duty in a place accessible by telephone." "Off duty!" I exclaimed. "How can I do that?" He smiled in his easy way and said: "We’ll attend to that, don’t you worry about it. Go home and stay there till you get a call from me. If anyone asks what’s the matter say you’re ill and laid off for a few days. Don’t bother about reporting at the office; that’ll be arranged. And I need hardly tell you not to speak a word of what you’ve discovered or of this interview here to-night." "She won’t," said Babbitts. "I’ll go bail for that." He gave Mr. George Whitney Mrs. Galway’s telephone number and then we shook hands all round. I was just wondering what was the quickest way to the Ferry when Mr. Whitney said: "The motor’s waiting for you and I’m sure Mr. Babbitts will escort you to the boat. Good night and remember—hold yourself ready for a call to come to my office." The car waiting outside was Mr. Whitney’s own. Gee, it was swell! A footwarmer and a fur rug and a clock and a bottle of salts for me to sniff at. I didn’t tell Babbitts I’d had no dinner, for I was ashamed to have the chauffeur stop at the kind of joints we patronize, and so I bore the ache in my insides and tried to believe the footwarmer and the salts made up for it. XIII At noon the next day—Friday—I was called to Mrs. Galway’s phone. It was Mr. George Whitney telling me to come over to the city at once. I wasn’t to bother about addresses or finding my way. I’d be met at the Ferry and taken to Mr. Whitney’s office in Broad Street—all I was to do was to say nothing to anybody and come. I did both. At the Ferry a fine-looking chap came up to me, with his hat in his hand, and asked me if I was Miss Morganthau. For a moment I was uneasy, thinking maybe he was a masher, when he turned to a kind-faced elderly woman beside him and said: "This is Mrs. Cresset, who’s come over on the boat with you and is going to Mr. Whitney’s office, too."