“Are you sure? He was not in the habit of taking you--or even me--into his confidence in most matters, was he?” and Mayberry looked at the girl keenly. “Where’s the carbon copy of that letter?” “I’ll get it,” she said, turning swiftly to the door. “And I say, Ethel!” he said. “Bring the Bogata Company’s letter as well, will you?” She resented his familiar way of speaking; but never had she been able to break Jim Mayberry of calling her by her given name. And he had, after all, known her when she was still a child. She was gone some minutes from the private office--long enough for Mayberry to smoke a second cigarette. She appeared with the proper drawer of the file cabinet and her countenance had fallen. She had run hastily through the Bogata correspondence. Here was the letter which had accompanied the order from the Bogata Company. The copy of the answer she had written at Frank Barton’s behest, and which he had approved, was not to be found. “I do not understand it, Mr. Mayberry,” the girl declared in a worried tone. “Pshaw! easily enough understood,” the superintendent rejoined. “He probably conferred with somebody who knew the Bogata people are as safe as a stone church. So he withdrew the letter from your mail basket after you went home.” “Oh, Mr. Mayberry!” “Sure.” Mayberry laughed. “You’ve stirred up a mare’s nest. Don’t worry.” “But I can’t accept your assertion as at all plausible,” the girl said earnestly. “He surely would have spoken to me about it. The next day----” “His mind was full of army stuff. He did not know half the time what he was doing here for a week before he went.” Ethel knew that was not at all true. But she was not here to quarrel with the superintendent. However, she said: “I remember clearly that Mr. Barton did not remain here later than I did that evening, Mr. Mayberry. I saw him on the street after I left the factory by the side gate.” “Huh!” Mayberry’s cheeks suddenly burned again and his eyes glittered as he gazed loweringly upon her. “You seem to remember mighty well what happened. I remember that evening, too, come to think of it. I was waiting out in front for you in my car. You stood me up.” Scorn leaped suddenly into the girl’s eyes. “I do not understand you, Mr. Mayberry,” she said tartly. “Oh! you don’t, hey?” “We are not discussing personalities,” she said, dropping her gaze and ignoring his ugly look. “This is business. I fear there has been a serious mistake made.” “Nothing of the kind, that _I_ can see,” Mayberry rejoined. “Barton changed his mind. Why should you bother _your_ head about it further?” His sneer bit like acid in a fresh wound; but Ethel checked her temper. “I do not mean to interfere in the slightest with your work, Mr. Mayberry. Mr. Barton brought me into the affair himself. I feel that all is not right. Let us communicate with Mr. Barton before this order for stock is sent. It may save the Hapwood-Diller Company several thousand dollars.”