He did not chance to see her face as he replied quietly: “So we expect. We are not supposed to talk of it. Certain movements of the War Department are kept secret. But whatever happens to me I am confident you and Jim will conduct the affairs of the Hapwood-Diller Company successfully. Why, this proves it! What he overlooks you will not miss. Now, will you take a letter to Mr. Hammerly?” She held her pencil poised in readiness and nodded. Surely at that moment she could not have uttered a word. He began to dictate, and the letter was couched in such terms as to show his belief that Jim Mayberry was perfectly innocent of all guile in the matter. However, when it was concluded, Barton said reflectively: “But there is a traitor in the offices, Miss Clayton. That we know it must put you and Mayberry both on guard. I depend on you particularly to watch for the guilty party.” “And suppose I find him?” she demanded quickly. “If you cannot reach me,” Barton gravely told her, “then--then go to Mr. Hammerly. Cross-grained as he is, he is perfectly honest. Besides,” he added, “next to Mr. Grandon Fuller, he owns more stock in the Hapwood-Diller Company than anybody else.” CHAPTER XI WAR IS DECLARED “For pity’s sake, Mr. Barton, _do_ come away,” Helen Fuller cried at last. “We’ll _never_ have time for luncheon.” “Beg pardon. Business must be attended to before we can take our pleasure, always,” and Frank Barton laughed. But Ethel’s countenance was quite composed again. She did not even glance in Miss Fuller’s direction as she closed the notebook and put it and the pencil into her bag. “Good-day, Miss Clayton,” Barton said, taking her hand. “I will not thank you for coming to me on this business, for I know your deep interest in the company’s affairs. That was merely your duty. But to see you again has been a pleasure. Even should I be assigned to foreign duty suddenly, I shall hope to see all my Mailsburg friends at least once before I sail. I send my regards to everybody in the office.” It was like that. He did not consider her call a personal one. Yet that was not altogether Frank Barton’s fault, for Ethel had made it plain that she had come only on business. The young manager of the Hapwood-Diller Company was no more dense than any other man. Helen’s voice, with a tartness in it that could not be mistaken, reached them again: “_Do_ hurry, Mr. Barton! I presume if you were fighting in the trenches it would all have to stop while you gave your attention to some factory matter.” He laughed and ran down the steps to the car. The engine of the latter began to roar again. “Coming, Morry?” Helen asked, as the wheels began to revolve. “Two’s company, three’s a gang,” he drawled, waving his hand. “Farewell. I am going to show Miss Clayton around the camp.”