I gasps. Sirred by Old Hickory! Do you wonder I got fussed? But he only chuckles easy, waves me to take a chair, and goes on with: "What's the word from the Syracuse sector?" At that, I gets my breath back. "Fairly good deal up there, sir," says I. "They're workin' in a carload or so of wormy ash for the shovel handles, and some of the steel runs below test; but most of their stuff grades well. I'll have my notes typed off right away." After I've filed my report I should have ducked. But this habit of stickin' around the shop is hard to break. And that's how I happen to be on hand when the lady in gray drifts in for her chatty confab with Mr. Ellins. Seems she held quite a block of our preferred, for when Vincent lugs in her card Old Hickory spots the name right away as being on our widow-and-orphan list that we wave at investigatin' committees. "Ah, yes!" says he. "Mrs. Parker Smith. Show her in, boy." Such a quiet, gentle, dignified party she is, her costume tonin' in with her gray hair, and an easy way of speakin' and all, that my first guess is she might be the head of an old ladies' home. "Mr. Ellins," says she, "I am looking for my niece." "Are you?" says Mr. Ellins, "Humph! Hardly think we could be of service in such a case." "Oh!" says she. "I--I am so sorry." "Lost, is she?" suggests Mr. Ellins, weakenin'. "She is somewhere in New York," goes on Mrs. Parker Smith. "Of course, I know it is an imposition to trouble you with such a matter. But I thought you might have someone in your office who--who----" "We have," says he. "Torchy,--er--I mean, Lieutenant,--Mrs. Parker Smith. Here, madam, is a young man who will find your niece for you at once. In private life he is my secretary; and as it happens that just now he is on special detail, his services are entirely at your disposal." She looks a little doubtful about bein' shunted like that, but she follows me into the next room, where I produces a pencil and pad and calls for details businesslike. "Let's see," says I. "What's the full description? Age?" "Why," says she, hesitatin', "Claire is about twenty-two." "Oh!" says I. "Got beyond the flapper stage, then. Height--tall or short?" Mrs. Parker Smith shakes her head. "I'm sure I don't know," says she. "You see, Claire is not an own niece. She--well, she is a daughter of my first husband's second wife's step-sister." "Wha-a-at?" says I, gawpin' at her. "Daughter of your---- Oh, say, let's not go into it as deep as that. I'm dizzy already. Suppose we call her an in-law once removed and let it go at that?" "Thank you," says Mrs. Parker Smith, givin' me a quizzin' smile. "Perhaps it is enough to say that I have never seen her."