“... Bert Ames can help you for a few days until she comes back. No better Washington man, anywhere, but Bert knows the desk work, too.... Wait. I’ve got to tell you before you go how he dropped in to see me, day or two after he came back from France. I asked him if he’d seen you. He rather allowed he had--and launched into the story of your saving young Melton from the clutches of the French family. Couldn’t stop him in time. He hadn’t the slightest notion that the woman at the desk yonder was Mrs. Melton.” Dicky was pale. “It didn’t knock her out. That’s the queer part,” John Higgins added. “... Get Bert Ames. There’s one man who isn’t doing any damage to you as he loafs around New York.” “I’ll be back to-morrow morning,” Dicky said. “Where’s Melton now--Los Angeles?” “No, here in New York. I’ve heard he’s stopping at the Vici Club.” XXXVIII AN OFFICE OF THE WORLD DICKY was in the street and it was still only ten in the morning. The first thing he did then was to telegraph Pidge of his arrival; that all was well, and for her not to hurry. He spent the day at _The Public Square_ offices studying the books, reading up in the files. He fancied that he found an aggressive sort of integrity here and there through the systems, that was familiar. The publishing property had weathered the war; it was a building base. Dicky found much that he liked, but fought enthusiasm--fought back a rush of possessive impulses, until he was tired. At six, when he reached Harrow Street, for the first time, he was not permitted to use the key to the street door that he had carried so long, for Miss Claes met him at the basement entrance. He had heard her voice over the telephone in the morning, but had not remotely anticipated the stir of feeling that the sight of her awakened. No emotionless reporter about Mr. Cobden at this moment. He followed her to the open fire; the door was shut. They stood together in silence, and he had never seen her look so well. “Why, Miss Claes, you are just the same!” he was saying. “I mean, all day I have been seeing the ravages of the war years in the people at home, in John Higgins, in everybody. But you----” “Your coming makes me happy.” Firelight and a fragrant room, and the stillness of Harrow Street. Miss Claes was speaking of Nagar--of Pidge--of Pidge and the child--of Rufus Melton--of Fanny Gallup--of himself--as if they were all one, all blent in destiny.... Pidge had taken the child to Los Angeles. A ring at the street door! Dicky watched Miss Claes’ face as she left the room, purse in hand. She returned in a moment with a telegram for him. Welcome home. So glad to hear, so relieved. Needed here a little longer. PIDGE. The door shut again.... Miss Claes had heard of everything--even of his experience with Rufe Melton in Paris, and from Pidge what Ames had told John Higgins.