Burke started up to the building shortly before one o'clock, and he found it difficult to make his way along the sidewalks of the beautiful avenue because of the hordes of men and girls who loitered about, enjoying the last minutes of their luncheon hour. Where a few years before had been handsome and prosperous shops, with a throng of fashionably dressed pedestrians of the city's better classes on the sidewalks, the district had been taken over by shirtwaist and cloak factories. The ill-fed, foul-smelling foreigners jabbered in their native dialects, ogled the gum-chewing girls and grudgingly gave passage-way to the young officer, who, as usual, when off duty, wore his civilian clothes. "I wonder why these factories don't use the side streets instead of spoiling the finest avenue in America?" thought Bob. "I guess it is because the foreigners of their class spoil everything they seem to touch. Our great granddaddies fought for Liberty, and now we have to give it up and pay for the privilege!" It was with a pessimistic thought like this that he entered the big office structure in which was located the headquarters of the Purity League. Bob took the elevator in any but a happy frame of mind. He was determined to find out for himself just how correct was Dr. MacFarland's estimate of high-finance-philanthropy. On the fourth floor he left the car, and entered the door which bore the name of the organization. A young girl, toying with the wires of a telephone switchboard, did not bother to look up, despite his query. "Yes, dearie," she confided to some one at the other end of the telephone. "We had the grandest time. He's a swell feller, all right, and opened nothing but wine all evening. Yes, I had my charmeuse gown--the one with the pannier, you know, and----" "Excuse me," interrupted Burke, "I'd like to speak to the president of this company." The girl looked at him scornfully. "Just a minute, girlie, I'm interrupted." She turned to look at Bob again, and with a haughty toss of her rather startling yellow curls raised her eyebrows in a supercilious glance of interrogation. "What's your business?" "That's _my_ business. I want to see Mr. Trubus and not _you_." "Well, nix on the sarcasm. He's too busy to be disturbed by every book agent and insurance peddler in town. Tell me what you want and I'll see if it's important enough. That's what I'm paid for." "You tell him that a policeman from the ---- precinct wants to see him, and tell him mighty quick!" snapped Burke with a sharp look. He expected a change of attitude. But the curious, shifty look in the girl's face--almost a pallor which overspread its artificial carnadine, was inexplicable to him at this time. He had cause to remember it later. "Why, why," she half stammered, "what's the matter?" "You give him my message."