“Yes, sir, you were rightly informed,” she replied. “I am Clara Randall.” “My name is Henderson Black,” said Nick. “I am fortunate in finding you. Can you spare me a few minutes of your time?” “For what, Mr. Black?” Kate questioned, eying him a bit more sharply. “I have a business proposition to make you,” Nick suavely explained. “I am in need of an expert stenographer for very important work. Don’t say that you will not consider it, please, before having heard my offer. May I come in and explain? I will detain you only a short time.” “My time is not worth very much just now, Mr. Black,” Kate said, with a laugh. “I was nearly asleep over a dull novel when you rang. Yes, I will hear what you have to say, though I hardly think I care to take on any very arduous work. Come into the library.” She drew back for him to enter, then conducted him to an attractively-furnished room. An open book was lying on the table. Near by was a large armchair with a fancy silk pillow on the back of it, bearing an indentation where her head had been resting. These seemed to confirm her statements. An open desk stood near one of the walls. The first article on it to catch the detective’s eye was a large pad of plain paper, remarkably like that on which was written the Redlaw letter. Nick instantly noticed all of these things, however, and his ears were alert to detect a sound from any other part of the house. None could be heard. He apparently had found the woman alone. He remarked casually, nevertheless, while he took a chair near the table: “Are we likely to be overheard? My business relates to private political matters, Miss Randall, and what I tell you must go no further.” “There is no one to overhear you,” said Kate, tossing aside the silk pillow and resuming her seat. “Mrs. Duffy, who lives here, has gone out of town with her son, and her husband never comes home before evening.” “Ah, very good,” said Nick. “As far as I am concerned,” Kate added; “I will not repeat anything you confide to me. You may speak freely.” “I intend doing so,” Nick replied, with more sinister intonation. “To begin with, however, I wish to know something about yourself.” “About me?” “Yes, and about the--Needy Nine,” Nick pointedly added. Kate Crandall heard him with hardly a change of countenance. There was no apprehensive start, no unmistakable betrayal of how hard she was hit by his ominous words. Though he thoroughly despised her, Nick could not but admire the nerve of this woman. He could detect only a quick dilation of her searching black eyes and a sudden deeper paleness in her cheeks. These were the only signs of her secret perturbation, and her voice, when she replied, was as steady as his. “The Needy Nine?” she said inquiringly. “Yes, the Needy Nine,” Nick repeated. “I don’t know what you mean, Mr. Black.” “You don’t?” “Surely not. You are talking Greek to me,” Kate declared. “I never heard of any Needy Nine.” “Nor of a man named Ralph Redlaw?”