Part 39 (1/2)

”A woman!”

”Yes, sir.”

”Who is she?”

”I don't know.”

”Well, what does she look like?”

”I couldn't see her face, she's got a veil on.”

The factory owner considered. How did any one outside of his home know that he was in his office at that hour? These times were dangerous.

”Vodell is likely to try anything,” he said, aloud. ”Better send her about her business.”

”I tried to,” the guard returned, ”but she won't go--says she is a friend of yours and has got to see you to-night.”

”A friend! Huh! How did she get here?”

”In a taxi, and the taxi beat it as soon as she got out.”

Again McIver considered. Then his heavy jaw set, and he growled, ”All right, bring her in--a couple of you--and see that you stand by while she is here. If this is a Vodell trick of some sort, I'll beat him to it.”

Helen, escorted by two burly guards, entered the office.

McIver sprang to his feet with an exclamation of amazement, and his tender concern was unfeigned and very comforting to the young woman after the harrowing experience through which she had just pa.s.sed.

Sending the guards back to their posts, he listened gravely while she told him where she had been and what she had seen.

”But, Helen,” he cried, when she had finished, ”it was sheer madness for you to be alone in the Flats like that--at Whaley's place and in the night, too! Good heavens, girl, don't you realize what a risk you were taking?”

”I had to go, Jim,” she returned.

”You had to go?” he repeated. ”Why?”

”I had to see for myself if--if things were as bad as the Interpreter said. Oh, can't you understand, Jim, I could not believe it--it all seemed so impossible. Don't you see that I had to know for sure?”

”I see that some one ought to break that meddlesome old basket maker's head as well as his legs,” growled McIver indignantly. ”The idea of sending you, Adam Ward's daughter, of all people, alone into that nest of murdering anarchists.”

”But the Interpreter didn't send me, Jim,” she protested. ”He did not even know that I was going. No one knew.”

”I understand all that,” said McIver. ”The Interpreter didn't send you--oh, no--he simply made you think that you ought to go. That's the way the tricky old scoundrel does everything, from what I am told.”

She looked at him steadily. ”Do you think, Jim, the Interpreter's way is such a bad way to get people to do things?”

”Forgive me,” he begged humbly, ”but it makes me wild to think what might have happened to you. It's all right now, though. I'll take you home, and in the future you can turn such work over to the regular charity organizations.” He was crossing the room for his hat and overcoat. ”Jove! I can't believe yet that you have actually been in such a mess and all by your lonesome, too.”

She was about to speak when he stopped, and, as if struck by a sudden thought, said, quickly, ”But Helen, you haven't told me--how did you know I was here?”

She explained hurriedly, ”The doctor sent a taxi for me and I telephoned your house from a drug store. Your man told me you expected to be late at the office and would dine at the club. I phoned the club and when I learned that you were not there I came straight on. I--I had to see you to-night, Jim. And I was afraid if I phoned you here at the office you wouldn't let me come.”