ll night. The damned thing pained so."

James looked as though he had not slept well. His eyes were shadowed
and careworn.

They walked together as far as the outer office. A slender, dark young
woman, beautifully gowned, was waiting there. James introduced her to
his cousin and Sanborn as Miss Harriman. She was, Kirby knew at once,
the original of the photograph he had seen in his uncle's rooms.

Miss Harriman was a vision of sheathed loveliness. The dark,
long-lashed eyes looked out at Kirby with appealing wistfulness. When
she moved, the soft lines of her body took on a sinuous grace. From
her personality there seemed to emanate an enticing aura of sex mystery.

She gave Kirby her little gloved hand. "I'm glad to meet you, Mr.
Lane," she said, smiling at him. "I've heard all sorts of good things
about you from James--and Jack."

She did not offer her hand to Sanborn, perhaps because she was busy
buttoning one of the long gloves. Instead, she gave him a flash of her
eyes and a nod of the carefully coiffured head.

Kirby said the proper things, but he said them with a mind divided.
For his nostrils were inhaling again the violet perfume that associated
itself with his first visit to his uncle's apartment. He did not
start. His eyes did not betray him. His face could be wooden on
occasion, and it told no stories now. But his mind was filled with
racing thoughts. Had Phyllis Harriman been the woman Rose had met on
the stairs? What had she been doing in Cunningham's room? Who was the
man with her? What secret connected with his uncle's death lay hidden
back of the limpid innocence of those dark, shadowed eyes? She was one
of those women who are forever a tantalizing mystery to men. What was
she like behind the inscrutable, charming mask of her face?

Lane carried this preoccupation with him throughout the afternoon. It
was still in the hinterland of his thoughts when he returned to his
cousin's office.

His entrance was upon a scene of agitated storm. His cousin was in the
outer office facing a clerk. In his eyes there was a cold fury of
anger that surprised Kirby. He had known James always as
self-restrained to the point of chilliness. Now his anger seemed to
leap out and strike savagely.

"Gross incompetence and negligence, Hudson. You are discharged, sir.
I'll not have you in my employ an hour longer. A man I have trusted
and found wholly unworthy."

"I'm sorry, Mr. Cunningham,"