, was the queer old gentleman with whom she had ridden
across the continent when she had come to New York.

The discovery of this acquaintance here in Mr. Grimes's office gave Helen
a distinct shock.

CHAPTER XVIII

PROBING FOR FACTS

Helen sat down quickly and stared across the room at the queer old man.
The latter at first seemed to pay her no attention. But finally she saw
that he was skillfully "taking stock" of her from behind the shelter of
the printed sheet.

The Western girl was more direct than that. She got up and walked across
to him. The clerk uttered a very loud "Ahem!" as though to warn her to
drop her intention; but Helen said coolly:

"Don't you remember me, sir?"

"Ha! I believe it _is_ the little girl who came from the coast with me
last week," said the man.

"Not from the coast; from Montana," corrected Helen.

"But you are dressed differently now and I was not sure," he said. "How
have you been?"

"Very well, I thank you. And you, sir?"

"Well. Very. But I did not expect to see you again--er--_here_."

"No, sir. And you are waiting to see Mr. Grimes, too?"

"Er--something like that," admitted the old man.

Helen eyed him thoughtfully. She had already glanced covertly once or
twice at the clerk across the room. She was quite bright enough to see
between the rungs of a ladder.

"_You_ are Mr. Grimes," she said, bluntly, looking again at the old man,
who was adjusting his wig.

He looked up at her slily, his avaricious little eyes twinkling as they
had aboard the train when he had looked over her shoulder and caught her
counting her money.

"You're a very smart little girl," he said, with a short laugh. "What have
you come to see me about? Do you think of investing some of your money in
mining stocks?"

"No," said Helen. "I have no money to invest."

"Humph. Did you find your folks?" he asked, turning the subject quickly.

"Yes, sir."

"What's the matter with you, then? What do you want?"

"You _are_ Mr. Grimes?" she pursued, to make sure.

"Well, I don't deny it."

"I have come to talk to you about--about Prince Morrell," she said, in a
very low voice so that the clerk could not hear.

"_Who_?" gasped the man, falling back in his chair. Evidently Helen had
startled him.

"Prince Morrell," she replied.

"What are you to Prince Morrell?" demanded the man.

"I am his daughter. He is dead. I have come here to talk with you about
the time--the time he left New Y