ou hand her
these things, it isn't my wish to trouble her with an authority which
can have little enough appeal for her. Tell her that her mother was my
whole world, and it is my earnest desire that her daughter should have
all the good and comfort this world can bestow. If ever she needs
further help she can have it without question, and that she only has to
appeal to my friend and adviser, Charles Nisson, for anything she
requires.'"

The man laid the letter aside and looked up.

"That's the last paragraph of the last communication I had from him. And
they're not the words of a monstrous tyrant who is utterly heartless,
eh?"

The girl made no answer. Her emotion was too strong for her. Two great
tears rolled slowly down her beautiful cheeks.

The lawyer rose from his chair. He came round the desk and laid a gentle
hand on the heaving shoulder, while Nancy strove to wipe her tears away
with a wholly inadequate handkerchief.

"That's right, my dear," he said very gently. "Wipe them away. There's
no need to cry. Leslie's done all a man in his peculiar position can do
for you. You've got the whole wide world before you, and everything you
can need for comfort--thanks to him. Now let's forget about it all. Just
take that paper back to school with you. And maybe you'll write, or come
and let me know what you think about it. If you feel like making your
home with us, why, that way you'll just complete our happiness. If you
feel like going to your mother's sister, Anna Scholes, I shan't refuse
you. Anyway, think about it all. That's my big talk and it's finished.
Just get your overcoat on, and we'll get right along home to food."

CHAPTER VI

NATHANIEL HELLBEAM

The room was furnished with extreme modern luxury. The man standing over
against the window with his broad back turned, somehow looked to be in
perfect keeping with the setting his personal tastes had inspired. He
was broad, squat, fat. His head and neck were set low upon his
shoulders, and the hair oil was obvious on the longish dark hair which
seemed to grow low down under his shirt collar.

The other man, seated in one of the many easy chairs, was in strong
contrast. His was the familiar face of the agent, Idepski, dark, keen,
watchful. He was smoking the cigarette to which he had helped himself
from the gold box standing near him on the ornate desk.

"You seem to have made a bad mess of things."

Nathaniel Hellbeam turned from the window and