have you heard anything from the club
girls we established in your guardian's offices?"

"Oh, yes! I had forgotten completely in my excitement and joy over
your news of Ramon, vague though it is, that there was something
important which I wanted to tell you. Since Margaret Hefferman's
dismissal, all my girls have been sent away from the positions I
obtained for them--all except Fifine Dechaussee."

"And she resigned not an hour ago," remarked the detective rather
grimly, supplementing the fact, with as many details as he thought
necessary.

Anita listened in silence until he had finished.

"Poor girl! Poor Fifine! What a pity that she should fancy herself in
love with such a man as you describe this Paddington to be! She must
be persuaded to remain in the club, of course; we cannot allow her to
leave us now. I feel responsible for her, and especially so since it
was indirectly because of me, or while she was in my service, at any
rate, that she met this man. If she is all that you say, she could
never be happy if she married him."

"There's small chance of that. He has a wife already. She left him
years ago, and runs a boarding-house somewhere on Hill Street, I
believe," Blaine replied. "I don't fancy he'll add bigamy to the rest
of his nefarious acts. But tell me of the other girls. They did not
report to me."

"Poor little Agnes Olson was dismissed yesterday. She is a spineless
sort of creature, you know, without much self-assurance, or
initiative, and I believe she had quite a scene with Mr. Carlis
before she left. She was on the switchboard, if you remember, and
as well as I was able to understand from her, he caught her listening
in on his private connection. She reached the club in an hysterical
condition, and I told them to put her to bed and care for her. I
ought to be there myself now, at work, for I have lost my best helper,
but I am too distraught over Ramon to think of anything else. My
secretary--the girl you saw there at the club and asked me about, do
you remember?--did not appear yesterday, but telephoned her
resignation, saying she was leaving town. I cannot understand it,
for I would have counted on her faithfulness before any of the
rest, but so many things have happened lately which I can't
comprehend, so many mysteries and disappointments and anxieties, that
I can scarcely think or feel any more. It seems as if I were really
dead, as if my emotions were all used up. I can't cry, even when I