t's a fair indication of the rest."

Dunbar rose.

"I'm inclined to think there's nothing to that end of it," he said. "The
old chap is sulky, but he's not dangerous. It's Rudolph I'm afraid of."

At the luncheon hour that day Clayton, having finished his mail, went to
Graham's office. He seldom did that, but he was uneasy. He wanted to see
the girl. He wanted to look her over with this new idea in his mind.
She had been a quiet little thing, he remembered; thorough, but not
brilliant. He had sent her to Graham from his own office. He disliked
even the idea of suspecting her; his natural chivalry revolted from
suspecting any woman.

Joey, who customarily ate his luncheon on Clayton's desk in his absence,
followed by one of Clayton's cigarets, watched him across the yard, and
whistled as he saw him enter Graham's small building.

"Well, what do you think of that?" he reflected. "I hope he coughs
before he goes in."

But Clayton did not happen to cough. Graham's office was empty, but
there was a sound of voices from Anna Klein's small room beyond. He
crossed to the door and opened it, to stand astonished, his hand on the
door-knob.

Anna Klein was seated at her desk, with her luncheon spread before her
on a newspaper, and seated on the desk, a sandwich in one hand, the
other resting on Anna's shoulder, was Graham. He was laughing when
Clayton opened the door, but the smile froze on his face. He slid off
her desk.

"Want me, father?"

"Yes," said Clayton, curtly. And went out, leaving the door open. A sort
of stricken silence followed his exit, then Graham put down the sandwich
and went out, closing the door behind him. He stood just inside it in
the outer room, rather pale, but looking his father in the eyes.

"Sorry, father," he said. "I didn't hear you. I--"

"What has that to do with it?"

The boy was silent. To Clayton he looked furtive, guilty. His very
expression condemned him far more than the incident itself. And Clayton,
along with his anger, was puzzled as to his best course. Dunbar had
said to leave the girl where she was. But--was it feasible under these
circumstances? He was rather irritated than angry. He considered a
flirtation with one's stenographer rotten bad taste, at any time. The
business world, to his mind, was divided into two kinds of men, those
who did that sort of thing, and those who did not. It was a code, rather
than a creed, that the boy had violated.

Besides, he had bad a s