distance telephone. Fenger was the kind of man who is always
talking to New York when he is in Chicago, and to Chicago when he is in
New York. Trains with the word Limited after them were invented for
him and his type. A buzzer sounded. It galvanized the office boy into
instant action. It brought the anxious-looking stenographer to the
doorway, notebook in hand, ready. It sent the lean secretary out, and up
to Fanny.

"Temper," said Fanny, to herself, "or horribly nervous and high-keyed.
They jump like a set of puppets on a string."

It was then that the lean secretary had said, "Mr. Fenger will see you
now."

Fanny was aware of a pleasant little tingle of excitement. She entered
the inner office.

It was characteristic of Michael Fenger that he employed no cheap
tricks. He was not writing as Fanny Brandeis came in. He was not
telephoning. He was not doing anything but standing at his desk, waiting
for Fanny Brandeis. As she came in he looked at her, through her, and
she seemed to feel her mental processes laid open to him as a skilled
surgeon cuts through skin and flesh and fat, to lay bare the muscles
and nerves and vital organs beneath. He put out his hand. Fanny extended
hers. They met in a silent grip. It was like a meeting between two
men. Even as he indexed her, Fanny's alert mind was busy docketing,
numbering, cataloguing him. They had in common a certain force, a
driving power. Fanny seated herself opposite him, in obedience to a
gesture. He crossed his legs comfortably and sat back in his big desk
chair. A great-bodied man, with powerful square shoulders, a long head,
a rugged crest of a nose--the kind you see on the type of Englishman
who has the imagination and initiative to go to Canada, or Australia, or
America. He wore spectacles, not the fashionable horn-rimmed sort, but
the kind with gold ear pieces. They were becoming, and gave a certain
humanness to a face that otherwise would have been too rugged, too
strong. A man of forty-five, perhaps.

He spoke first. "You're younger than I thought."

"So are you."

"Old inside."

"So am I."

He uncrossed his legs, leaned forward, folded his arms on the desk.

"You've been through the plant, Miss Brandeis?"

"Yes. Twice. Once with a regular tourist party. And once with the
special guide." "Good. Go through the plant whenever you can. Don't
stick to your own department. It narrows one." He paused a moment. "Did
you think that this opportunity to com