YOUNG Fellows squirmed and turned a shade paler, if one could trust the sickly violet ray that shot down from the once exquisitely¹ colored window high up over their heads.
 
"Hush²!" he muttered; and the other grinned. Evidently the guess was a correct one.
 
"No, he's no lunatic," the professional quietly declared. "But he has queer ways. Which of his queers do you object to?"
 
"When his letters come, or more often his cablegrams, they are opened by me and then put in plain view on a certain little bulletin board in the main office. These are his orders. Any one who knows the cipher³ can read them. I don't know the cipher. At night I take them down, number them, and file them away. They have served their purpose. They have been seen by the person whose business it is to carry out his instructions, and the rest you must guess. His brokers⁴ know the secret, but it is never discussed by us. The least word and the next cablegram would read in good plain English, 'Fire him!' I've had that experience. I've had to fire three since he went away two months ago."
 
"That's good."
 
"Why good?"
 
"That cuts out three from your list. The person is not among the ones dismissed."
 
"That's so." New life seemed to spring up in Fellows. "You'll do the job," he cried. "Somehow, I never thought of going about it that way. And I know another man that's out."
 
"Who?"
 
"Myself, for one. There are only seven more."
 
"Counting all?"
 
"All."
 
"Stenographers included?"
 
"Oh, stenographers!"
 
"Stenographers must be counted."
 
"Well, then, seven men and one woman. Our stenographer⁵ is a woman."
 
"What kind of a woman?"
 
"A young girl. Ordinary, but good enough. I've never noticed her very much."
 
"Tell me about the men."
 
"What's the use? You wouldn't take my word. They're a cheap lot, beneath contempt in my estimation. There's not one of them clever enough for the business. Jack⁶ Forbush comes the nearest to it, and probably is the one. The way he keeps his eye on me makes me suspect him. Or is he, too, playing my game?"
 
"How can I tell? How can I tell anything from what you say? I'll have to look into the matter myself. Give me the names and addresses and I'll look the parties up. Get their rating, so to speak. Leave it to me, and I'll land the old man's confidential⁷ clerk."
 
"Here's the list. I thought you might want it."
 
"Where's the girl's name?"
 
"The girl! Oh, pshaw!"
 
"Put her name down just the same."
 
"There, then. Grace Lee. Address, 74 East —— Street. And now swear on the honor of a gentleman——"
 
Beau Johnson pulled the rim⁸ of Fellows's hat over his eyes to suggest what he thought of this demand.