Dangerous Days

On the other hand, to keep her there and watch her was certainly a

bigger thing. If she stayed there might be trouble, but it would concern

the boy only. If she left, and if she was one link in the chain to

snare Rudolph, there might be a disaster costing many lives. He made his

decision quickly.

"Keep her, by all means," he said. "And don't tell Mr. Graham anything.

He's young, and he'd be likely to show something. I suppose she gets

considerable data where she is?"

"Only of the one department. But that'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--"