"That's all, I think," Mr. Grimston repeated, raising his voice slightly
in order to drown the rumble that came through the open windows from the
rue Auber.

Suddenly Mr. van Tromp looked up.

"I've just had a letter," he said, in a tone indicating an entirely new
order of discussion, "from a person who signs herself Diana--or is it
Diane?--Eveleth."

"Oh, Diane! She's written to you, has she?" came from Mr. Grimston, as
his partner searched with short-sighted eyes for the letter in question
among the papers on the desk.

"You know her, then?"

"Of course I know her. You ought to know her, too. You would, if you
didn't shut yourself up in the office, away from the world."

"N-no, I don't recall that I've ever met the lady. Ah, here's the note,
just sit down a minute while I read it."

Mr. Grimston shot back into his seat again, while Mr. van Tromp wiped
his large, circular glasses.

"'Dear Mr. van Tromp,' she begins, 'I am most anxious to talk to you on
very important business, and would take it as a favor if you would let
me call on Tuesday morning and see you very privately. Yours sincerely,
Diane Eveleth.' That's all. Now, what do you make of it?"