There were several people in the office who were in a position to
overhear their conversation. With a word of apology, the man came
round from his place behind the mahogany counter. He stood by the
side of the young lady, and he seemed to be suffering from some
embarrassment.

"Will you pardon my asking, madam, if you have seen the
newspapers this morning?" he inquired.

Without a doubt, her first thought was that the question savored
of impertinence. She looked at him with slightly upraised
eyebrows. She was slim, of medium complexion, with dark brown
hair parted in the middle and waving a little about her temples.
She was irreproachably dressed, from the tips of her patent shoes
to the black feathers in her Paris hat.

"The newspapers!" she repeated. "Why, no, I don't think that I
have seen them this morning. What have they to do with Mr.
Hamilton Fynes?"

The clerk pointed to the open door of a small private office.

"If you will step this way for one moment, madam," he begged.

She tapped the floor with her foot and looked at him curiously.
Certainly the people around seemed to be taking some interest in
their conversation.

"Why should I?" she asked. "Cannot you answer my question here?"