IX

On Monday morning old John McNabb entered his private office to find
Hedin awaiting him. He glanced at the younger man inquiringly--"What
ails ye, lad? Ye look like ye hadn't slept for a week."

"I haven't slept for two nights," answered Hedin. "There is no use
beating around the bush. As a matter of fact, the Russian sable coat
is missing, and I am to blame for it."

The old man stared incredulously. "Missin'!" he exclaimed. "An'
you're to blame! What d'ye mean?"

Hastily, in as few words as possible, Hedin recited the facts as he
knew them, while an angry flush mounted to the old man's face.

McNabb reached for the telephone and called a number. "Hello! Is that
you, Jean? Come to the store at once, and bring your new fur coat--to
my office. . . . What? No, that won't do, at all. Bring it
yourself--I'm waitin'."

"I'll step outside while Jean--while Miss McNabb----"

"Ye'll stay where ye are!" snapped McNabb.

The older man turned to his desk, where for ten minutes he opened and
closed drawers and rustled papers viciously. Then the door opened and
Jean herself stepped into the room with the fur coat over her arm.
"Well, Dad, here's the coat." She paused abruptly, glanced inquiringly
at Hedin, nodded coolly, and continued, "Oskar said it needed a little