The Green Rust

inspecting the names of the occupants, which were inscribed on porcelain slips in two big frames on each wall of the vestibule.After a lengthy search she discovered the name of the Beale Agency under

cio to inquire the price of May wheat, or maybe you'll just amble through India on an elephant, sleeping in bungalows, listening to the howling of tigers, mosquitoes----""Now I know you're laughing at me," she smiled."Not altogether," he said quietly; then: "Is there any question you'd like to ask me? By the way, the key of the office is in the right-hand drawer; go to lunch when you like and stay away as long as you like. Your cheque will be paid you every Friday morning.""But where----?" She looked round the room. "Where do you work?""I don't work," he said promptly, "you do the work and I get the honour and glory. When I come in I will sit on the edge of your desk, which is not graceful but it is very comfortable. There is one question I meant to ask you. You said you were in a cable office--do you add to your accomplishments a working knowledge of the Morse Code?"She nodded."I can see you being useful. If you need me"--he jerked his head toward a telephone on a small table--"call 8761 Gerrard.""And where is that?" she asked."If I thought you were anything but a very sane young lady, I should tell you that it is the number of my favourite bar," he said gravely. "I will not, however, practise that harmless deception upon you."Again she saw the dancing light of mischief in his eyes."You're a queer man," she said, "and I will not make myself ridiculous by speaking to you for your good."She heard his soft laughter as the door closed behind him and, gathering an armful of the guide-books, she settled down for a morning's work which proved even more fascinating than his fanciful pictures had suggested. She found herself wondering to what use all this information she extracted could be put. Was Mr. Beale really a buyer or was he interested in the sale of agricultural machinery? Why should he want to know that Jonas Scobbs was the proprietor of Scobbs' Hotel and General Emporium in the town of Red Horse Valley, Alberta, and what significance attached to the fact that he had an automobile for hire or that he ran a coach every Wednesday to Regina?Then she fell to speculating upon the identity and appearance of this man who bore this weird name of Scobbs. She pictured him an elderly man with chin whiskers who wore his pants thrust into top-boots. And why was Red Horse Valley so called? These unexpected and, to her, hitherto unknown names of places and people set in train most interesting processions of thought that slid through the noisy jangle of traffic, and coloured the drab walls of all that was visible of the City of London through the window with the white lights and purple shadows of dream prairies.When she looked at her watch--being impelled to that act by the indescribable sensation of hunger--she was amazed to discover that it was three o'clock.She jumped up and went to the outer office in search of the boy who, she faintly remembered, had erupted into her presence hours before with a request which she had granted without properly hearing. He was not in evidence. Evidently his petition had also been associated with the gnawing pangs which assail boyhood at one o'clock in the afternoon.She was turning back to her office, undecided as to whether she should remain until his return or close the office entirely, when the shuffle of feet brought her round.The outer office was partitioned from the entrance by a long "fence," the farther end of which was hidden by a screen of wood and frosted glass. It was from behind that screen that the noise came and she remembered that she had noted a chair there--evidently a place where callers waited."Who is there?" she asked.There was a creak as the visitor rose."Eggscuse, mattam," said a wheezy voice, "I gall to eng-vire for Mister Peale, isn't it?"He shuffled forward into view, a small man with a dead white face and a head of monstrous size.She was bereft of speech and could only look at him, for this was the man she had found in her rooms the night before her dismissal--the man who carried the Green Rust.Evidently he did not recognize her."Mister Peale, he tolt me, I must gall him mit der telephone, but der nomber she vas gone oudt of mine head!"He blinked at her with his short-sighted eyes and laid a big hairy hand on the gate."You must--you mustn't come in," she said breathlessly. "I will call Mr. Beale--sit--sit down again.""Sch," he said obediently