“Hello!  That you?  Oh, will you step up a moment, Miss McDonald?  Yes.  Are they ready?  Good.  That’s just what I want.  Please.  All of them.”

* * * * *

Nancy knocked at the door and stepped into the room.  She was carrying a large typescript of many pages.  It represented many days and evenings of concentrated labour.  It had been a labour not so much of love as of ambition.  It was an exhaustive summary of the position of the Skandinavia’s forestry in the Shagaunty Valley.

She missed the squat figure in the chair she usually occupied.  She saw nothing of the stare of the narrow eyes concentrated upon her.  She saw only the tall figure of Peterman, standing waiting for her beyond his desk in such a position that, to reach him, she must pass herself in review before the devouring gaze of the great banker.

She walked briskly towards him, her short skirt yielding the seductive rustle of the silk beneath it.  Her movements were beyond words in grace.  Her tall figure, so beautifully proportioned, and so daintily rounded, displayed the becoming coat-frock she usually wore in business to absolute perfection.

The banker’s searching eyes realised all this to the last detail.  He realised much more.  For his was the regard that sought beneath the surface of things.  It was that regard which every wholesome, good woman resents.  But ultimately it was the girl’s face and hair that held him.  The rare beauty of the latter’s colour sent a surge of appreciation running through his sensual veins.  And the perfect beauty, and delicate charm of her pretty features, stirred him no less.  Only her eyes, those pretty, confident, intelligent, hazel depths he missed.  But he waited.

“These are the papers, Mr. Peterman.”

Nancy held out the typescript to the waiting man whose eyes had none of the smiling welcome they would have had in Hellbeam’s absence.

“Thank you.”  Elas glanced down at the neatly bound script.

“It’s all complete?”

“Oh, yes.  It’s the whole story.  It’s in tabloid form.  You will be able to take the whole close in half an hour.”

A rough clearing of the throat interrupted her, and Nancy discovered the banker beside the desk.  In something of a hurry she promptly turned to depart.  But Elas claimed her.

“Will you come to me after lunch?” he said pleasantly.

“I want to go into the details of that trip I explained to you.  You must get away as soon as possible.”

“Directly after lunch?”

“Yes.  Say three o’clock.”

“Very well.”

The girl again turned to go, but the banker anticipated her.  As she reached the door he stood beside it, and opened it for her to pass out.  He was holding something in his hand.  It was an exquisitely formed gold fountain-pen.

“This yours is, I think,” he said heavily, while his eyes searched those depths of hazel he had missed before.