Crossing to her desk the girl scribbled upon the reverse side of the paper.  “Never talk business on Sunday.  Coat will be at store as per agreement.”

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 tailoring, and that I was to bring it down this morning, but I didn’t think there was any tearing hurry about it.”

Her father took the garment, smoothed the fur with his hand, and asked casually, “Is this the coat ye wore from the store?”

“Why, of course it is.”

“An’ the one ye wore to the show?”

“Yes, yes,” answered the girl impatiently.  “I haven’t so many fur coats that I would be apt to get them mixed.”

McNabb ignored the impatience.  “Ye’ve had no other coat in your possession since you selected this one?”

“No, I haven’t.  What’s all this about?”

“Did Oskar tell you what kind of a coat you were gettin’?”

“Yes, a baum marten.  Why, isn’t it a baum marten?”

McNabb nodded.  “Yes, it’s a baum marten.  Run along now.  I just wanted to see which coat ye’d got.  Here, take it along with ye.  The tailor can wait.”

With a puzzled glance at the two men, Jean took the coat, and with a toss of the head left the office.

McNabb turned to Hedin.  “What have ye got to say now?  Did the girl tell the truth?”

“Absolutely.”

“Then that was the coat she wore from the store?”

“No—­but she thinks it was.  She doesn’t know the difference.”