She ran upstairs for her coat and hat and at once left the hotel.  She knew the way to Peter Conant’s office and walked rapidly toward it.

CHAPTER X

RATHER QUEER INDEED

Mary Louise found the door of the office, which was located on the third floor of the Chambers Building, locked.  However, the sign:  “Peter Conant, Attorney at Law,” was painted on the glass panel in big, distinct letters, so she was sure she had made no mistake.  She slowly paced the hall, waiting, until the elevator stopped and Mr. Conant stepped out and approached the door, his morning paper in one hand, a key in the other.  Running to him, the girl exclaimed: 

“Oh, Mr. Conant!”

He stopped short and turned to face her.  Then he stepped a pace backward and said: 

“Great heavens, it’s Mary Louise!”

“Didn’t you recognize me?” she asked.

“Not at first,” he answered slowly.  “You have grown tall and—­and—­ older, in two years.”

“Where is Gran’pa J-”

“Hush!” with a startled glance up and down the hall.  Then he unlocked the door and added:  “Come in.”

Mary Louise followed him through the outer office and into a smaller room beyond, the door of which Mr. Conant carefully closed after them.  Then he turned to look steadily at the girl, who thought he did not seem especially delighted at her appearance in Dorfield.  Indeed, his first words proved this, for he asked sternly: 

“Why are you here?”

“I left the school at Beverly because the girls made it so uncomfortable for me there that I could not bear it longer,” she explained.

“In what way did they make it uncomfortable for you?”

“They jeered at me because—­because—­Gran’pa Jim is being hunted by the officers of the law, who accuse him, of doing something wicked.”

Mr. Conant frowned.

“Perhaps their attitude was only natural,” he remarked; “but there was no accusation against you, my child.  Why didn’t you stick it out?  The scandal would soon have died away and left you in peace.”

“I was unhappy there,” she said simply, “and so I thought I would come here to mother and Gran’pa Jim.”

“Here?” as if surprised.

“Yes.  Aren’t they here, with you?”

“No.”

“Then where are they?”

“I’ve no idea.”

She sat still and stared at him, while he regarded her with a thoughtful and perplexed look on his face.

Mr. Conant is difficult to describe because he was like dozens of men one meets every day, at least in outward appearance.  He was neither tall nor short, lean nor fat, handsome nor ugly, attractive nor repulsive.  Yet Peter Conant must not be considered a nonentity because he was commonplace in person, for he possessed mannerisms that were peculiar.  He would open his eyes very wide and stare at one steadily until