{{hwe|clasp|hand-clasp||. Its only compensation, indeed, was the reluctance with which she let his fingers go.
When Garth had left, Nora arose and faced her father.
"What's all this mystery?" she demanded. "It's easy enough to guess there's danger for Jim, and you know a lot more than you pretend."
"See here, Nora," the inspector grumbled, "I usually give the third degree myself in this place."
She rested her hands on the desk, studying his uncertain eyes.
"Why," she asked, "wouldn't you let Jim tell me the man's name?"
His bluster was too apparently simulated.
"What did you come down for this morning anyway? No sense in your getting upset. A detective bureau isn't a nursery."
She straightened slowly, her face recording an unwelcome assurance.
"Politics!" she cried. "And Jim's leaving from the Grand Central. I know. He's going to Mr. Alden's at Deacon's Bay. I see why you wouldn't let him tell me."
"Place is all right," the inspector said stubbornly. "You've seen it. You were there with me two summers ago. What's the matter with the place?"
"No use trying to pull the wool over my eyes," Nora answered. "It's the loneliest place I've ever seen, and you ought to know I'd remember Mr. Alden's big furnaces and machine-shop. I read the
