"I am sure he hadn't the slightest." The look she sent Fitzgerald was
full of approval. "He hadn't any idea at all save that I asked him to
come here at eight this evening. And his confession proves that I
haven't made any mistake."

"But what in thunder--"

"Father!"

"My dear, give me credit for resisting the desire to make the term
stronger. Mr. Fitzgerald's joke, I take it, bothered no one. Yours
has put him in a peculiar embarrassment. What does it mean? You went
to the city to get me a first-class secretary."

"Mr. Fitzgerald has the making of one, I believe."

"But on your word I sent a capable man away half an hour gone. He
could speak half a dozen languages."

"Mr. Fitzgerald is, perhaps, as efficient."

Fitzgerald's wonder grew and grew.

"But he doesn't want to be a secretary. He doesn't know anything about
the work. And I haven't got the time to teach him, even if he wanted
the place."

"Father," began the girl, the fun leaving her eyes and her lips
becoming grave, "I do not like the noises at night. I have not
suggested the police, because robbery is _not_ the motive."