DUSKIN by Grace Livingston Hill Page B

reached her destination the first people she saw as she stepped to the platform were Schlessinger and Blintz sitting in a great handsome car watching the stream of descending passengers. Quickly she dodged behind a tall man until she was safely inside the waiting room. Then she crossed to a door at the end and took a taxi. She told the driver she wanted to go to the best hotel, and she sat back out of sight and was whirled away down a noisy street and into traffic. Something told her those two men had been looking for her. Perhaps they were going to try to develop a relationship. They might even approach her with their double dealings. Her soul revolted at the thought. She remembered faintly the stories of her childhood. Was it the Little Red Hen that had such a time getting away from the fox? He put her in a big bag and carried her home to put in the pot of boiling water, only the Little Red Hen snipped a hole in the bag and rolled a big stone in her place and flew away. Well, she would bide her time till she was ready to snip a hole in any bag that they might try to put her in, and then she would run away and leave a big stone to splash them to disaster when they dropped it into the seething cauldron of their own plots.
    Carol got hastily through the preliminaries at the hotel. She had a haunting fear of seeing two men—one tall, one short and stout—arriving on the scene. They seemed to be peering at her from behind the desk, the upholstery, the heavy hangings of the great parlors.
    She wrote her name quickly in small characters, C. W. Berkley Morningside. That would mean nothing to them, she hoped, even if they should examine the registry. She had not much hope of staying incognito for long, but perhaps she might get an opportunity to look over the situation before she had to face the old fox and begin the race.
    She went straight to her room and erased the stains of travel, arranged for her trunk to be sent for, then picked up her Bible to snatch at another verse, feeling that somehow it might bring luck as it had the night before. But the first words her eyes fell upon were “Be not wise in thine own eyes.” It was like a dash of cold water on her growing pride. She shut the book hastily with a frown and went out to survey the land.
    She knew from the papers she had brought where the building was located. She procured a map of the city and started out on foot. She wanted to get acquainted with the lay of the town before anyone knew she was there. She felt that unless she knew directions they could take great advantage of her.
    When she turned onto Maple Street from the roar and bustle of Main Street, she saw at once two buildings in process of construction, one a network of metal girders, the other standing solidly with walls of sturdy masonry. Her eyes turned at once toward the skeleton of steel. That of course would be hers. And the work had progressed no further than that! Her heart began to sink. Even her meager knowledge of construction told her that never in the world could she hope to rescue an operation from a preliminary state like that and get it finished and ready for occupancy in six weeks. Even six months would be inadequate to finish it from this mere outline. What could Mr. Fawcett have been thinking of that he did not find out sooner how the work had progressed? Surely someone was criminally at fault. And likely it was that man Duskin. Her heart sank for her employer. She saw that now unless a miracle happened, the company was doomed. What should she do? Telegraph for one of the men from the office? There wasn’t one who would know what to do in an emergency like this. Mr. Edgar Fawcett was the only one who could act with power. Something radical would have to be done, and done quickly. She didn’t know what it would be. Should she send for Frederick Fawcett? Was this tragedy that was hanging imminent over their heads, even while they were cheerfully planning for greater things and chattering about