Thrilled by her discovery, Judy removed the torn pieces of telegram from her purse and began unraveling the mystery, bit by bit. Irene looked on, trembling with excitement.

“‘CUT ART SHOP ROBBERY STOP FIFTY THOUSAND IS PLENTY STOP....’ Art Shop Robbery! That sounds like a title! And someone wanted him to cut it to fifty thousand words—just a nice length for a book. That must have been what he was doing on the bus, cutting down the number of words on those typewritten pages.”

“Why, of course,” Irene agreed. “I always knew you were gifted, Judy, but can you explain this?” She pointed.

“‘ONE MAN MURDERED INTERESTS RANDALL....’ Easy as pie! Another title and a publisher.”

Judy tossed her head with a self-satisfied air of importance. Every one of their questions might be answered in the classified directory.

They found a telephone booth near by and a directory on the shelf beside it. Promptly turning to the list of publishing houses, Judy’s finger traveled down one complete page and half of another, but no Randall could she find. With a sigh of disappointment she turned to look again at the telegram:

What sort of person was she? A relative? No. Relatives didn’t discuss terms with authors. Wives and sweethearts didn’t either. They might discuss his books, but not terms. Anyway Irene hoped that Dale Meredith had no wife or sweetheart, certainly not a sweetheart with a name like Emily Grimshaw. That name sounded as harsh to the ears as Dale Meredith sounded musical.

Flipping the pages of the directory, Judy came upon the answer to their question:

“AUTHOR’S AGENTS (See Literary Agents).”

“That might be it!”

She turned to the place and, beginning at the top of the page, both girls searched eagerly through the G’s.

“Greenspan, Grier, Grimshaw....”

The name was Emily and the address was a number on Madison Square. Irene was so excited that she declared she could feel her heart thumping under her slip-on sweater.

“I’d give anything to meet him again, Judy! Anything!”

And suddenly Judy wanted to meet him too, not for her own sake but for Irene’s. A bold plan began to take shape in her mind. If she and Irene found positions in Emily Grimshaw’s office Dale Meredith would never know that it had not been a simple coincidence. It would be such fun—this scheming. It would give them something to do and if Judy’s plan worked it might even solve the problem of Pauline’s career.

“Of course Emily Grimshaw may not hire us,” Judy said after she had outlined the scheme and won Irene’s approval. “But, at any rate, it’s worth trying. We won’t need to tell her it’s only for a few weeks when Pauline will be there to step right into the position. I wonder how you get to Madison Square.”

She stopped a policeman to ask him and found it to be within easy walking distance.

“We might as well go now,” Irene agreed.

Perhaps if they thought about it too long they might lose heart and not attempt it.

The literary agent’s office was located in an old hotel on the northeast side of the square. The building looked as if it had been unchanged for a century. In the lobby Judy and Irene paused, surveying the quaint furniture and mural decorations before they mustered enough courage to inquire at the desk for Emily Grimshaw.

“Who’s calling?” the clerk asked tartly.

“Tell her—” Judy hesitated. “Tell her it’s two girls to see her on business.”

The message was relayed over the switchboard and presently the clerk turned and said, “She will see one of you. First stairway to the left. Fourth floor.”

“Only one—” Judy began.

“She always sees one client at a time. The other girl can wait.”

“That’s right. I—I’ll wait,” Irene stammered.

“But you wanted the position——”

“I don’t now. Suppose she asked about experience.”

“You’ve had a little. You stand a better chance than I do.”

“Not with your nerve, Judy,” Irene said. “This place gives me the shivers. You’re welcome to go exploring dark halls if you like. I’d rather sit here in the lobby and read Dale Meredith’s book.”

“Oh, so that’s it? Make yourself comfortable,” Judy advised with a laugh. “I may be gone a long, long time.”

“Not if she finds out how old you are.”

“Hush!” Judy reproved. “Don’t I look dignified?”

She tilted her hat a little more to the left and dabbed a powder puff on her nose. The puff happened not to have any powder on it but it gave her a grown-up, courageous feeling. And she was to have a great need of courage in the hour that followed.