“But you are dressed differently now and I was not sure,” he said. “How have you been?”
“Very well, I thank you. And you, sir?”
“Well. Very. But I did not expect to see you again—er—here.”
“No, sir. And you are waiting to see Mr. Grimes, too?”
“Er—something like that,” admitted the old man.
Helen eyed him thoughtfully. She had already glanced covertly once or twice at the clerk across the room. She was quite bright enough to see between the rungs of a ladder.
“You are Mr. Grimes,” she said, bluntly, looking again at the old man, who was adjusting his wig.
He looked up at her slily, his avaricious little eyes twinkling as they had aboard the train when he had looked over her shoulder and caught her counting her money.
“You’re a very smart little girl,” he said, with a short laugh. “What have you come to see me about? Do you think of investing some of your money in mining stocks?”
“No,” said Helen. “I have no money to invest.”