She put the letters on the desk, but when she didn't leave immediately, Peter Merton looked up.
Irene Simmons was an average-sized girl with golden-brown hair, large blue eyes, a full, red mouth, and a lush figure. She looked as though she ought to be working as a bathing-suit model instead of as the private secretary to a vice-president of Crabley & Co.
"Does it look pretty bad, Mr. Merton?" she asked.
"It looks horrible," he said bleakly. "The D.A. said that since Quiggs has had four days to get away, the money is probably in South America by now." He put his hand over his eyes. "If only I hadn't been such a fool! Why did I put the money in my office safe instead of in the company vault? Fifty thousand dollars! The insurance company won't pay, because the policy says that cash has to be kept in the vault.
"But how was I to know that Quiggs would come sneaking in here during Christmas vacation and take it out of my safe? He's been working for the company for years; who would have thought it?"
"Frankly, Mr. Merton, I think he was jealous because you were made a vice-president instead of him," Irene said firmly. "I think he wanted to ruin you."
"Well, he certainly has," Peter said sadly. "Old Man Crabley says that putting the money in my safe was criminal negligence. He says he wants me to pay it back or he'll see that I'm blackballed by every company in the business—after he fires me."
"I—I'm very sorry, Mr. Merton. I'm sure you'll think of something. The police may catch him, after all."
"Thank you, Miss Simmons. I hope so," Peter said. But his voice didn't hold much hope.