"I was sent."
"By whom?"
"A fare who engaged me on the street."
"What sort of person?"
"Well, I'm not much of a hand at description. An ordinary looking fellow, middle-aged, plainly dressed, nothing special about him."
"You're just fooling me!" she said reproachfully. "You don't trust me."
"Why should I trust you?" said Greg bluntly. "You don't answer my questions but only ask me others."
"Ask me anything, anything!" she said passionately. "I look to you to save me!"
"Who are you, and what are you doing in this house?"
"It's a miserable story!" she said in a shamed voice. "My name is Clelie Mendizabal. I am a Peruvian. My father died a few years ago leaving us penniless. I had to go to work. Well, in Peru a girl who works for her living is looked down upon, so I determined to come to New York. They said that the streets of New York were fairly paved with gold. I had no difficulty in finding work here, but I soon found that a working girl has no easy time in America either. There was a man from my own country who made believe to be my friend—I trusted him—Ah! I was so friendless here! I thought no wrong. I went about with him—Oh, how can I go on! One night a month ago he brought me to this house saying that it was a restaurant. I—I have not been out of it since!"