"You know, Ben," he began, after leaning his chair back against the window sill—there was a sort of dogged intensity in the manner he raised both his feet to the corner of the table—"the general freight agent hinted at trouble down on the wharf when I went there. I didn't pay much attention because I knew I could do the work, and, being on the level, why should I care what had happened previously?
"Well, for a month or more everything went on splendidly. Then I became aware that my work was being scrutinized closely. I learned by accident that all my records were checked and double checked, which was altogether unusual. I seemed to be getting under a cloud, and the cloud kept getting darker all the time. The specials came nosing about, first from the consigning packing houses, then the railroad and finally the Government inspectors from the Bureau of Animal Industry, under whose supervision all meat is shipped interstate. I paid no attention except to be more careful. If I did my work right, why should I care if the packing-house agents and meat inspectors that break the seals on the cars with me in the morning began looking at me as though I had horns and a forked tail concealed about me?
"I lived quietly—in fact I had to. When you get out at three-thirty in the morning, you've got to be in bed before nine; besides, the old life doesn't appeal to me any more. In fact, I experience loathing and actual nausea when I happen to think of it. And then, while my salary is pretty good now, I had no money to spend when trying to save every cent. It is true that for a long time I had my dinners with Anna Bell—you know she is here—but lately I don't even do that.
"Now the losses run up into the thousands—and—and I am suspected—suspected of being a thief, Ben——"
"How do you know you are?" I asked abruptly.
"Well, after a lot of this mysterious stuff, the agent, Mr. Powell—who appears to be a pretty nice fellow—came over to my office and let it out. He said he believed in me and had decided to tell me, but I think it was just a smooth plan to trap me—to make me the goat. I was shy and chary of him, and am yet.
"He told me that since I came the meat cars were checking up short, and in one instance fresh hams were short ten or fifteen tons, and the packing-house people, the Government, and the road's inspectors, who have been working on it for months, were stumped.
"No, he didn't accuse me—he asked me to see if I couldn't help find some clew to the crimes. But, Ben, maybe you can't quite see how much alone I feel. You were away, I don't see Anna Bell any more, and I haven't a soul to talk with about it."
"Where is Anna—Miss Morgan—now?"