"I don't know you," she said harshly. "Who are you?"
"New at the game," replied Sarah Judd, with a shrug. "You don't know me, Nan, but I know you; and I know your record, too. You're as slick as they make 'em, and the one who calls herself Agatha Lord is just an infantile amateur beside you. But go ahead, Nan; don't let me interrupt your work."
The woman sank into a chair.
"You can't be from the home office," she muttered, staring hard at the girl. "They wouldn't dare interfere with my work here."
"No; I'm not from the home office."
"I knew," said Susan, "as soon as I heard the story of your coming, that it was faked. I'd gamble that you never saw Mrs. Morrison in your life."
"You'd win," said Sarah, also taking a chair.
"Then who could have sent you here?"
"Figure it out yourself," suggested Sarah.
"I'm trying to. Do you know what we're after?"