But the young women were none of them the girl he sought; they were obviously secretaries hastening to their various jobs, and he drew an involuntary breath of relief as the elevator shot up to the floor to which he was going. The young women all got out at different stops by the way.
He was glad that he was the only one in the elevator when it stopped at the ninth floor, and he could get off and take his bearings once more without observation. Then he noticed that the door of R. H. Oliver's office was standing ajar, and with quickened pulse he hurried down the hall.
[CHAPTER X]
NELSON WHITNEY pushed the door of R. H. Oliver's office open quickly and stepped within with an air of stealthy triumph. He looked around furtively with keen eyes, half fearful at what he might see.
But there was no one there but an elderly girl taking off her hat and coat at the back of the room. She hung them on a couple of pegs in a shadowy corner, patted her hair into prim shape before a small mirror, and put a last dab of powder on a thin angular nose. He paused and watched her uncertainly.
"Is Mr. Oliver in yet?" he asked as she turned inquiringly and came toward him, her folded gloves and a large flat purse in her hand.
"Oh, no!" she said with a tang of amusement in her voice that set him down for a country ninny. She glanced at the clock. "He never gets down before half past if he does then."
Whitney cast a quick searching gaze around the room once more, as if perchance the girl he sought might be hiding somewhere in the shadows.
"Mind if I wait here?" he asked, ignoring the contempt in the girl's voice.
"Help yourself," said the girl in a chilly tone.