She unlocked the desk, and slung a typewriter out into the open from some hidden recess, laid her pocketbook and gloves in a drawer, took out a dust cloth and proceeded to polish her desk and clean her typewriter. She had the appearance of not even remembering that the young man existed. Presently she began to hum a jazzy little radio tune to further shut him out of her immediate circle.
This just suited Whitney. He deliberately took in every corner of the room, the beautiful furniture and the rich Oriental rug, and selected a shadowy alcove behind the main door, facing toward the windows on the other side of the room. It was a dark little corner, gloomy in fact, the alcove being formed by the ground glass partition of an inner office that ran out from the main wall ten feet and then down to the back of the room. The angle of these walls would partly hide him, even from the girl at her desk which stood well out in the middle of the room. The gloom of the corner would not call attention to his presence.
He drew a carved walnut chair into the right position to give him a view of the room and yet not bring him into notice and sat down. After a calm minute or two, he unfurled a morning paper which he could not possibly have read to advantage in the dim light, and prepared to hide behind it at the approach of footsteps. Surely he ought to be able to remain incognito here, for a while at least till matters developed, seeing that none of the people who were likely to have a part in the little drama about to be played had the slightest idea that he was in that part of the country. They would scarcely recognize his shoes and trousers, nor his hands, and that was all that the paper and the gloom would reveal. He would just sit quietly here and see what happened.
The secretary finished her morning cleaning and began typing some letters. The minutes ticked slowly by on the magnificent mahogany grandfather clock that stood six feet against the opposite wall between the two high windows. Nelson Whitney began to tell himself that he was a fool, and had come on a fool's errand. Probably nobody would come at all that he expected. Probably the morning would go by, and the man Oliver would arrive and he wouldn't even know him from any other man, let alone knowing what to say to him.
For the next five minutes he busied himself planning what errand he might possibly have for visiting an unknown man in his office. A perusal of the ground glass door into the hall did not help him. It bore over Oliver's name the legend "Ransom, Oliver, Bates and Company" nothing more. He did not know whether they sold bonds or automobiles or insurance. They might be almost anything. There wasn't a scratch of anything in the room that he could see that would give the slightest clue. There was nothing on the wall within his vision but a framed etching of old New York.
What should he do? Should he say he was waiting for friends who were to meet him there? Should he tell the man when he arrived that he must have come to the wrong address? It seemed that he would appear a fool in almost anything he might say, yet he held his ground and sat behind his paper trying to frame a reasonable excuse for his presence. He decided that he might perhaps ask if the man wanted to employ a helper. There was Jack Rector at home who was crazy to get a job in New York. Yet what kind of a job would this be? Something that could be sold? Jack would make a keen young salesman.
The minutes dragged on. The secretary typed incessantly and paid no more attention to him than if he had been an empty chair. The room was as still as an empty cell, sealed from the roar and rumble of the city noises.
Nelson Whitney was still pondering possibilities when there came at last the clang of an elevator, and steps, leisurely steps, outside the door. His heart stood still and then leaped forward in great bounds for it was a woman's step. Had the moment arrived at last? And if his girl should see him, how would she take it? Would she think he, too, was in league against her and be angry? He withdrew still further into the depths of his paper, and the door swung open and admitted a lady.
The secretary jumped up, all smiles.
"Oh, good morning Mrs. Oliver! Aren't you downtown early? Didn't Mr. Oliver come with you? I thought he was expecting to be in the office this morning. There are some checks for him to sign."