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manager returned with a folder. “Have either of you had any bookkeep ing experience?” she asked.
    “Not a bit,” Bess said promptly.
    “Well, I’m sorry, but I’ve nothing for you.”
    Before the cousins left, however, George decided to ask about Chris Chavez. “We met him at a benefit fashion show the other evening,” she explained.
    “Here in New York?” the woman replied in bewilderment. “Are you sure it was Chris?”
    “Yes, why?”
    “Because he’s been on assignments for us in Europe. He only flew back to New York yesterday!”
    The girls were surprised, but did not press the conversation further. Their job applications had just been turned down and they didn’t wish to create undue suspicion about themselves. So, after thanking the woman for her evident kindness to them, they said good-bye and headed for Jacqueline Henri’s apartment.
    “Too bad we didn’t get jobs at Chalmers,” George said.
    “I feel terrible,” her cousin mumbled as their cab came to a halt in front of a building marked “15.”
    “Well, don’t. Look at it this way,” George said. “We picked up that great piece of information about Chris Chavez.”
    “Doesn’t prove anything.”
    “Even so, it adds another intriguing aspect.”
    The girls stopped speaking as they opened the door of the apartment building. To their right was a bank of mailboxes and a small television screen. Ahead was another door that was locked.
    “They sure believe in security, don’t they?” Bess commented, pressing a button next to the name Henri.
    A few minutes passed. Nothing happened and the girls concluded that the model was not at home.
    “Let me try again,” Bess said. This time she held the buzzer half a second more and a voice responded.
    “Who is it?” The voice was distorted by the loudspeaker.
    “Jacqueline, is that you?” Bess replied.
    “Who?”
    “I’m looking for Jacqueline Henri,” Bess continued.
    “There’s no one here by that name,” the voice said and clicked off.
    George rechecked the address. It was correct! They scanned the names on the wall directory, discovering there was only one Henri listed.
    “Maybe there’s something wrong with the buzzer system,” Bess said.
    George tended to doubt that, but she was determined not to leave the building without visiting 3-C. As a couple came out through the locked doors, she quickly stepped up and held them open for Bess.
    They rode the elevator to the third floor and turned left around a corner. There were no names on the apartment doors, only brass knockers. George was about to lift the one on 3-C when they heard a man’s voice filter through.
    “It’s your job to keep Nancy occupied,” he said, as he was walking toward the door.
    “He’s leaving!” George whispered. “Let’s get out of here!”
    Quickly, the girls scooted back toward the elevator. They heard the apartment door slam, and Bess grabbed George’s hand. “He’ll see us once he comes around the corner. What’ll we do?”
    “Let’s hide on the other side,” George gasped, and pulled her cousin in the opposite direction from apartment 3-C. They rounded another corner and pressed themselves closely against the wall.
    The man’s footsteps could be heard approaching the elevator. “I’m going to take a look,” George declared boldly, and, for a second, she stuck her head around the corner. Then she pulled back with a little gasp, covering her mouth at the same time to stifle the sound.
    Bess tugged impatiently on her cousin’s hand. “Well, who is it?”
    “Chris Chavez!”
    “The first one or the second one?”
    “The first one!”
    They heard the elevator doors open. The man entered, and soon all was quiet as the elevator descended.
    “Oh, I wish we could follow him!” Bess murmured.
    “We can. Come on, down the stairs!”
    George led the way to the stairwell. The girls flew down, taking two steps at a time, hoping the elevator would stop on another floor to delay Chavez.