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number, even as excited as she was. She got a quick answer.
    “Mr. Arbogast?” Sarah asked tensely.
    “Yes,” replied Mr. Arbogast’s jolly-man voice. “Oh!… Sarah, isn’t it?”
    “I wasn’t sure you would be home. I thought you might still be—not at home.” She paused, trying to level her breathing.
    Something in her urgency yanked some of the softness from Mr. Arbogast’s tone. It sounded as if he must have brought the phone close to his plump lips. “Sarah, is something wrong?”
    Sarah said, “That attorney, Calvin Brandeis Brill—the one I talked to you about this afternoon—can you tell me whether he has changed his office? Has he—”
    “Wait! Hold on, Sarah.” Mr. Arbogast sounded startled. “I’m puzzled. An attorney? Brill, you say? I don’t believe I understand.”
    “Brill—the lawyer about whom I spoke to you.”
    “You spoke to me—but—why, you must be mistaken. When?”
    “This afternoon.”
    “No, no, Sarah. I don’t recall that.”
    “But I did!”
    She could picture Arbogast’s soft mouth open in surprise at the other telephone, the dependent, acquisitive little mouth.
    “Why, I did not talk to you this afternoon, Sarah.” He said this with conviction.
    “But you did! It was about ten minutes after two. Yes, about that time.”
    “You… Was it at my office?”
    “Yes. On the telephone.”
    “But I wasn’t even there in the office at ten past two, Sarah. I was still at lunch, I think, at that time.”
    “You know Brill, do you not?”
    “You say the man’s an attorney? What is his full name, my dear?”
    “Calvin Brandeis Brill.”
    “I’m sorry.”
    “You don’t know him?”
    “I’m afraid not. I do not believe I’ve heard the name before.”
    “But the man is a lawyer! And you did tell me—”
    “There are many lawyers,” said Mr. Arbogast slowly. “Sarah, what is—These are very odd things you are saying.”
    “Yes, odd,” Sarah said dully. “Very odd.” She breathed deeply against tightness and then added, “Thank you, Mr. Arbogast.” And then she laid the handset gently on its cradle.
    The charwoman’s face had by now tried many expressions, all of them indignant, and had settled on one of sullen pleasure. She scratched a thigh with two fingers, then folded the dust rag precisely in a square.
    Sarah dialed another number on the telephone. This time she called Miss Fletching, secretary to Mr. Collins, who owned the yard.
    “Miss Fletching, this is Sarah,” she said tensely. “Did I get you out of bed? I’m sorry. Can you give me Captain Most’s telephone number?… Yes, I’ll wait.” Shortly Mr. Collins’s secretary returned to the wire and gave her Most’s number. Sarah’s “Thank you” was quietly given, and again she dialed.
    Most’s voice, oddly thick, finally responded.
    “Sarah Lineyack speaking, Captain Most,” Sarah said gravely. “Could I see you immediately? It is quite important.”
    His reply, while not given at once, was, “Of course. I’ll have to dress and go get my car.”
    “No! No, I’ll come there.”
    Most was again hesitant, and she sensed that he did not wish it that way.
    But when he spoke, it was to tell her how to find him.

Chapter Seven
    A S SARAH DROVE SHE had time to weigh the reasons—emotional or whatever they were—for taking this to Most. The notion of seeing Most had sprung at her quickly, strongly, coming in a way that she had learned to trust. There is an innate force about a solid idea that lets you realize its value instantly, and this had been like that. Most was Arbogast’s employee, the man Arbogast had hired to skipper Vameric. Therefore Most logically had an interest in this strange thing—it touched his boss. But Most is probably the strongest man I know , she thought. Although their acquaintance had been short, she had given Most a pattern in her mind, and it was not a weak pattern. He was a man of fiber, a quiet man, one who spoke softly and backed it with common sense