But as Helen turned to take a seat on the couch which the clerk indicated with a gesture of his pen, she suddenly discovered that she was not the only person waiting in the room. In a decrepit armchair by one of the front windows, and reading the morning paper, with his wig pushed back upon his bald brow, was the queer old gentleman with whom she had ridden across the continent when she had come to New York.

The discovery of this acquaintance here in Mr. Grimes's office gave Helen a distinct shock.

CHAPTER XVIII

PROBING FOR FACTS

Helen sat down quickly and stared across the room at the queer old man.

The latter at first seemed to pay her no attention. But finally she saw that he was skillfully "taking stock" of her from behind the shelter of the printed sheet.

The Western girl was more direct than that. She got up and walked across to him. The clerk uttered a very loud "Ahem!" as though to warn her to drop her intention; but Helen said coolly:

"Don't you remember me, sir?"

"Ha! I believe it _is_ the little girl who came from the coast with me last week," said the man.

"Not from the coast; from Montana," corrected Helen.

"But you are dressed differently now and I was not sure," he said. "How have you been?"

"Very well, I thank you. And you, sir?"

"Well. Very. But I did not expect to see you again--er--_here_."

"No, sir. And you are waiting to see Mr. Grimes, too?"

"Er--something like that," admitted the old man.

Helen eyed him thoughtfully. She had already glanced covertly once or twice at the clerk across the room. She was quite bright enough to see between the rungs of a ladder.

"_You_ are Mr. Grimes," she said, bluntly, looking again at the old man, who was adjusting his wig.

He looked up at her slily, his avaricious little eyes twinkling as they had aboard the train when he had looked over her shoulder and caught her counting her money.

"You're a very smart little girl," he said, with a short laugh. "What have you come to see me about? Do you think of investing some of your money in mining stocks?"

"No," said Helen. "I have no money to invest."

"Humph. Did you find your folks?" he asked, turning the subject quickly.

"Yes, sir."

"What's the matter with you, then? What do you want?"

"You _are_ Mr. Grimes?" she pursued, to make sure.

"Well, I don't deny it."

"I have come to talk to you about--about Prince Morrell," she said, in a very low voice so that the clerk could not hear.

"_Who_?" gasped the man, falling back in his chair. Evidently Helen had startled him.

"Prince Morrell," she replied.

"What are you to Prince Morrell?" demanded the man.

"I am his daughter. He is dead. I have come here to talk with you about the time--the time he left New York," said the girl from Sunset Ranch, hesitatingly.

Mr. Grimes stared at her, with his wig still awry, for some moments; then the color began to come back into his face. Helen had not realized before that he had turned pale.

"You come into my office," he snapped, jumping up briskly. "I'll get to the bottom of this!"

His movements were so very abrupt and he looked at her so strangely that, to tell the truth, the girl from Sunset Ranch was a bit frightened. She trailed along behind him, however, with only a hesitating step, pa.s.sing the wondering clerk, and heard the lock of the door of the inner office snap behind her as Mr. Grimes shut it.

He drew heavy curtains over the door, too. The place was a gloomy apartment until he turned on the electric light over a desk table. She saw that there were curtains at all the windows, and at the other door, too.

"Come here," he said, beckoning her to the desk, and to a chair that stood by it, and still speaking softly. "We will not be overheard here. Now!

Tell me what you mean by coming to me in this way?"

He shot such an ugly look at her that Helen was again startled.

"What do _you_ mean?" she returned, hiding her real emotion. "I have come to ask some questions. Why shouldn't I?"

"You say Prince Morrell is dead?"

"Yes, sir. Nearly two months, now."

"Who sent you, then?"

"Sent me to you?" queried Helen, in wonder.

"Yes. Somebody must have sent you," said Mr. Grimes, watching her with his little eyes, in which there seemed to burn a very baleful look.

"You are mistaken. n.o.body sent me," said Helen, recovering a measure of her courage. She believed that this strange man was a coward. But why should he be afraid of her?

"You came clear across this continent to interview me about--about something that is gone and forgotten--almost before you were born?"

"It isn't forgotten," returned Helen, meaningly. "Such things are never forgotten. My father said so."

"But it's no use hauling everything to the surface of the pool again,"

grumbled Mr. Grimes.

"That is about what Uncle Starkweather says; but I do not feel that way,"

said Helen, slowly.