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 had warned, his big hand emphasizing the caution. "And you must," he added very deliberately, "be careful of your actions every minute. No indiscretions with any one."

"You'll tell Ket, won't you," begged Joan Daisy, "that I want to see him? And doesn't he want to see me?"

"I will tell him," Elmen promised. He was visiting the jail daily.

On Friday of that week Elmen's secretary telephoned, and the call reached Joan Daisy when she was at work beside Hoberg in his private office.

"Mr. Elmen will see you at two o'clock."

"I'll be there," replied Joan and, thinking of Elmen's big, broad, bald, black-fringed head, she thought also, not of Ket, but of the narrower, brown-haired head of Calvin Clarke to which the broad, bald head was opposed.

Hoberg's red head bent down. "Who is it, Joan? Elmen?" he whispered solicitously. "I'll go see him with you."

Joan Daisy suddenly was become almost breathless in her excitement. She did not want Hoberg's escort, but, even in her excitement, she considered how to prevent her employer from accompanying her without offending him. "Mr. Elmen's a queer man, always so important," she said; and Hoberg, realizing that Elmen probably would not admit him with her, remained in the office.

As she passed out, the draftsmen and girls in the general office gazed at her and followed her with their eyes, as now they always did; the elevator man spoke to her in his new manner of curious concern. Then, on the street, no one knew her; thousands passed her; millions surrounded her—the millions, millions of the people of Illinois, the People of the State who, if they knew, were against Ket and her, because Mr. Clarke had told them to be.