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Show 11 Ml? fflAFfr ' THE STORY SO FAR: Joan Leland, jgecretary to Arthur Mulford, San Francisco Fran-cisco Importer, Is amazed and angry, when he discharges her and refuses any explanation. Her sister Sybil, with whom she shares an apartment, loses her beauty beau-ty salon position the same day. Joan accepts a position In a night club, as secretary to handsome Karl Miller, who pays tier a high salary in advance and gives the unusual hours as the reason. He obtains a job for Sybil and makes love to Joan, who is fascinated. Paul Sherman, his manager, interrupts them, returns later to invite Joan to dinner with him. Joan meets Karl's partner, Eric Strom. Both Paul and Eric seeb to make dates with Joan. On one Sunday, Sun-day, when Karl, Eric and Joan were at dinner, Karl Is called to the telephone. tele-phone. He then asks Joan to come to the office for some dictation. She writes one sbort letter and Karl suggests she fo home In a taxi. While she is waiting, Paul shows up in his car. She tells him she had forgotten her purse. Now continue with the story. CHAPTER V "I'll get it for you," Paul offered. "And let Karl know you're taking me home? Oh no! I'll go myself." Joan wondered why everything seemed to interfere with her romance ro-mance with Karl. Both Paul and Eric seemed bent on making trouble. trou-ble. But she could not be rude to Paul. After all, Karl seemed to like him. The door of the club was unlocked as she slipped in and hurried down the corridor. Afterwards she wondered won-dered what instinct prompted her to pause for a moment as she stood with her hand on the doorknob of Karl Miller's office. The hall was dark, save for the crack of light beneath the door. An open window beside her led to a fire escape, where the rain fell noisily on the metal balcony. Perhaps her hesitation hesi-tation was due to the fear that Karl would be angry with her. Perhaps the uneasy feeling that he might discover Paul was taking her home. But Joan paused and her heart was beatine heavily. "Please!" Joan cried, exasperated. "Is there any good reason why I shouldn't work for Karl?" "And she doesn't' approve of your working for Karl, either?" "Please!" Joan cried, exasperated. exasperat-ed. "Is there any good reason why I shouldn't work for Karl? Do you know something against him?" Paul stared into the fire but he was silent "Then you don't know anything?" Joan continued. Paul tossed his cigarette into the flames. "Okay, Joan. You win. I can't say any more. But remember remem-ber this. Watch your step! Will you?" "Thanks for the advice." "It's for. your own good," Paul Sherman said, picking up his hat "How about that date tomorrow night?" Joan smiled faintly. "Don't you ever give up? I told you I couldn't go." "Isn't anyone on board?" she asked, drawing closer to Karl. ' "There are a couple of sailors be-! low. I saw them as we came up. We'll wait here a few minutes. Do you mind?" "No. It's fun!" Karl walked to the table, poured some whiskey out of an old-fashioned crystal decanter, and quickly downed it. "This ship has been to South America, all through the West Indies, In-dies, even to Japan." "How I'd love to go to some of those places! I'm so tired of living such an ordinary life. Just eating and sleeping and working day after day." She moved her hands with an impatient im-patient ' gesture. Her figure was straight and slender in its black wool dress, her face pale ivory with its eager mouth and flashing emerald eyes. They stood at the door measuring measur-ing each other with their eyes Paul's, a mask that told her nothing, noth-ing, Joan's challenging him, defying defy-ing him to speak one word against Karl Miller. "I won't bother you any more then," Paul said quietly. "Good night." In the bedroom. Sybil was propped up in her bed, wearing a blue satin bed jacket, reading a magazine. "Was that Karl?" "No, Paul Sherman, giving me some good advice about working at the club. He doesn't think I'm the type, whatever that means." She slipped into her warm bathrobe bath-robe and sat down on the edge of her sister's bed. "I met Karl's partner, part-ner, Eric Strom, tonight. He tried to make a date with me, too. It's a shame the way everyone tries to double-cross Karl." "How in the world did you happen to come home with Paul?" Joan explained, but did not mention men-tion what she had overheard when she went back to get her purse. Before Be-fore she could finish the telephone rang. Karl Miller's voice came forcefully forceful-ly over the wire. "Joan? You are home safely?" "Yes. I've been home for some time." She smiled, picturing Karl on the other end of the line. How sweet that he could be so concerned! "I just wanted to be sure that you were all right. Good night, darling." It was the first time that he had called her "darling." Her pulse leaped at the unfamiliar endearment. endear-ment. "We will not work tomorrow," It seemed a long time but in reality real-ity it was only a few seconds that she stood there listening to Eric Strom's voice. "Ja, Karl! Bitte!" Karl's reply was harsh, "Nein, Nein! Es ist verboten." Joan did not understand but instinctively in-stinctively her hand drew back from the door. This was a private conversation. con-versation. Karl would not want her to hear. But her nervous gesture had made a small sound, which Karl Miller's ear caught immediately. He threw open the door with a violent vio-lent gesture. "Joan! What are you doing?" "I 'orgot my purse," she faltered, feeling Eric Strom's sardonic eyes upon her. Karl's relieved smile reassured her. "Of course! Here it is." Joan made a hasty exit, closing the door quickly behind her, but as she walked down the dark hall she realized that she was shivering. "What's the matter?" Paul demanded de-manded as Joan got in the car. "You're as white as a ghost." "Nothing!" But the girl's hands were clasped nervously. "Let's go home. Please!" Joan tried to tell herself that nothing noth-ing was wrong. Just because Karl and Eric Strom had been speaking in their native tongue was no cause for alarm. But she found herself saying to Paul, "Do you speak German?" Ger-man?" "So that's it! You overheard Karl!" '"You haven't answered my ques- Karl Miller caught his breath as he looked at her. "I'd like to take you to South America, darling! Maybe I can some day. Would you like to have me show you the world?" "More than anything!" she cried recklessly. "Oh, Karl ..." He pressed her hand to his lips. "You're beautiful," he murmured. "You're beautiful and exciting, and I love you, liebchen! Do you know what liebchen means? It is sweetheart! sweet-heart! It is what you are to me!" His arms were around her. Liebchen! Lieb-chen! This foreign word held a curious curi-ous fascination for her. It was like Karl. Strong, strange and sweet. "You believe me, Joan? You believe be-lieve me?" The drone of foghorns seemed a mournful undercurrent to her rapidly rapid-ly beating heart. "Yes, Karl, I believe be-lieve you." As Karl's arms closed about her Joan heard a faint sound outside the cabin door. Startled, she cried, "What was that? KarL, did you hear it?" "Probably one of the sailors." But his hand reached to the inside pocket pock-et of his coat and he walked swiftly to the door and flung it open. There was no one. The stairway leading down to the deck was empty. emp-ty. Karl looked out into the dark night. "You must have imagined it! No one is there." "I heard something. I know I did. Oh Karl, let's get out of here. You can see your friend some other time, can't you?" His voice was controlled. "Just as you wish." But as she preceded him down the steps Joan saw a figure disappear into the shadows of the deck and even in the fog she1 could see that it was Paul Sherman! Karl informed her. "We shall have dinner together alone." , Joan went back to the bedroom with shining eyes to tell Sybil. "Then you won't meet Paul?" "Of course not! I wouldn't anyway." "And I am not going to," Paul said firmly as he stopped the car in front of her apartment building. "Do you mind if I come in for a minute?" min-ute?" i Joan was not very gracious about it. She was tired and confused. The last thing she wanted was to be forced to listen to Paul's subtle insinuations in-sinuations against KarL Paul, however, how-ever, settled himself comfortably before the fire, lit a cigarette and said, "Joan, why don't you quit working at the club?" She stood before him, green eyes narrowed with anger, her head high. "I don't think it's any of your business busi-ness what I do or where I work. I'm tired of your insinuations. If you have anything against Karl Miller, Mil-ler, why don't you come out and say so? Why shouldn't I work for him?" She threw her hat on the table and smoothed her hair in front of the mirror over the fireplace. Paul rose and touched her arm. "I'm sorry, Joan! I guess I used the wrong approach. I suppose from your point of view I'm meddling where I have no right to." Their eyes met in the mirror. His face was unsmiling, the brown eyes serious. "You don't seem like the type of girl to be working for Kari Miller. You don't belong at the Club Elite!" "I'm sick of hearing everyone say that I'm old enough to know what I'm doing. I don't need advice from anyone." "You are a very stubborn woman," wom-an," Paul laughed. The room was cheerful in the firelight. fire-light. The polished brass shone and large blue bowl of chrysanthemums chrysanthe-mums lent a gay note to the somber furnishings. "Do you live here alone?" "With my sister Sybil." Joan had not considered the possibility pos-sibility that Karl Miller might take her to dinner at the same place Paul suggested but as they walked into the lobby of the hotel Paul had mentioned, men-tioned, Joan saw him coming out of the bar. He nodded pleasantly as he passed them and Joan breathed a sigh of relief. Their meal was almost al-most finished when Joan saw Paul again. He was sitting alone at a corner table directly behind KarL When they left, Joan, looking over her shoulder, saw Paul behind them. Was he deliberately following her? Was this his idea of a joke? But Joan did not tell Karl. He might have discharged Paul and she did not want him to lose his job on her account. Karl drove swiftly along the Em-barcadero. Em-barcadero. "Have you ever been on a freighter?" he asked the girl at his side. "Like to see one?" "I'd love it," she answered. "Sweet thing!" He reached for her hand. They stopped at Pier 27. Joan could see the hulk of a small ship looming out of the mist Karl took her arm as they walked through a large storeroom, out into the foggy night, and up the swaying gangplank gang-plank of the freighter. On deck she followed Karl up a narrow staircase to the captain's quarters. But though a lamp burned brightly bright-ly in the cabin, there was no sign of the captain. Joan was intrigued by the round wooden table, the small desk, the faded curtains that inadequately in-adequately draped the portholes. Three weeks had passed since the night Joan went to the freighter with Karl and was followed by Paul Sherman. She had not mentioned it to Karl. She wanted to solve the mystery of Paul's curious behavior for herself. She was sure that Paul meant no harm. Looking over Karl's appointment book, she saw that Paul Sherman would be at the club at ten-thirty that night. "I'm going to try to see him alone," she decided, "and demand an explanation. If he doesn't tell me, I'll threaten to go to Karl about it!" Her relationship with Karl could not have been more perfect since the night on the freighter when he told her he loved her. She felt much closer to him. At least three evenings eve-nings a week Karl took her dancing. On Sundays they went for long rides across the Golden Gate bridge into Marin county, where the trees flashed their autumn reds and browns in the deep November sunshine. sun-shine. Only Sybil was able to shatter her peace by saying, "If Karl is really in love with you, why doesn't be ask you to marry him?" "He probably wiU," Joan said stubbornly, "in time. After all, we haven't known each other very long." Karl not once had mentioned marriage. mar-riage. "You still don't trust Karl, dc you?" Joan asked as the girli washed the supper dishes. (TO BE COXTIM'EDJ |