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Show Sylvia Taylor w., dll CHAPTER I Arthur Mulford's secretary faced J him unsuspectingly across the mas- give mahogany desk. "You wanted to see me, Mr. Mul-ford?" Mul-ford?" The man surveyed the slender figure fig-ure before him. "It's like this, Joan," he said decisively, de-cisively, "I'll have to let you go." Joan Leland stared at him in astonishment. as-tonishment. "You mean I'm fired?" Mulford shrugged. "That's it." "But why? What have I done?" He picked up a sheaf of papers and reached for the telephone. "I don't care to discuss it. You'll receive your next two weeks' salary, of course, but you need not finish out the month." "You mean this is my last day?" "Yes! That's all, Joan!" The late October sunshine flowed in pale golden streams across the busy streets of San Francisco as Joan left the office for the apartment apart-ment she shared with her sister. Firedl There was something almost sinister about this abrupt dismissal. After two years on the job! "Thank heaven, Sybil has a job!" Joan thought. The apartment boasted a fireplace and long floor-length windows. It was part of one of the old mansions for which San Francisco is famous. A regal building that had housed one of the great families of the city. "After all, there's no harm in applying for the job. If something is wrong with it, I can teU when I go down there." now cast off by their grandchildren and subdivided into studio apartments. apart-ments. True, there was seldom enough heat and the cooking facilities facil-ities were inadequate, but the old house reflected the charm and gra-ciousness gra-ciousness of the past. Joan glanced lovingly about the room. The girls had used their furniture fur-niture left to them by their parents. par-ents. It was heavy, and rather old-fashioned, old-fashioned, but it suited the high-ceilinged high-ceilinged room. A voice from the bedroom hailed her. "Joan? That you?" "Why, Syb! What are you doing home so early? I thought the beauty shop was staying open until seven this month." Sybil appeared in the doorway clad in dressing gown and slippers, cigarette in hand. Her blonde hair curled meticulously; her blue eyes were a trifle hard. The two girls seemed to have little in common in appearance or temperament Joan, brunette, twenty, restless, impulsive. impul-sive. Sybil, seven years older, golden-haired, inclined to caution, especially espe-cially where men were concerned. Sybil had been married and divorced di-vorced when she was twenty-one. Since then she had been determined to save Joan from making the same mistake. "Never trust any man," was Sybil's motto, but Joan did not take it too seriously, suspecting that her sister's cynicism was covering a broken heart. "What a day!" Sybil said, drearily dreari-ly throwing herself upon the couch. "I have some news for you, Sis." "I have something to tell you. too," Joan said grimly. "I've lost my job! Mr. Mulford gave me two weeks' salary and told me not to come back!" Sybil sat up wide-eyed. "Oh, Joan! No!" "He wouldn't even give me a reason." rea-son." Joan continued heatedly. "I I'll stop by the morning to get a reference. ref-erence. I forgot all about it this afternoon. I was so upset." Sybil watched in silence as Joan dialed the number. "This is Joan Leland. May I speak to Mr. Mulford?" There was a pause before a strange feminine voice replied, "I'm sorry. That will be impossible. Mr. Mulford left town an hour ago." Joan gasped, "Left town? Tonight?" To-night?" "That's right." "Who is this speaking, please?" Joan inquired hotly. "I am his secretary," the voice informed her and the receiver clicked. "He's left town! And he's already hired a new secretary!" "I told you there was something funny about this! And how can you get a reference if he's not here? You've never worked for anyone else." "That's what worries me!" "Let's eat," Sybil suggested. "I can't think when I'm hungry." "Cheerful night," Sybil commented, comment-ed, as they ate. "I know!" Joan cried suddenly. "I'll look for a job in the want ads. Where's the paper?" Sybil indicated the small coffee table. Joan seized the paper and turned to the classified section. "I need a job and I need it right now! Listen to this. "Joan's voice rang with excitement ex-citement as she read, " 'Competent secretary wanted. Willing to work nights. Apply after 9 p. m.' " "Wait," Sybil said seriously, "Why do they want you to work niehts? And why apply after 9 little different from a regular office." of-fice." "I don't understand why he would hire another secretary so quickly. Maybe she was lying." "But why should she? And why should Mr. Mulford try to avoid me?" "I wouldn't know," Sybil admitted. admit-ted. "But I want you to be careful tonight." Joan, however, was not even thinking of her sister's warning as she stepped from the street car into the damp, foggy streets of North Beach. With mounting curiosity, she walked to the address given in the paper. "Why it's a night club!" she said aloud as she paused under the long canopy that led to the street. A sign on the door informed the passerby that the Club Elite would be open for business the following Saturday night. Joan pushed open the heavy door and went in. She paused a moment mo-ment to accustom her eyes to the dim light. To the right she could see a large room filled with gilded tables and chairs and a band stand which seemed to crowd a small dance floor. A man appeared suddenly out of the shadows and surveyed her from head to foot before he said. "Well, what do you want?" Joan said uneasily, "I came about an ad that was in the paper for a secretary." He seemed relieved. "Okay. Down the hall. Second door to the left The boss will talk to you." Joan, following instructions, opened the door into a large modernistic mod-ernistic office. A powerful built, blond man stood before a filing cab- p. m.?" "What does it matter? A job's a job." Sybil stared at her in disapproval. "You're not serious?" Joan jumped up and ran into the bedroom. "I certainly ami I'm going go-ing to apply for that job right now!" Sybil followed her. "You'll do nothing of the kind, Joan Leland! We're not that hard up. Even if we were, I don't want you to work nights." Joan laughed recklessly as she ran a comb through the raven-black hair and touched a powder puff to the white skin. "You take everything every-thing too seriously, Sybl After all, there's no harm in applying for the job. If something is wrong with it, I can tell when I go down there." Sybil was unconvinced. "I don't like the sound of it," she insisted stubbornly. "What's the address?" "North Beach," Sybil said carelessly. care-lessly. "North Beach? That's certainly not a very good place for a girl to be working nights!" "How do I look?" Joan asked. Exasperated, Sybil stared at her. Joan looked sophisticated, too sophisticated, so-phisticated, Sybil thought, because at heart Joan was just a kid. She didn't know anything about life, or, about men. "Be careful, Joan! And come right home afterwards, will you?" "Of course! Stop treating me like a child! I'll call you after the interview, inter-view, if that will make you feel any better." "I still don't understand why Mulford Mul-ford fired you without notice or reason," rea-son," Sybil pondered. "And why did he leave town, if that girl is telling tell-ing the truth? By the way, what is she doing at the office at night?" "I don't know. Of course I worked at night once in a while. It's strange that he should start a new girl al night But an importing shop is a can't understand it I'm sure there isn't anything wrong with my work. There's something very strange about this, Syb! Mr. Mulford seemed positively anxious to get rid of me." "But, Joan," Sybil interrupted, "I lost my job today too!" The girls stared at each other in alarm. "The beauty shop is closing," Sybil said, breaking the silence. "This is my last week." "Well, of course we'll find something some-thing else," Joan aid, but her voice carried no conviction. "After all, we're both experienced. I'm sure Mr. Mulford will give me a reference." refer-ence." "Jobs aren't easy to get . . ." "Don't be a pessimist, darling!" Joan advised. She tied a colored apron around her waist and went into the kitchen. "There's nothing to worry about tonight We've got enough money in our account to last almost a month." Sybil's blue eyes were troubled. "Joan, that's just it! I checked that O money out yesterday to pay for a new coat. I thought we didn't need It and I was going to pay it back a little each month. There's not a cent left in that account" Night had fallen with a suddenness sudden-ness which filled the apartment with a strange new silence. "How much money have you in your purse?" Joan inquired, frowning. frown-ing. "Two or three dollars. And you?' "I have this check from Mr. Mulford. Mul-ford. That will pay the rent for another month." Sybil shivered and drew her quilted quilt-ed satin robe closer. "What are we going to do then?" "You couldn't return the coat?" "No. It's been altered." "I'll start looking tomorrow," Joan said resolutely. "Mr. Mulford's usually at the store until late. I'm going to telephone him and tell him '( inet. He turned quickly as she entered. en-tered. "I came about the job advertised in the paper," she faltered. He flashed her a quick smile from steel-blue eyes. "Won't you sit down?" His voice was tinged with an accent. Joan saw a hard face, almost grim, yet amusement hovered hov-ered in his eyes. His lips seemed not to move as he spoke. The hand that indicated a chair was beautifully beauti-fully shaped, the fingers tapering taper-ing and artistic. There was something some-thing strangely magnetic about this man. "I am Karl Miller. And you?" "Joan Leland is my name. Until today I have been employed by an importing firm owned by Arthur Mulford." "Ah?" He opened a large silver box and took out a cigarette. "I was in the importing business myself, my-self, but the war stopped that. I am now opening this night club. I need a secretary to take care of the office work." "I'm sure you'll find me satisfactory, satisfac-tory, Mr. Miller." "You have references, of course?" She hesitated. "No, Mr. Mulford was called out of town and I have been unable to reach him." "If you are able to do the work, that will be sufficient. I want you to be here at night but you won't j have to come until early afternoon. Two hours off for dinner. The sal- j ary is fifty dollars a week." j Her eyes widened. "Fifty dollars j a week?" His expression did not change as he said, "Considering the unusual hours, I feel that a smaller salary would not be fair recompense." "I understand. When do you want me to start?" "Two o'clock tomorrow. Joan rose to go. (TO BE COST1MED) |