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King Kerry to disturb conditions in the City of London itself.
    The office in Glasshouse Street occupied the ground floor of a modern block. The floors above were let out to an insurance company, a firm of solicitors, and an estate agent – all firms of undoubted integrity, and all, moreover, largely associated with the working of the Trust.
    The girl had read something of this office in the newspapers. A flippant evening journal had christened it ‘The Jewel House’, because it bore some resemblance to the famous store of Britain’s treasures in the Tower of London. In her desire to be punctual she had arrived a quarter of an hour before the appointed time, and she had leisure to inspect the remarkable facade. A small brass plate against the entrance gave the seeker after information the news that this was the registered office of the ‘L Financial Corporation, Limited’, for a small company with a ridiculous capital had been registered as a matter of expediency. The company owned the building in which it was situated and little more, but it served as a cover for everyday purposes. It supplied an office and a repository for the documents of larger concerns, and, by the very publicity it afforded, effectively veiled the private transactions of its select shareholders.
    The windows of the office reached to the ground. They were made of three huge sheets of plate-glass set roughly bow-shaped between solid brass pillars. Before them were three screens of large-meshed steel netting, held in their place by pillars of gun-metal.
    It was this which inspired the reference to ‘The Jewel House’, for here the resemblance ended. Yet the interior of the front office was remarkable. It was bare of furnishing. A blood-red carpet covered the floor, and in the centre, supported by a square pedestal of granite which ran up from the basement, was a big safe. Apparently, it rested on the floor, but no ordinary floor could support the weight of metal, and the central pedestal had been put in whilst the building was in course of erection.
    Nor was this the only remarkable feature of the room.
    The walls were completely covered by lengths of mirror, two of which were set at an angle in the far corners of the room. Add six arc lamps depending upon independent supplies, and hung so that their rays fell upon the safe at every aspect and burning day and night, and you have some idea of this unique department which attracted all London and became one of the sights of the metropolis.
    Day or night, the passer-by had a full view of the safe, and no man entered that room save King Kerry and the armed guard which watched the cleaners at their work every morning.
    Even in the clear light of day it was an impressive sight, and Elsie entered the building a little awe-stricken. She was taken to the back office by a uniformed commissionaire and found the grey-haired young man alone in his office, writing. He jumped up as she came in and pulled forward a luxurious chair.
    ‘Sit down, Miss Marion,’ he said. ‘I shall be calling you Elsie soon, because’ – he smiled at the little flush that came to her cheek – ‘in America, why, I guess we’re more friendly to our business associates than you are in this country.’
    He pushed a button and the commissionaire came in.
    ‘Are your two comrades outside?’ he asked.
    ‘Yes, sir,’ said the man.
    ‘Tell them to come in.’
    A few seconds later the man returned, bringing two other commissionaires. They stood stiffly by the door.
    ‘This is Miss Marion,’ said King Kerry, and the girl rose.
    The men scrutinized her seriously.
    ‘Do you mind standing over by the wall?’ asked Kerry.
    She obediently walked across the room as Kerry switched on all the lights.
    ‘You will know Miss Marion now,’ said Kerry, ‘in whatever light she appears. She is to have access to this office day or night. That is all.’
    The men saluted and withdrew as Kerry extinguished the electric bulbs.
    ‘I’m sorry to