DIAMOND BULLET MURDER CASE - GILLIAN HAZELTINE MYSTERY

The whiteness of the girl's face was so startling that Gillian Hazeltine almost dropped his newspaper. The express elevator was slowing for the floor where his law offices were located. The girl's eyes, as black as two spots of night, were staring at him as if some shutter behind them had been tripped, letting him see her naked, terrified soul.

Gillian thought she was ill, perhaps on the verge of fainting. Then he recognized her as the girl who had been following him. It had been going on for days. He had first seen her, in his waiting room; white and tense and terrified, sitting stiffly in a chair with her hands clasped and pressed between her knees in a fold of her dress.

It was a cheap blue dress and showed signs of wear. Her small black, hat looked cheap. So did her shoes. And Gillian had noticed that her silk stockings were darned and that a run in the back of one of them had been painstakingly studied.

The mysterious, frightened unknown had sat in his outer office for two hours. Gillian's secretary, questioning her, had reported that the girl said she wanted to see no one, but merely, wanted to rest. She wasn't feeling well. At the end of two hours, the girl went away.

Gillian had seen her again, later the same day he had almost collided with her when he had left the building for the night. The white-faced girl was standing on the sidewalk, just around the turn of the wall. She had flattened herself against the wall and stared up at him with trembling lips.

Two evenings later, Gillian saw a white face at one of his dining room windows as he sat dining alone. Vee, his wife, was visiting some friends in Chicago. Glancing up, he had seen the white face, the terrified eyes, of some one staring in at him. But the afternoon light had faded. It was dusk. He could not be sure that it had been this girl.

It was altogether very disturbing. Gillian had countless enemies. Plots had been laid against his life. Unscrupulous women had tried to blackmail him. But he could not believe that this girl was bent upon such an enterprise.

She did not look like the blackmailing kind. 'She looked to him like a country girl-her hat, dress, stockings, shoes-all carried out that impression. He concluded that she was in some kind of difficulty but for certain reasons, was reluctant to approach him.

As the elevator stopped and the heavy bronze doors silently shot open, Gillian thrust the Greenfield Times under one arm and, on the point of leaving the car, turned quickly to the girl.

"You were in my office the other morning," he said. "Did you have something to say to me"

The girl looked up at him with terror and dismay. She shrank back against the side of the elevator. He had evidently taken her so by surprise that she was speechless. A small, workroughened hand flew to her trembling mouth. The fingers opened and moved down her chin to her throat. She gulped, choked, shrank away. Her eyes were glittering with fright.

Gillian sniffed faintly. 'He was more than ever convinced that she had some problem to lay before him, but was afraid to talk about it.

He walked out into the corridor. From the tail of his eye lie saw the girl's hand dart out in a fluttering gesture-to detain him. Then the doors clanged.

Gillian proceeded thoughtfully through his outer offices and on through his law library into his private office. He was disturbed by the girl's obvious terror. And he was curious to know why she was following him.

His brisk and efficient secretary, Miss Walsh, Came in with an open notebook and a

determined air. It was her private opinion that, without her, her famous employer would

never get a stroke of work done, but would devote all of his time to gazing dreamily

out that window, pondering heaven only knew what attractive but unproductive visions.

"Come back in an hour," Gillian said, without turning from the view. "I want to do some

“Kelly can wait. 'Miss Walsh," Gillian turned to look at her, "do you remember that

little derelict who sat in the waiting room for two hours the other morning, looking as if

"That girl has been on my trail for days. I'll swear she was staring through the window

at me the other night at dinner. I bump into her on the street. I find her staring at me

from the sidewalk when I get out of my car just now she rode up in the elevator with

me, staring as if I were something in a zoo. I asked her if she had something on her

mind. She said she hadn't. What do you make of that girl, Miss Walsh?"