THE FINANCIER 
heard of him. He's mixed up in some city embezzlement 
case over there. I suppose the reason you didn't go to 
our Philadelphia office is because you didn't want our 
local men over there to know anything about it. Isn't 
that it?" 
"That's the man, and that's the reason," said Butler, 
answering both questions at once. " I don't care to have 
anything of this known in Philadelphy. That's why I'm 
here. This man has a house on Girard Avenue—Nineteen- 
thirty-seven. You can find that out, too, when you get 
over there." 
"Yes," agreed Mr. Martinson. 
"Well, it's him that I want to know about—him—and 
a certain woman, or girl, rather." The old man paused 
and winced at this necessity of introducing Aileen into 
the case. He could scarcely think of it—he was so fond 
of her. He had been so proud of Aileen. A dark, smol- 
dering rage burned in his heart against Cowperwood. 
To think he should have given him so much trouble and 
so much shame! 
"A relative of yours—possibly, I suppose," remarked 
Martinson, tactfully. "You needn't tell me any more— 
just give me a description if you wish. We may be able 
to work from that." He saw quite clearly what a fine 
old citizen in his way he was dealing with here, and also 
that the man was greatly troubled. Butler's heavy, 
meditative face showed it. "You can be quite frank with 
me, Mr. Butler," he added; " I think I understand. We 
only want such information as we must have to help you, 
nothing more." 
"Yes," said the old man, dourly. " She is a relative. 
She's my daughter, in fact. You look to me like a sinsible, 
honest man. I'm her father, and I wouldn't do anything 
for the world to harm her. It's tryin' to save her I am. 
It's him I want." He suddenly closed one big fist force- 
fully. 
Mr. Martinson, who had two daughters of his own, 
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