This was not very encouraging, but Mr.Gryce did not despair.

He had seen with what ease he could look from the broad, rear window near which he stood, into the rooms where rows upon rows of girls were already at work.

Only a narrow court divided him from these girls, and as the three stories of which the factory was composed were all brilliantly lighted, he should have little difficulty in picking out from among them the middle-aged woman who held in her closed and mysterious hand the key to that formidable affair threatening the honor of one of New York's most prominent men.
Before doing this, Mr.Gryce stopped to locate himself and recall if possible the entire plan of the building.

He was in what was called the outer office.

The inner one, used only by the president of the concern, opened on his left.