Balcom went to the door and opened it.  There, bobbing her head and smirking mechanically, stood that loathsome creature, Old Meg.  In these rich surroundings her frightful squalor was all the more accentuated.  Those at the table drew back in utter disgust as she tottered into the room.  As she passed Zita she paused.

“I held you in these arms when you were but a wee baby,” she muttered, hideously.

Zita drew away from her and looked at Balcom questioningly.  Balcom now leaned far over the table and spoke impressively.

“Twenty years ago Brent was secretly married to his secretary.  There was a child.  But Brent craved money, and power that the money would bring.  Saddled with a wife and child, he was barred from his ambition, which was to marry some rich woman.  So he made a hell on earth for his wife until, in desperation, she consented to an annulment of their marriage.”

The room was breathlessly quiet as Balcom continued.

“Years passed and then his conscience smote him.  He made his own child his secretary.”  Then he turned to Zita, pointing at her.  “There she sits,” he exclaimed, “and half of the voting power of this company belongs to her—­Zita Brent, Zita Dane Brent.”

Instantly Locke was on his feet.

“Balcom, you lie!” he rasped.

“Lie or no lie,” retorted Balcom, “as vice-president of the company I refuse to permit any action to be taken until Zita’s position is legally established.”

Locke turned to Eva.  “Miss Brent,” he asked, with a bow, “may I speak for you?”

Eva nodded.

“Then, Balcom,” remarked Locke, “we shall carry the proposed motion over your head.  You cannot produce sufficient proofs to retard our action.”

“My protests,” sneered Balcom, as he strode toward the door, “will be entered in the minutes of this meeting.”

Zita, in the excitement, had already disappeared.  Paul bowed to Eva and Locke mockingly and followed his father.

Old Meg squeezed herself against the walls of the library and was trying to get out of the room without being detected.  But Locke was too alert for her and caught her by the shoulder, detaining her.  She tried to fight him off with her feeble arms.  Again and again he tried to question her.

“The story is true, I tell you, gospel true,” Meg repeated over and over again.

Locke let her go and she started toward the door.  Then the habit of a lifetime overcame her and she turned.

“If you would know the truth, my pretty,” she croaked at Eva, “come to Old Meg.”  Then she hobbled out.

Eva was naturally perturbed, although Locke tried to comfort her.  Yet she could not forget what had happened between him and Zita just before the meeting, and, woman-like, she now held aloof.

“Eva,” pleaded Locke, “won’t you trust me?  Things are in such a critical state that we must not have any misunderstanding.”