A quarter to three
The financier was thinking , but his thoughts concerned neither the luckless gas president he had just pitilessly crushed , nor the detective who had come to make his report . He was thinking of the book `` The American Octopus , '' and its bold author whom he was to meet in a very few minutes . He glanced at the clock . A quarter to three . She would be here in fifteen minutes if she were punctual , but women seldom are , he reflected . What kind of a woman could she be , this Shirley Green , to dare cross swords with a man whose power was felt in two hemispheres ? No ordinary woman , that was certain .