certain quiet distinction of bearing, and a young and pretty girl,
still flushed and excited, who went up the street a short distance
and got into a small and shabby car. Bassett noted, carefully, the
license number of the car.

Then, still curious and extremely interested, he walked briskly
around to the stage entrance, nodded to the doorkeeper, and went in.

Gregory was not in sight, but the stage manager was there, directing
the striking of the last set.

"I'm waiting for Gregory," Bassett said. "Hasn't fainted, has he?"

"What d'you mean, fainted?" inquired the stage manager, with a touch
of hostility.

"I was with him when he thought he recognized somebody. You know
who. You can tell him I got his automobile number."

The stage manager's hostility faded, and he fell into the trap.
"You know about it, then?"

"I was with him when he saw him. Unfortunately I couldn't help him
out."

"It's just possible it's a chance resemblance. I'm darned if I
know. Look at the facts! He's supposed to be dead. Ten years
dead. His money's been split up a dozen ways from the ace. Then
--I knew him, you know--I don't think even he would have the
courage to come here and sit through a performance. Although,"