uninterrupted while they moved about the place in quiet consultation.
Others had preceded them; had examined the plain little desk and
found nothing; had paced off the distances; had looked with longing
and inquiring eyes at the elevator cage and the open archway leading
to the little staircase and the musicians' gallery. But this was
nothing to the old detective. The locale was what he wanted, and
he got it. Whether he got anything else it would be impossible to
say from his manner as he finally sank into a chair by one of the
openings, and looked down on the lobby below. It was full of
people coming and going on all sorts of business, and presently he
drew back, and, leaning on Sweetwater's arm, asked him a few
questions.

"Who were the first to rush in here after the Parrishes gave the
alarm?"

"One or two of the musicians from the end of the hall. They had
just finished their programme and were preparing to leave the
gallery. Naturally they reached her first."

"Good! their names?"

"Mark Sowerby and Claus Hennerberg. Honest Germans--men who have
played here for years."

"And who followed them? Who came next on the scene?"

"Some people from the lobby. They heard the disturbance and
rushed up pell-mell. But not one of these touched her. Later her
father came."