Perkins, seated in his office,
threw the morning paper aside.
``It's no use,'' he said, turning to the
office boy, ``I don't believe they ever
will find him, dead or alive. Whoever
put up the job on Diotti was a past
grand master at that sort of thing. The
silent assassin that lurks in the shadow
of the midnight moon is an explosion of
dynamite compared to the party that
made way with Diotti. You ask, why
should they kill him? My boy, you
don't know the world. They were
jealous of his enormous hit, of our
dazzling success. Jealousy did it.''

The ``they'' of Perkins comprised
rival managers, rival artists, newspaper
critics and everybody at large
who would not concede that the
attractions managed by Perkins were the
``greatest on earth.''

``We'll never see his like again--
come in!'' this last in answer to a knock.

Diotti appeared at the open door.
Perkins jumped like one shot from a
catapult, and rushing toward the silent
figure in the doorway exclaimed: ``Bless