Unfortunate for those who awaited him was the mood of Drysdale, the director, on that particular morning. Perhaps he had not slept well. His breakfast may have been overdone, or cold. Men with hard heads, narrow hearts and few smiles seldom sleep well, and rarely do they enjoy their breakfast.

“Where is she?” he demanded as he saw his watch point to the hour of nine. “Where is this young gypsy dancing queen?”

Until this moment he had been told nothing. Hoping against hope that some miracle would bring Petite Jeanne back to them in time for the rehearsal, Angelo, Florence and Dan Baker had put off the inevitable.

Seeing that the zero hour had arrived, Angelo climbed out of the trenches. “She’s gone,” he said simply. “She won’t be here.”
176

“Gone?” The gray steel face took on the color of glowing metal. “Won’t be here? What do you mean?”

“Been kidnaped.”

“Kidnaped! How? When? Why wasn’t I notified?”

“No reason.” Angelo was still calm. “All’s been done that could be done. The police were here last night. They looked the place over. No clues. She’s gone. That’s all.”

“Police? Here? Last night? This place? Why here last night?” Suspicion had been added to the anger in this man’s hard heart.

Seeing that he had given the thing away, Angelo made a clean breast of the whole affair.

The face of the director, as he learned that Petite Jeanne had been practicing her old dances at night in his theatre with the intention of using those dances on the opening night, was a terrible thing to see.

“That!” he exploded, as Angelo’s story was finished. “That is the end!”
177

“Yes,” replied Angelo coldly, “no doubt of it. And well ended, too.”

Beckoning to his companions, he walked from the room, down the stairs and out into the autumn morning.

They walked, the three of them, Florence, Angelo and Dan Baker, one full city block. Then Dan Baker spoke. What he said was:

“Coffee. Coffee and waffles, with pure maple syrup. Right in here.”

Thus spoke Dan Baker, the old trouper. He had lost, perhaps forever, his one chance for fame and fortune. But he had not lost his heart of gold.

* * * * * * * *

After leaving the theatre, Merry had gone at once to a nearby store and purchased a spool of stout linen thread.

Once outside the store, she attached the end of the thread to the silk cord on the falcon’s leg. The next thing she did was to shake the falcon from her wrist.
178

Flapping lazy wings, he soared aloft. Scarcely had he cleared the low building before him, however, than he shot straight away toward the west.

Astonished at the pull he gave upon her thread, and fearful lest he break it, Merry played out the line grudgingly until she had him stopped and t............