Mrs. Morton received him in fairly good spirits. Her daughter, she said, had had a restful night, in spite of her terrible experience. When Ruth rose from the breakfast table to greet him, he was gratified to find that she showed no great traces of the fright of the evening before.
"I\'m feeling almost myself again, Mr. Duvall," she said. "I\'ve made up my mind not to let these people frighten me again."
"Nothing further occurred last night, of course," Duvall asked.
"Nothing," replied Mrs. Morton. "I could almost believe the whole thing a horrible dream." They did not touch on the question of going to a hotel, during the short interval that elapsed before they set out for the studio. Duvall was anxious to see Mr. Baker. He hoped sincerely that by means of the photograph which had been in the company\'s files, some trace of the persons responsible for the threats might be obtained.
The trip to the studio was made most uneventfully, and Ruth started in with her work in very good spirits. Duvall, leaving the girl with her mother, sought out Mr. Baker in the latter\'s private office.
"Hello!" Baker cried, grasping the detective\'s hand warmly. "Anything new?"
"Not a thing. How about the photograph we were going to trace?"
Mr. Baker frowned.
"It\'s a curious thing," he replied. "Most curious. The picture in question was, I find, taken from the files by Mr. Moore, our president, and placed on his desk. He always admired it, and kept it there, along with a number of others, to show to persons calling upon him. Now, it seems, it has disappeared. There is not the slightest trace of it." "But," Duvall objected, "who could have taken it?"
"A dozen people. Half a hundred, I guess. You see, Mr. Moore\'s office is a big room, just beyond here." He rose, and led the detective through a short corridor. "Here it is," he went on, throwing open the door. "This is where Mr. Moore receives his callers. It is his reception room, and no private papers are kept here. Those are all in the smaller office adjoining. This room is open at any time. After Mr. Moore leaves in the evening, and he often leaves early, anyone might come in here. And when the offices are closed, at night, I suppose any employee of the company might look in, if he cared to do so, without anyone objecting. You see, this is a sort of public room. The inner office is always kept locked, but there has never seemed to be any good reason for locking this one."
"Still, although you cannot tell who has taken the picture, it seems clear enough that it must have been removed by some one employed in the studio."
"Even that is by no means certain. So many people come here every day. All sorts of visitors, writers, actors, and the like. After business hours I don\'t doubt any number of persons enter this room, to look at the pictures of our great successes that hang on its walls. And then there are the caretakers, the scrub-women, and their friends. I find that they, many of them, bring in outsiders, after working hours, to look at the studio, and the famous offices. Of course it should not be, and it will not be, in the future, but up to now we have rather welcomed people from outside. It seemed good advertising."
Duvall followed his companion back to his office.
"Then this clue, like all the others in this singular case," he remarked, "seems to end in a blind alley."
"It seems so," assented Mr. Baker, gloomily. "What was your plan about the new film we\'re going to show to-night?"
Duvall was about to speak, but before he could do so, they heard a slight commotion in the hall outside. Then someone rapped violently on the door.
Both he and Baker sprang to their feet.
"Come in," the latter cried.
The door was flung open, and Mr. Edwards, the director, who was making the picture upon which Ruth Morton was working, strode hastily into the room. "Mr. Baker!" he exclaimed, then paused upon seeing Duvall.
"What is it?" Baker replied.
"Will you look here a minute, please?"
Baker went up to him, his face showing the greatest uneasiness.
"What\'s the matter?" he asked. "Anything wrong?"
"Yes. Miss Morton was going through the scene in the first part, where she gets the telegram, you know, and when she opened the message, and read it, she fainted."
"Fainted? What was in the telegram to make her faint?"
"Well, it ought to have read, \'Will call for you to-night, with marriage license—Jimmy.\' That was the prop message we had prepared. But somebody must have substituted another one for it. This is what she read." He handed Baker a yellow slip of paper. "I can\'t make anything out of it."
Baker snatched the telegram from his hand with a growl of rage, and read it hastily. Then he passed it over to Duvall.
"What do you think of that?" he asked. Duvall gazed at the telegram with a feeling of helpless anger.
"Twenty-six days more," it read. "When you appear in your new picture at the Grand to-night, it will be your last. I shall be there." The grinning death\'s head seal was appended in lieu of a signature, as before.
A feeling of resentment swept over the detective. It seemed that these people acted as they saw fit, with supreme indifference to the fact that he was on their trail. Never before had he felt his skill so flouted, his ability made so light of. And yet, as usual, the message had apparently been delivered in such a way as to make tracing it impossible.
"Still at it, it seems," Mr. Baker remarked. "This thing has got to stop, and at once. I don\'t propose to let anybody make a monkey of me."
Duvall turned to the director, Mr. Edwards.
"Who prepared the original telegram?" he asked quickly.
Mr. Edwards looked at the detective in surprise, evidently wondering what this stranger had to do with the matter.
"Answer, Edwards. It\'s all right," snapped Mr. Baker.
"I prepared the property telegram," the director answered.
"When?"
"Last night. I knew it would be needed to-day."
"What did you do with it?"
"I left it on my desk. This morning I took it into the studio, and when the moment arrived, I gave it to the actor who took it to Miss Morton."
"Was he out of your sight, after you gave him the telegram?"
"No. He took it and walked right on the scene."
"Then he couldn\'t have substituted another for it?"
"No. It would have been impossible, unless he used sleight of hand."
"Before you gave the man the telegram where was it?"
"In my coat pocket."
"No chance, I suppose, of anyone having taken it out and substituting another."
"None."
"Then it is clear that the substitution must have been effected between the time you left your office last night, and your arrival here this morning."
"Yes."
"Was this possible?"
"Undoubtedly. I left my office last night about six. It is never locked. The caretakers, the women who clean the offices, were in there later, and from seven to nine this morning it would also have been a simple matter for anyone to enter and make the change."
Duvall turned to Mr. Baker.
"It\'s the same story," he said. "Someone who works in the building is responsible for this thing, or else is able to bribe one or more of your employees to act for them. But we won\'t get very far looking for the guilty person, with several hundred people to watch and no clues whatever to go on. Suppose we go back to your office, and I will tell you what I had in mind about this evening."
"Is Miss Morton able to go on with the scene?" Baker asked, as Edwards started away.
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