The announcement, made by Mr. Baker, that Miss Marcia Ford, the film cutter, had reported for work, filled Duvall with astonishment. He had expected nothing of the sort, so convinced was he that the girl in question was the one they were looking for, the one who had been persecuting Ruth Morton, the motion picture star, with her threats.

He rose from his seat, in Mr. Baker\'s office at the studio, and turned toward the door. "If Miss Ford has reported for work," he said, "I had better take a look at her at once. If she is the woman who escaped from the cab, last night, I shall have no difficulty in recognizing her. But I am afraid it is out of the question. Knowing that both you and I had seen her, when she fainted at the theater, she would not dare to put in an appearance here to-day. The thing is utterly incomprehensible.

"Still, she might suppose that we would not suspect her, that she could carry on her work in the studio without anyone being the wiser. I seldom go into that part of the building, myself, and she would certainly not expect to see you. In fact, it may not have occurred to her that we suspect one of our employees, in spite of the stolen photograph or the fake telegram."

"Suppose we take a look at her at once. That will settle the whole question," Duvall urged.

"Very well." Mr. Baker closed his desk and the two men crossed the corridor and made their way into that part of the studio building devoted to the developing and finishing of the films.

Mr. Emmett, the head of the department, was seated at his desk when they arrived.

"So the Ford girl is here," Baker said at once.

"Yes, sir. She came in about ten minutes ago, explaining her lateness by saying that she was ill, when she got up this morning, and was not sure that she could get here at all. Shall I send for her?"

"No," Duvall interposed quickly. "Pardon me, Mr. Baker," he turned to the latter, "but if we send for this girl, it will arouse her suspicions. Of course I do not think she is the woman we are looking for, but she may be in league with her. Would it not be better to have Mr. Emmett and yourself conduct me through the room in which she works, as though I were a visitor to the studio? You can readily point her out to me as we pass, and that will give me ample opportunity to recognize her, in case I have ever seen her before."

"I think that a very good idea," returned Baker. He said a few words to Mr. Emmett, and the three men set out to go through the rooms in which the film cutting and pasting were done.

At one of the tables a girl of about twenty was at work. As they passed, Mr. Emmett turned his head and nodded. The girl did not look up, and the three men continued their way through the room.

When they again reached the hall, Mr. Baker turned to Duvall.

"Well?" he questioned.

"It is not the woman," the detective said. "I did not suppose it would be. There is some slight resemblance, of course. The color of the eyes and hair is the same, and the features are somewhat alike. However, I am very much afraid, Mr. Baker, that I have wasted both your time and mine. And yet, I cannot get over my original impression, that the person responsible for these threats is connected, in some way, with your company."

Baker, puzzled and disappointed as well, led the way back to his office. Duvall, however, when they reached it, did not enter.

"I shall not remain any longer, at present," he said. "I have an idea that I can accomplish more in town. Perhaps I may discover something there—some clue, that will enable us to make progress. I have a plan that may result in something."

"What is it?" Mr. Baker asked.

"I prefer not to say yet. If anything develops, I will let you know. Good day."

The taxicab in which he had made the trip down was still waiting for him. An hour later he had reached his hotel.

The disguise of the night before he had discarded. The woman in the cab had penetrated it. His presence, and that of Mrs. Morton, at the uptown hotel, was known. There seemed to be no further purpose, for the present, in attempting to preserve his incognito. He went to his room at once, and knocked on the door which separated it from the apartment of Mrs. Morton and her daughter. The door was opened by the maid, who ushered him into the little parlor.

"I will tell Mrs. Morton that you are here," the girl said, and went into the next room.

Mrs. Morton came out presently, her face pale and drawn. Duvall knew at once that she had been up all night, watching, no doubt, beside her daughter.

"How is Miss Ruth?" he asked.

"She is better. She had a fairly good night\'s rest, and her fever has left her."

"I am glad to hear that. I hope there have been no further threats."

"No. Not yet. But I never know at what moment something may happen. It is terrible—terrible, living under a shadow like this."

As she spoke, the telephone bell rang.

"You answer it, Mr. Duvall," she said, turning quickly to the door by which she had entered, and closing it. "I do not think I can stand anything more at present."

Duvall took down the receiver. Someone was asking for Mr. John Bradley.

"This is Mr. Bradley," he said, then suddenly recognized his wife\'s voice. "Is this you, Richard?" she asked.

"Yes. What is it?"

"If you have time, to-day, come down and see me. I have something I want to tell you. Something important."

"Very well. I will be there in half an hour. Good-by." He hung up the receiver.

"Was it anything—anything more, Mr. Duvall?" asked Mrs. Morton.

"No. Nothing of that sort. Well, I must go along now. I merely looked in to ask after your daughter. There is one thing I want you to do, however, and that is, let me have a key to your apartment on 57th Street."

Mrs. Morton took the key from her purse, and handed it to him.

"Haven\'t you any good news, yet?" she asked, somewhat pathetically.

"Not yet—at least nothing very definite. I know the woman who is annoying your daughter by sight, however, and I think I can safely assure you that she will be under arrest before very long. Matters of this sort take time, Mrs. Morton. Remember that I have had charge of the case but three days, and these people we are looking for are shrewd, leaving few clues. But I feel that I shall have something definite to report very soon now."

"I hope so, I\'m sure. Good day."

"Good day." Duvall left the room, and taking a taxi, drove down to see Grace.

He found her sitting at the writing desk, in the reception room of their suite, apparently busy over a letter. She pushed the sheet of paper aside, when her husband entered, and threw her arms about his neck.

"Richard!" she exclaimed, "I\'m so glad to see you. It has been ages. What\'s the matter with you? You look dreadfully blue."

Duvall threw himself into a chair.

"I\'m a bit disgusted with myself," he said.

"What about? I may ask you now, may I not? Is it about that wretched Morton case? I must talk to you about that. May I? You see, you rather got me into it, last night, and I got myself into it, too, by coming up to your hotel to see you, and now you\'ve got to tell me how things turned out, after you left the theater, or I shall not know just what to do."

"About what?"

"I\'ll tell you that, after I hear about last night."

Duvall laughed, although a trifle grimly.

"I\'m not particularly proud of last night," he said.

"Wasn\'t the woman who fainted the one you were after?" asked Grace.
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