replied gravely. "All the threats so far received set thirty days as the period within which the attack is to be made. Only three days have passed, so far. And in addition, Miss Morton is being very carefully guarded."
"She certainly shall be while she is here at the studio," Mr. Baker exclaimed. "But, man, something ought to be done—at once."
"The first thing to be done is to find out how that photograph got here—who brought it—and when. It was not delivered by mail. Look here." He handed the angry official the torn manilla envelope, which Ruth, in her excitement, had dropped upon the floor.
Mr. Baker regarded it for a moment in angry silence, then pressed an electric button upon his desk. A young woman responded.
"Send Jim here," he said. The girl nodded and withdrew.
A few moments later a freckled-faced boy of twelve or fourteen came in. Duvall saw that it was the same boy who had brought in the photograph.
"You sent for me, sir?" he asked.
"Yes. Where did you get the package you delivered to Miss Morton a little while ago?"
"From Mr. Curry, sir."
"Good." Mr. Baker rose and went toward the door. "Come with me," he said to Duvall, "and you too, Jim." The three of them went along the corridor, arriving presently at the main entrance to the building. An elderly man sat at a high desk behind a wire grating.
"Curry," Mr. Baker burst out, "this boy tells me you gave him a package for Miss Morton a while ago."
"Yes, sir."
"Where did you get it?"
The man looked up in surprise.
"Why, sir, someone left it here—on my desk. I don't know who, sir. Right after lunch, it was. You know people deliver things here all the time. I didn't take any particular notice how it got here. It was just pushed through the window, I guess, same as usual. There was a lot of mail in the rack, after lunch, and everybody asking for theirs as they came in. In fact, I don't remember seeing the package handed in at all. Just found it lying on my desk, along with a lot of letters and things. Why, sir? Is anything wrong?"
Baker turned to Duvall in disgust.
"No system here at all," he grumbled. "The trail is lost, of course. Half a hundred people come through here every hour. That's all, Jim," he said, turning to the boy, who disappeared at once. Accompanied by Duvall, Baker returned to the private office.
"Well?" Mr. Baker asked. "What next?"
"How many typewriters have you in your offices, Mr. Baker? Machines, I mean, not operators."
"About thirty, I guess. Or maybe thirty-five. Why?"
"I want you to get me a sample of the writing of each machine, without letting anyone know about it. Put each one on a separate sheet of paper, with a note added, stating whose machine it is—that is, in whose office."
Mr. Baker nodded. "I'll do it to-night," he said. "Attend to it myself. I see your idea. You think this thing is the work of someone inside the studio."
"It may be, I don't know. But I mean to find out."
"All right. Anything else?"
"Yes. Tell me something about this new film you've just gotten out. 'An American Beauty,' I think it is called."
Mr. Baker's manner became enthusiastic.
"Greatest film Ruth Morton ever did," he exclaimed. "A knockout. It is to be shown at the Grand, on Broadway, to-morrow night. First time on the screen. You'd better look it over."
"I probably shall. Now, tell me this. If I wanted to add anything to that picture, put in an insert, I believe you call it, could I do so, if I told you about it to-morrow?"
"Well—it might be done," Mr. Baker replied, dubiously. "But we wouldn't want to change the film any. It's perfect as it is."
"I don't doubt that. I have no idea of improving it in any way. But it is just possible that I may have a scheme that will help us to catch these people who are threatening Miss Morton. I'll tell you more about it, to-morrow. Meanwhile, don't forget about the typewriter samples. I'll see you in the morning." He rose. "And for the present, I think it would be best for you to keep what I have told you to yourself."
Mr. Baker nodded.
"I'll do that," he said, putting out his hand. "For the present, at least. But don't forget, Mr. Duvall, that this is a very vital matter to our company, and we can't afford to take any chances."
"I realize that fully. You can depend on me. I intend to save Miss Morton from any harm, not primarily on your company's account, but on her own. Good day."
"Good day, and the best of luck."
Duvall went toward the entrance, and in the corridor met Mrs. Morton. She was about to pass him, but he detained her.
"Twenty-seven days more," he whispered to her. She turned sharply, a look of fear upon her face, but as she recognized Duvall, her expression changed.
"Oh—it's you," she exclaimed. "I've just come down in the car, to take Ruth home. Is everything all right?"
"Yes, so far. At least no harm has come to your daughter. But I am sorry to say that she has received another warning."
"Here?" Mrs. Morton started, and glanced about in alarm.
"Yes."
"What was it?"
"A photograph." Duvall explained the contents of the mysterious package, but did not show the hideous picture to the girl's mother.
"And you haven't found out anything yet?"
"Nothing definite. There has scarcely been time. But we will. You may be sure of that."
"Have you seen Ruth?" Mrs. Morton asked.
"Yes. Mr. Baker introduced me to her. She thinks I am a newspaper man, who wants to write a special article about her for one of the Sunday papers. She suggested that I call at your house some evening, or possibly Sunday. If you are going back to town soon, I think it might be a good idea for me to drive back with you."
"By all means. I shall feel much safer. Suppose you wait for us at the entrance. I shall not be long."
Duvall nodded, and strolled toward the street, his mind busy with the events of the day. He stood for quite a while near the door, watching the people who came in and out. Many of them were women. He wondered if among them was the woman who was responsible for the threats of the past three days. It seemed improbable, and yet, there were indications that it was within the studio, rather than outside it, that the guilty person was to be found.
Mrs. Morton came out presently, accompanied by Ruth. The girl looked pale and troubled. Duvall went up to her.
"I have met your mother, Miss Morton," he said, "and she has very kindly suggested that I ride back to the city with you."
The girl nodded, without particular
