employees of the company were directly in front of him. He occupied himself, during the interval before the lights were switched off, by noting carefully all the women in the last five rows, but none of them attracted his attention particularly.
Soon the performance began. Ruth Morton, the American Beauty, stepped upon the screen, a compelling vision of loveliness. The audience followed eagerly her exciting adventures. Duvall himself, in spite of his preoccupation, found himself absorbed by the charm and action of the picture. In the opening scenes, Ruth appeared as a poor girl, trying to make her way in the great world of the theater. Her struggles, her sacrifices, her failures, were almost vividly portrayed. When at last, through her marvelous beauty, she succeeded in gaining recognition from the critics, he applauded with those about him, completely under the spell of her charm.
The final scene of the first part was a view of Ruth, as Catherine Grey, the American Beauty, refusing the dubious offers made her by a rich New Yorker. With a faith in herself by no means assumed, Catherine turned from his picture of luxury, of steam yachts, of country estates, of unlimited bank accounts, with a smile which showed her confidence in her beauty, her talents. The audience watched her, spellbound, as she stood on the sidewalk before the theater, looking with grave inscrutable eyes after the costly limousine that had just driven away without her. In no picture heretofore taken of the girl had she appeared to better advantage. Every line of her lovely face seemed responsive to the effect of the lighting, the situation, the motives which inspired her. The audience drew itself back, ready to register its approval of the first part of the film with hearty applause.
And then, something happened. The lovely, smiling face of Ruth Morton faded from view, and in its place came with brutal suddenness the picture of a huge grinning death's head, amazing in its suggestion of horror. The audience sat in utter silence, wondering what could be the reason for this sudden apparition. Beneath the death's head appeared in huge letters the words:
"We know the woman."
The thing had come as a complete surprise. The tension throughout the house was electric. Duvall saw his wife rise from her seat on the aisle, a few rows away, and come quickly to the rear of the house. She, at least, realized that a moment of importance had arrived.
And then, without warning, the stillness of the theater was broken by a sudden cry, and a woman, sitting some three rows from where Duvall stood, but on the opposite side of the aisle from the seats indicated by Mr. Baker, rose to her feet, turned, and fell heavily against the back of the seat ahead of her. At almost the same moment the lights were switched on, and a voice was heard calling. "Is there a doctor in the house?"
It was Mr. Baker, and Duvall, who stood beside him, sprang forward at once.
"I am a doctor," he cried, and approached the place where the woman sat.
"Can I be of any assistance?" Grace asked. "I am a trained nurse."
"Yes," replied Duvall, quickly. "Get this woman to the ladies' dressing room at once."
Grace sprang forward. There was a bustle among the audience, a sudden rising, a craning of necks. Everyone seemed to be looking for the person who had uttered the sudden cry. Before anyone fully realized what had happened, Grace had reached the fainting woman's side, and supporting her with an arm about her waist, was leading her toward the rear of the house.
Almost at once the theater became dark, and the second part of the picture was flashed upon the screen. The lovely face of Ruth Morton once more greeted the eyes of the audience. The interruption had occupied less than a minute.
Duvall, standing at the entrance to the aisle, watched Grace come quickly toward him, supporting the fainting woman. The latter seemed completely overcome, and Grace was obliged almost to carry her.
"Keep her there, in the dressing room, until I return," he said in a quick whisper. Then with a nod to Mr. Baker, who stood close by, he went toward the street. A taxicab drew up, awaiting a fare. Duvall signaled to it.
"Wait for me here," he said to the driver. "I will be back in a moment." Then he re-entered the theater.
Grace meanwhile had conducted the woman to the ladies' dressing room, and placed her upon a couch.
She was a frail, insignificant looking creature, not at all the sort of person one would associate with threats of the kind that Ruth Morton had been receiving. She appeared to be greatly ashamed of her sudden collapse, and kept insisting, in spite of her evident weakness, that she was quite all right again, and wanted to go.
Grace, however, paid no attention to her protestations, but insisted that she remain quiet.
"The doctor will be here in a moment," she said. "You must wait quietly until he comes."
The woman, however, seemed determined to leave, and it was with a sigh of relief that Grace welcomed her husband's return.
Duvall came in hurriedly, as he did so taking a small brown bottle from his waistcoat pocket.
"Get me a glass of water," he said to the negro maid. The woman brought one at once.
Duvall took a tablet from the bottle and placed it in the glass, stirring the water about with the end of a lead pencil until the tablet was dissolved. Then he went up to the woman on the couch.
"Here—drink this," he commanded. "It will quiet your nerves."
The woman took the glass, her eyes regarding him with suspicion. Duvall, in his character of a physician, turned aside, and addressed a few words to Grace, fearing that in some way the woman might succeed in recognizing him. As a result both failed to see that instead of drinking the medicine he had given to her, the girl swiftly poured it upon the floor. When he again turned to her, she held the empty glass in her hand.
Duvall took it from her, and handed it to Grace.
"Come with me, Miss," he said. "I will see you home."
"It isn't necessary," the woman gasped. "I—I'm all right now."
"You have had a severe shock, Miss. As a physician, it is my duty to see that you arrive home safely. I have already engaged a cab. Come." He took the woman by the arm and in spite of her objections, raised her from the couch.
Suddenly her opposition vanished. She seemed glad of his assistance, and, leaning on his arm, made her way from the theater. Duvall was in high spirits. He fully believed that his plan had succeeded, that the woman at his side was the one who was responsible for the threats which had made Ruth Morton so wretched for the past few days.
The cab that he had engaged stood waiting at the door. He put the woman inside. She seemed very weak and helpless. "Drive to the —— Hotel," Duvall called to the chauffeur, then entered the cab and seated himself at the woman's side. He saw Mr. Baker standing upon the sidewalk, and nodded. Then they drove off.
The woman lay, in a state of apparent collapse, in one corner of the cab, her face pale, her eyes closed. Duvall, inspecting her as well as he could in the faint light, began to feel grave doubts as to whether after all he had been successful in his ruse. She seemed so little the type of woman he would have associated with the brutal campaign of terror that had been directed against Miss Morton.
She clutched a black leather satchel tightly in one hand. Duvall regarded it with interest. If he was right in his assumption that this was the woman he sought, it seemed highly probable that within that satchel lay evidence that might convict her. At least there would be some clue as to who she was, and that in itself
