He seized a stick of grease paint and feverishly resumed the task of altering his appearance to that of the character he was portraying at the matinee that day. Mr. Hardy, smiling at the actor’s casual informality, withdrew from the dressing room and made his way out to the street.

“A blind alley!” he muttered. “I was sure I could trace the fellow by means of the wig. Oh, well!” He shrugged his shoulders. “I still have the hat and coat. And if the worst comes to the worst I can try to trace the chap through the stuff he stole from Morley⁠—for it was probably the same man. But it looks like a big job.”

It was a big job.