He had paused only momentarily. Now he proceeded on his way, passing the woman in the shadow with only half the width of the sidewalk between her and him. He had recognized her. She was the woman who had stood in the theatre that night talking to Thornburg--who had visited Thornburg in his office. Could she be Miss Barry? Baron wondered. A maid let him into the house and drew open a sliding door, revealing the lighted but empty drawing-room. She took his card and disappeared. He sat for a time, counting the heavy minutes and listening intently for sounds which did not reach him. Then the manager and his wife entered the room, both bending upon him strangely expectant glances. Baron arose. “I’ve taken the liberty--” he began, but Thornburg instantly swept all formalities aside. “That’s all right,” he said. “Keep your seat.” Then, obviously, they waited for something which they expected he had come to say. But he was listening for the sound of Bonnie May’s voice. He seemed almost absent-minded to the man and woman who were intently regarding him. Then Thornburg, plainly afraid of offending his guest by a too impulsive or impatient word, fell back upon commonplaces. He concluded that he must wait to hear what Baron had come to say. “You’ve heard about Baggot’s good luck?” he asked. “I think not,” replied Baron, not at all cordially. “His play. They’re getting ready to put it on in Chicago. His people have a theatre there that’s not engaged just now. There’s to be an elegant production--first-class people and everything. Baggot’s gone on to look after the rehearsals. We ought to have it here by the first of the year--or earlier, if a number two company is organized.” “I hadn’t heard,” said Baron. “I haven’t seen Baggot lately.” With intention he spoke listlessly. Thornburg wasn’t coming to the point, and he didn’t intend to be played like a fish. An uncomfortable silence fell again, and again Baron found himself listening intently. And then he could bear the suspense no longer. He leaned toward Thornburg with animation. “Look here, Thornburg,” he said, “I don’t believe you’re playing fair!” “You might explain that,” responded the manager curtly. “You know what the agreement was. I don’t believe she’d stay away like this unless she’d been restrained.” Thornburg’s only response was a perplexed frown. It was Mrs. Thornburg who first took in the situation. She arose, painfully agitated, and faced Baron. “Do you mean that she isn’t at your house?” she demanded. Her voice trailed away to a whisper, for already she read the answer in his eyes. Baron sank back in his chair. “She hasn’t been for weeks,” he replied. Thornburg sprang to his feet so energetically that the caller followed his example. “I thought it was you who wasn’t playing fair,” he said. And then he stared, amazed at the change in Baron’s manner.