The younger man was rushing from the room. There had come to him unbidden the picture of the two actors who had snubbed him in front of his house--a recollection of their studied aloofness, their cold, skilful avoidance of an encounter with him. They had taken her! But at the door he paused. “But I telephoned to you,” he said, remembering. “You told me she was here.” “She was here the day you telephoned. She went away the next day.” Baron frowned. “She went away--where?” “She went in the machine. Of course we supposed----” Thornburg hurried to the telephone and was speaking to his chauffeur, in a moment. “Oliver? Come to the house a moment, Oliver--and hurry.” He replaced the receiver and hurried back to meet the chauffeur. The soldierly appearing young chauffeur was standing at attention before them in a moment. “We want to know if you can remember where you took Bonnie May the last time she left the house.” “Perfectly, sir. She asked me to stop at the Palace Theatre. She said she was expecting to meet a friend there. And she told me I was not to wait--that she wouldn’t need the car again that afternoon.” * * * * * Fifteen minutes later Baron was ringing the bell of the house next to the mansion. He couldn’t recall the two actors’ names, but he described them. He wished to see them on urgent business. But they had paid their bill and gone away. The woman who met Baron at the door was sure they had said something about finishing their engagement at the Folly and about leaving the city. As Baron turned away from the door it seemed to him that the street had suddenly gone empty--that the whole world was a haunted wilderness. CHAPTER XXX “THE BREAK OF DAY” “Mr. Victor Baron, please.” An usher with an absurdly severe uniform and a frankly cherubic countenance had pushed aside the hangings and stood looking into the Baron box in the Barrymore Theatre. It was the night of the first performance of Baggot’s play, “The Break of Day,” in Thornburg’s theatre, and the Barons were all present--by special and urgent invitation. Baron had been studying the aisles full of people, eagerly seeking their seats, and listening to the continuous murmur which arose all over the house. But when he heard his name called he arose and slipped out into the shadows. “Mr. Thornburg sends his compliments and asks if you’ll be good enough to visit him in his office for a few minutes.” Thus the cherubic usher. The Barrymore office was off from the lobby, but it commanded a view not only of the street but also of the procession of men and women who passed the ticket-office.