“Look at it! Look at it!” whispered Bonnie May. Her hands were clasped in a worshipful ecstasy. Her eyes seemed to retain the picture after Mrs. Baron had disappeared. Then she turned with swift intensity to Baron. “Oh, I do hope she’ll care for me a little!” she exclaimed. “She’s so--so legitimate!” CHAPTER XIII A MYSTERIOUS SEARCH BEGINS From a sky that had been rapidly clearing, a bolt fell. Somewhere in the city, in what mysterious spot Baron could not surmise, a search for Bonnie May began. Like a wireless message seeking persistently for a receiving-centre, the quest of the unclaimed child launched itself. The afternoon delivery of letters at the mansion had been made, and Bonnie May met the carrier at the door. A moment later she entered the library, where Baron sat, and laid before him a single letter. He examined postmark and inscription without being in the least enlightened. With a pair of scissors he cut the end from the envelope and drew forth the single sheet it contained. His glance dropped to the bottom of the sheet, and then he sat up suddenly erect, and uttered an unintelligible exclamation. For the first time in his life he had received an anonymous communication. The thing had the merit of brevity: “_Do not give up the child, Bonnie May, to any one who does not present a legal claim on her._” A disguised handwriting. This was obvious from certain exaggerations and a lack of symmetry. He replaced the missive in its envelope, and then he took it out and read it again. The thing excited him. Who could be seeking the child, after days of silence--even of hiding? And who could have known of his possession of her? Again, why make a mystery of the matter? He threw the puzzling words aside. People did not pay any attention to anonymous communications, he reflected. Nevertheless, he could not calm himself. He started nervously at the sound of the telephone-bell down in the dining-room. Responding, he heard Thornburg’s voice at the other end of the wire. “Is this Baron? Say, can you come down to my office right away?” The manager’s voice betrayed excitement, Baron thought. Or was he himself in an abnormal frame of mind? “Yes, certainly,” he replied. He added: “Anything wrong?” “Why--no; no, I think not. I’ll tell you when you get here.” Something was wrong, however--Baron could see it the moment he entered the manager’s office, half an hour later. He had to wait a little while for an audience. Thornburg was talking to an actress--or to a woman who had the appearance of an actress. She sat with her back toward the office door and did not turn. But Thornburg, upon Baron’s entrance, made a very obvious effort to bring the interview with this earlier caller to an end. He seemed vastly uncomfortable.