"You got another guess coming your way," said Dan, coldly, "the young lady you're talking about's not on the stage. She's working up here in Cemetery Street. I happen to be waiting for her now." Bean whistled. "Well, the drinks are on me. That girl at the Gaiety is a dead ringer to her. Same classy way of handling herself, same--" Something in Dan's eyes made him stop. "I got to be going," he said. "So long." Dan waited patiently for ten minutes; then he looked at his watch. What could be keeping Nance? He whistled to Growler, who was making life miserable for a cat in a neighboring yard, and strolled past Miss Bobinet's door; then he returned to the corner. Bean's words had fallen into his dream like a pebble into a tranquil pool. What business had Bean to be remembering the way Nance walked or talked. Restlessly, Dan paced up and down the narrow sidewalk. When he looked at his watch again, it was five-thirty. Only thirty more minutes in which to transact the most important business of his life! With a gesture of impatience he strode up to Miss Bobinet's door and rang the bell. A wrinkled old woman, with one hand behind her ear, opened the door grudgingly. "Nance Molloy?" she quavered in answer to his query. "What you want with her?" "I'd like to speak with her a minute," said Dan. "Are you her brother?" "No." "Insurance man?" "No." The old woman peered at him curiously. "Who be you?" she asked. "My name's Lewis." "Morris?" "No, Lewis!" shouted Dan, with a restraining hand on Growler, who was sniffing at the strange musty odors that issued from the half-open door. "Well, she ain't here," said the old woman. "Took herself off last Wednesday, without a word to anybody." "Last Wednesday!" said Dan, incredulously. "Didn't she send any word?" "Sent for her money and said she wouldn't be back. You dog, you!" This to Growler who had insinuated his head inside the door with the fixed determination to run down that queer smell if possible.