"It was just the same at the theatre. He'd had a sort of dressing-room there, which he'd used as an office, with a desk in it, and pigeon-holes and a nest of drawers. It was all left ship-shape enough. Files of play-bills, of accounts receipted and not, ledgers, and all that; but not a paper of the kind I looked for. I made a pretty close search, too. I took every piece of furniture bit by bit, and turned over every scrap of stuff with writing on it or without. I forced every lock, and ransacked every hiding-place, but I got nothing anywhere for my pains. The manager was with me all the time, and he didn't half like it, I can tell you. No more did I, although I wouldn't for worlds show that I was vexed. I tried to keep him up, saying it'd come all right--that patience in these things never failed in the long run; and I got him to talk about the young chap, to see if I could come upon his habits that way. 'Who were his friends, now?' I asked. 'He'd none in particular--not in the company, at least, or out of it.' 'Ah! who might this be?' I said quietly, as I drew out of the blotting-paper a photograph of a young lady: a fair-haired little bit of a thing, with a pretty, rather modest, face, which I felt I should know again. "The _carte de visite_ had the photographer's name on it, and his address, that of a good street. This was my line, of course. I made up my mind to follow on to London at once. Then one of my men came in to say that Burbidge had been seen taking a ticket--to London? No; only to Shrivelsby--a long way short of it. It was some game, I felt certain. He might have gone to London, and paid excess fare; but I wired to Shrivelsby, and also to town. No one like him had been seen at Shrivelsby; he hadn't got out there, that was clear. Only one person did, and it wasn't Burbidge; at least, the person did not answer to his description. It was only a man in a working-suit--a mechanic on the look-out for work. Nor had he been seen at Euston; but that was a big place, and he might easily have been missed. So I started for London at once, taking the photograph and another of Burbidge, whom I had never seen in my life. It is not difficult to hunt out who owns to a _carte de visite_, particularly when the portrait's that of a theatrical. I got upon the track of the lady fast enough, directly I went into the photographer's place. There was a likeness of her in his album, in the very same dress, and her name to it, Miss Jessie Junniper. I soon found out more too. Before night I knew that she was playing at the Royal Roscius, and that she lived in a street of little villas down Hammersmith way. I took lodgings myself in the house just opposite, and set up a close watch. In the morning, early, Miss Jessie came out, and I followed her to the Underground Railway. She took a ticket for the Temple Station. So did I, and I tracked her down to the theatre. Rehearsal, of course. Three hours passed before she came out again. Then