The story was already in the papers. John Ryder could not doubt it. His friends were laughing at his predicament. And how coolly, and with what utter heartlessness, had the game been played upon him. Doubtless the woman had been under contract with Marks when the ship left the other side. Ryder had foolishly showed her that he was in love with her. Between them, Marks and the girl had hatched this plot. And who was White? The answer was easy. He was some poor actor whom Marks had hired to impersonate a wronged lover or husband, whichever might best fit the needs of the case. His following them to the Pinewood Inn had been for the purpose of creating a scene that would separate the newly wedded couple. Mrs. Judson's illness had precluded the necessity for that scene. Fate had played into the hands of the heartless jade; and when the game had gone far enough for her purpose, she had run away and returned to New York to fill this, her initial engagement before an American public. He even understood now about those pretty frocks she had worn. Of course they were a part of a stage wardrobe Miss Mont already possessed. These thoughts all but turned John Ryder's brain. He found himself after a time back at the entrance to the theater. But he could not have told how he got there. One of the ticket speculators assailed him. "Best seat in the house, boss. Right down front on the side. Two bucks. See the whole show." "When does Miss--Miss Mont come on?" "Nine-thirty." "Is she----" "She's a corker! She had her try-out before the manager and a crowd of newspaper sharps this morning, and she's a scream. They'll put out the S.R.O. signs on her for the rest of the week--you take it from me." Ryder bought the seat and passed in at the orchestra entrance of the theater. CHAPTER XXI IN THE PART OF THE INJURED HUSBAND The blaze of lights, the music, the rustle of the audience, all affected Ryder but slightly. He walked to his seat as one might walk in a dream. There seemed little tangible to him in his surroundings, or in the people he brushed past. When he had seated himself the usher leaned over and whispered to him to remove his hat. He sat in his overcoat, staring straight before him with glassy, unwinking eyes. A painted curtain was dropped, and between it and the footlights two men appeared who went through some sort of act. Ryder never knew what it was; nor did he appreciate the several turns that followed this act. Ryder found a program in his hand, and he began to look through it for his wife's name. Then he remembered that it could not be there, for Marks must have arranged for her appearance here on Saturday. She could not be a feature of the regular Sunday bill. Ryder suddenly felt a great thankfulness for this fact. Undoubtedly the only places where Miss Mont's name appeared were on the billboard and in the newspaper advertisements.