How could he ever drag this woman off the stage after such a reception? Both she and her manager would fight to thwart his attempt to close her career. Yet he had money--much money. Marks could be bought out, he felt sure; but other managers would realize that in Miss Mont there was a fortune. It was while these bitter feelings rankled in his mind that she came back to bow her acknowledgment for the applause that followed her encore. Her gaze swept the side of the house where Ryder sat as she went off again and once out of direct range of the footlights, she saw his face. He saw her start, pale, and then flush underneath the grease-paint that stained her cheeks. She knew him. Ryder rose from his seat and walked uncertainly up the aisle. Several people departed after her act, and his doing so was not conspicuous. At the door he stopped a man and asked him where the stage exit of the theater was located. The man grinned at him and said: "Round on the other street." Then to his friend he added quite loud enough for Ryder to hear: "A hard-hit Johnny I should say. The Mont has certainly made good with him." Ryder flushed. He could have turned and struck the man down. It was his wife who the fellow had intimated would be an attraction for "stage-door Jonnies." He found the stage entrance and the usual Cerberus on guard. His entrance was at first denied. For a moment the maddened man was tempted to rush in past the doorkeeper and demand to see his wife of the first person he met. Better judgment prevailed. It was dark enough in the entry for the doorkeeper to miss his passion-distorted face. "Ain't nobody allowed inside, Mister," the man said. "I've a friend, Miss Mont----" "Let's have your card and I'll get it back to her," said the man whose hand itched for a quarter. "I haven't a card; but I wish to see Miss Mont. I want to surprise her, you know." The crisp banknote dropped into the man's hand. "She will be surprised to see me." "Whew!" whistled the guard, seeing the figure on the bill. "I guess you are all right. I ain't looking at you, anyhow, boss," and he turned his back deliberately upon Ryder. The latter darted past him and up the half-darkened passage to those regions back of the scenes which so bewilder the ordinary visitor. But Ryder well knew how to gain his goal. He seized the first stagehand he met, crushed another banknote into his hand and whispered: "Show me Miss Mont's dressing-room. I am an old friend--from the other side." "Number Three. Here this way!" said the stagehand. He, too, was moved by the size of the tip he received. He led Ryder to the door of the dressing-room. Without knocking, the injured husband opened the door and stepped swiftly into the box-like little apartment. The woman was sitting before the table and glass, removing the last traces of her makeup.