For upwards of an hour there was carnival on the dismantling stage, mingled with the hurried toil of scene-shifters and the clean-up gang. Then the impromptu party began to disperse, Eyre going away with the dancer, after coming to bid Banneker good-night, with a look of veiled curiosity and interest which its object could not interpret. Banneker was gathered into the _corps intime_ of Miss Raleigh's supper party, including the author of the play, an elderly first-nighter, two or three dramatic critics, Marrineal, who had drifted in, late, and half a dozen of the company. The men outnumbered the women, as is usual in such affairs, and Banneker found himself seated between the playwright and a handsome, silent girl who played with distinction the part of an elderly woman. There was wine in profusion, but he noticed that the player-folk drank sparingly. Condition, he correctly surmised, was part of their stock in trade. As it should be part of his also. Late in the supper's course, there was a shifting of seats, and he was landed next to the star. "I suppose you're bored stiff with talking about the shooting," she said, at once. "I am, rather. Wouldn't you be?" "I? Publicity is the breath of life to us," she laughed. "You deal in it, so you don't care for it." "That's rather shrewd in you. I'm not sure that the logic is sound." "Anyway, I'm not going to bore you with your fame. But I want you to do something for me." "It is done," he said solemnly. "How prettily you pay compliments! There is to be a police investigation, isn't there?" "Probably." "Could you get me in?" "Yes, indeed!" "Then I want to come when you're on the stand." "Great goodness! Why?" "Why, if you want a reason," she answered mischievously, "say that I want to bring good luck to your _premiere_, as you brought it to mine." "I'll probably make a sorry showing. Perhaps you would give me some training." She answered in kind, and the acquaintanceship was progressing most favorably when a messenger of the theater manager's office staff appeared with early editions of the morning papers. Instantly every other interest was submerged. "Give me The Ledger," demanded Betty. "I want to see what Gurney says." "Something pleasant surely," said Banneker. "He told me that the play was an assured success." As she read, Betty's vivacious face sparkled. Presently her expression changed. She uttered a little cry of disgust and rage. "What's the matter?" inquired the author. "Gurney is up to his smartnesses again," she replied. "Listen. Isn't this enraging!" She read: