"Yes. Where did you get the package you delivered to Miss Morton a little while ago?" "From Mr. Curry, sir." "Good." Mr. Baker rose and went toward the door. "Come with me," he said to Duvall, "and you too, Jim." The three of them went along the corridor, arriving presently at the main entrance to the building. An elderly man sat at a high desk behind a wire grating. "Curry," Mr. Baker burst out, "this boy tells me you gave him a package for Miss Morton a while ago." "Yes, sir." "Where did you get it?" The man looked up in surprise. "Why, sir, someone left it here--on my desk. I don't know who, sir. Right after lunch, it was. You know people deliver things here all the time. I didn't take any particular notice how it got here. It was just pushed through the window, I guess, same as usual. There was a lot of mail in the rack, after lunch, and everybody asking for theirs as they came in. In fact, I don't remember seeing the package handed in at all. Just found it lying on my desk, along with a lot of letters and things. Why, sir? Is anything wrong?" Baker turned to Duvall in disgust. "No system here at all," he grumbled. "The trail is lost, of course. Half a hundred people come through here every hour. That's all, Jim," he said, turning to the boy, who disappeared at once. Accompanied by Duvall, Baker returned to the private office. "Well?" Mr. Baker asked. "What next?" "How many typewriters have you in your offices, Mr. Baker? Machines, I mean, not operators." "About thirty, I guess. Or maybe thirty-five. Why?" "I want you to get me a sample of the writing of each machine, without letting anyone know about it. Put each one on a separate sheet of paper, with a note added, stating whose machine it is--that is, in whose office." Mr. Baker nodded. "I'll do it to-night," he said. "Attend to it myself. I see your idea. You think this thing is the work of someone inside the studio." "It may be, I don't know. But I mean to find out." "All right. Anything else?" "Yes. Tell me something about this new film you've just gotten out. 'An American Beauty,' I think it is called." Mr. Baker's manner became enthusiastic. "Greatest film Ruth Morton ever did," he exclaimed. "A knockout. It is to be shown at the Grand, on Broadway, to-morrow night. First time on the screen. You'd better look it over." "I probably shall. Now, tell me this. If I wanted to add anything to that picture, put in an insert, I believe you call it, could I do so, if I told you about it to-morrow?" "Well--it might be done," Mr. Baker replied, dubiously. "But we wouldn't want to change the film any. It's perfect as it is."