“No, sir—don’t seem to be,” said the policeman. “Had a doctor from the audience look him over the very first thing—thinks it’s poison.” The Sergeant grunted. “Who’s this?” he rapped, indicating the trembling figure of Pusak by Doyle’s side. “Chap who found the body,” returned Doyle. “He hasn’t moved from the spot since.” “Good enough.” The detective turned toward a compact group huddled a few feet behind them and asked, generally: “Who’s the manager here?” Panzer stepped forward. “I’m Velie, detective-sergeant from headquarters,” said the plainclothes man abruptly. “Haven’t you done anything to keep this yelling pack of idiots quiet?” “I’ve done my best, Sergeant,” mumbled the manager, wringing his hands. “But they all seem incensed at the way this officer”—he indicated Doyle apologetically—“has been storming at them. I don’t know how I can reasonably expect them to keep sitting in their seats as if nothing had happened.” “Well, we’ll take care of that,” snapped Velie. He gave a rapid order to a uniformed man nearby. “Now”—he turned back to Doyle—“how about the doors, the exits? Done anything yet in that direction?” “Sure thing, Sergeant,” grinned the policeman. “I had Mr. Panzer here station ushers at every door. They’ve been there all night, anyway. But I just wanted to make sure.” “You were right. Nobody try to get out?” “I think I can vouch for that, Sergeant,” put in Panzer meekly. “The action of the play necessitates having ushers posted near every exit, for atmosphere. This is a crook-play, with a good deal of shooting and screaming and that sort of thing going on, and the presence of guards around the doors heightens the general effect of mystery. I can very easily find out for you if....” “We’ll attend to that ourselves,” said Velie. “Doyle, who’d you send for?” “Inspector Queen,” answered Doyle. “I had the publicity man, Neilson, ’phone him at headquarters.” Velie allowed a smile to crease his wintry face. “Thought of everything, didn’t you? Now how about the body? Has it been touched at all since this fellow found it?” The cowering man held in Doyle’s hard grasp broke out, half-crying. “I—I only found him, officer—honest to God, I—” “All right, all right,” said Velie coldly. “You’ll keep, won’t you? What are you blubbering about? Well, Doyle?” “Not a finger was laid on the body since I came over,” replied Doyle, with a trace of pride in his voice. “Except, of course, for a Dr. Stuttgard. I got him out of the audience to make sure the man was dead. He was, and nobody else came near.”