“I see.” The Inspector squinted at his finger-nails in an appearance of disappointment. “So that doesn’t help. We’ve been over the place from top to bottom, as you know, and we can’t find a trace of it....” The door opened and Ellery, a trifle begrimed but wearing a cheerful smile, entered. The Inspector glanced at him in eager curiosity. Panzer rose hesitantly with the evident intention of leaving father and son alone. A flash of intelligence shot between the Queens. “It’s all right, Panzer—don’t go,” said the Inspector peremptorily. “We’ve no secrets from you. Sit down, man!” Panzer sat down. “Don’t you think, dad,” remarked Ellery, perching on the edge of the desk and reaching for his pince-nez, “that this would be an opportune moment to inform Mr. Panzer of to-night’s opening? You remember we decided while he was gone that the theatre might be thrown open to the public this evening and a regular performance given....” “How could I have forgotten—!” said the Inspector without blinking, although this was the first time he had heard about the mythical decision. “I think we’re about ready, Panzer, to lift the ban on the Roman. We find that we can do nothing further here, so there is no reason for depriving you of your patronage any longer. You may run a performance to-night—in fact, we are most anxious to see a show put on, aren’t we, Ellery?” “‘Anxious’ is hardly the word,” said Ellery, lighting a cigarette. “I should say we insist upon it.” “Exactly,” murmured the Inspector severely. “We insist upon it, Panzer.” The manager had bobbed out of his chair, his face shining. “That’s simply splendid, gentlemen!” he cried. “I’ll telephone Mr. Davis immediately to let him know the good news. Of course”—his face fell—“it’s terribly late to expect any sort of response from the public for to-night’s performance. Such short notice....” “You needn’t worry about that, Panzer,” retorted the Inspector. “I’ve caused your shut-down and I’ll see that the theatre is compensated for it to-night. I’ll get the newspaper boys on the wire and ask them to ballyhoo the opening in the next edition. It will mean a lot of unexpected publicity for you and undoubtedly the free advertising, combined with the normal curiosity of the public, will give you a sell-out.” “That’s sporting of you, Inspector,” said Panzer, rubbing his hands. “Is there anything else I can do for you at the moment?” “There’s one item you’ve forgotten, dad,” interposed Ellery. He turned to the swart little manager. “Will you see that LL32 and LL30 Left are not sold to-night? The Inspector and I would enjoy seeing this evening’s performance. We’ve not really had that pleasure yet, you know. And naturally we wish to preserve a stately incognito, Panzer—dislike the adulation of the crowd and that sort of thing. You’ll keep it under cover, of course.”