Queen looked up. Hagstrom stood by his elbow, eyes gleaming. “I found this pushed way back under Field’s seat when I picked up the papers. It was against the back wall.” He held up a dark-green bottle, of the kind used by ginger-ale manufacturers. A gaudy label read, “Paley’s Extra Dry Ginger Ale.” The bottle was half-empty. “Well, Hagstrom, you’ve got something up your sleeve. Out with it!” the Inspector said curtly. “Yes, sir! When I found this bottle under the dead man’s seat, I knew that he had probably used it to-night. There was no matinee to-day and the cleaning-women go over the place every twenty-four hours. It wouldn’t have been there unless this man, or somebody connected with him, had used it and put it there to-night. I thought, ‘Maybe this is a clue,’ so I dug up the refreshment boy who had this section of the theatre and I asked him to sell me a bottle of ginger ale. He said”—Hagstrom smiled—“he said they don’t sell ginger ale in this theatre!” “You used your head that time, Hagstrom,” said the Inspector approvingly. “Get hold of the boy and bring him here.” As Hagstrom left, a stout little man in slightly disarranged evening clothes bustled up, a policeman doggedly holding his arm. The Inspector sighed. “Are you in charge of this affair, sir?” stormed the little man, drawing himself up to five feet two inches of perspiring flesh. “I am,” said Queen gravely. “Then I want you to know,” burst out the newcomer—“here, you, let go of my arm, do you hear?—I want you to know, sir....” “Detach yourself from the gentleman’s arm, officer,” said the Inspector, with deepening gravity. “... that I consider this entire affair the most vicious outrage! I have been sitting here with my wife and daughter since the interruption to the play for almost an hour, and your officers refuse to allow us even to stand up. It’s a damnable outrage, sir! Do you think you can keep this entire audience waiting at your leisure? I’ve been watching you—don’t think I haven’t. You’ve been dawdling around while we sat and suffered. I want you to know, sir—I want you to know!—that unless you permit my party to leave at once, I shall get in touch with my very good friend District Attorney Sampson and lodge a personal complaint against you!” Inspector Queen gazed distastefully into the empurpled face of the stout little man. He sighed and said with a note of sternness, “My dear man, has it occurred to you that at this moment, while you stand beefing about a little thing like being detained an hour or so, a person who has committed murder may be in this very audience—perhaps sitting next to your wife and daughter? He is just as anxious as you are to get away. If you wish to make a complaint to the District Attorney, your very good friend, you may do so after you leave this theatre. Meanwhile, I’ll trouble you to return to your seat and be patient until you are permitted to go.... I hope I make myself clear.”