“It was just ten o’clock, sir. Elinor looked at her wrist-watch when I asked her if it was time to go in for my orangeade refills.” “You didn’t hear anything going on in the theatre?” “No, sir. We were too busy talking, I guess.... I didn’t know anything had happened inside until we walked out of the alley and I met Johnny Chase, one of the ushers, standing there, like he was on guard. He told me there was an accident inside and Mr. Panzer had sent him to stand outside the left alley.” “I see....” Ellery removed his pince-nez in some agitation and flourished it before the boy’s nose. “Carefully now, Jess. Did anyone go in or out of the alley all the time you were there with Elinor?” The boy’s answer was immediate and emphatic. “No, sir. Not a soul.” “Right, my lad.” The Inspector gave the boy a spanking slap on the back and sent him off grinning. Queen looked around sharply, spied Panzer, who had made his announcement on the stage with ineffectual results, and beckoned with an imperative finger. “Mr. Panzer,” he said abruptly, “I want some information about the time-schedule of the play.... At what time does the curtain go up on the second act?” “The second act begins at 9:15 sharp and ends at 10:05 sharp,” said Panzer instantly. “Was to-night’s performance run according to this schedule?” “Certainly. We must be on the dot because of cues, lights, and so on,” responded the manager. The Inspector muttered some calculations to himself. “That makes it 9:25 the boy saw Field alive,” he mused. “He was found dead at....” He swung about and called for Officer Doyle. The man came running. “Doyle,” asked the Inspector, “Doyle, do you remember exactly at what time this fellow Pusak approached you with his story of the murder?” The policeman scratched his head. “Why, I don’t remember exactly, Inspector,” he said. “All I do know is that the second act was almost over when it happened.” “Not definite enough, Doyle,” said Queen irritably. “Where are the actors now?” “Got ’em herded right over there back of the center section, sir,” said Doyle. “We didn’t know what to do with ’em except that.” “Get one of them for me!” snapped the Inspector. Doyle ran off. Queen beckoned to Detective Piggott, who was standing a few feet to the rear between a man and a woman. “Got the doorman there, Piggott?” asked Queen. Piggott nodded and a tall, corpulent old man, cap trembling in his hand, uniform shrunken on his flabby body, stumbled forward. “Are you the man who stands outside the theatre—the regular doorman?” asked the Inspector. “Yes, sir,” the doorman answered, twisting the cap in his hands. “Very well. Now think hard. Did anyone—anyone, mind you—leave the theatre by the front entrance during the second act?” The Inspector was leaning forward, like a small greyhound. The man took a moment before replying. Then he said slowly, but with conviction, “No, sir. Nobody went out of the theatre. Nobody, I mean, but the orangeade boy.”