Queen drummed on the desk. Morgan shifted uneasily. He was evidently still laboring under the effects of his astonishment. “What time did you get to the theatre to-night, Morgan?” asked the Inspector. Morgan seemed surprised at the question. “Why—about a quarter after eight,” he replied. “Let me see your ticket-stub, please,” said Queen. The lawyer handed it over after fumbling for it in several pockets. Queen took it, extracted from his own pocket the three stubs he had secreted there, and lowered his hands below the level of the desk. He looked up in a moment, his eyes expressionless as he returned the four bits of pasteboard to his own pocket. “So you were sitting in M2, Center, were you? Pretty good seat, Morgan,” he remarked. “Just what made you come to see ‘Gunplay’ to-night, anyway?” “Why, it _is_ a rum sort of show, isn’t it, Inspector?” Morgan appeared embarrassed. “I don’t know that I would ever have thought of coming—I’m not a theatre-going man, you know—except that the Roman management was kind enough to send me a complimentary ticket for this evening’s performance.” “Is that a fact?” exclaimed Queen ingenuously. “Quite nice of them, I’d say. When did you receive the ticket?” “Why, I got the ticket and the letter Saturday morning, Inspector, at my office.” “Oh, you got a letter, too, eh? You don’t happen to have it around you, do you?” “I’m—pretty—sure I—have,” grunted Morgan, as he began to search his pockets. “Yes! Here it is.” He offered the Inspector a small, rectangular sheet of white paper, deckle-edged and of crushed bond stock. Queen handled it gingerly as he held it up to the light. Through the few typewritten lines on it a watermark was distinctly visible. His lips puckered, and he laid the sheet cautiously on the desk-blotter. As Morgan watched, he opened the top drawer of Panzer’s desk and rummaged about until he found a piece of note-paper. It was large, square, and heavily glazed with an ornate theatre-insignia engraved on an upper quarter. Queen put the two pieces of paper side by side, thought a moment, then sighed and picked up the sheet which Morgan had handed him. He read it through slowly. The Management of the Roman Theatre cordially invites the attendance of Mr. Benjamin Morgan at the Monday evening, September twenty-fourth performance of Gunplay. As a leading figure of the New York bar, Mr. Morgan’s opinion of the play as a social and legal document is earnestly solicited. This, however, is by no means obligatory; and the Management wishes further to assure Mr. Morgan that the acceptance of its invitation entails no obligation whatsoever. (Signed) The Roman Theatre Per: S. The “S” was a barely decipherable ink-scrawl. Queen looked up, smiling. “Mighty nice of the Theatre, Mr. Morgan. I just wonder now—” Still smiling, he signalled to Johnson, who had been sitting in a corner chair, silent spectator to the interview.