“I was very much in love with him. But I never had any illusions as to his real character. He was rather a blackguard, in more ways than one. It wasn’t only that he treated women badly—or, anyway, lightly. He was crooked. I am very sure of that. He gambled, and the men in the company wouldn’t play with him; they said he didn’t play straight. There was one elderly man with a daughter, who was his particular crony; they were both supposed to be shady in a lot of ways—I mean the two men. So far as I know, the girl was all right. Evidently they stuck together, too; perhaps they had to, knowing too much about each other! But I saw the older man at the theater two or three times during rehearsals.” “What did he look like?” demanded Barrison, struck with a sudden idea. “Oh, very respectable looking, like so many crooks! Elderly, as I say, and thin, and——” “You surely don’t mean Mortimer’s old valet, Wrenn?” She looked at him in a startled fashion. “Why, yes, that’s the name. I don’t believe I should have remembered it if you hadn’t reminded me. The man was Wrenn, I am sure.” Jim’s pulse was pounding. Light at last, if only a glimmer! He was really finding out something about Mortimer’s past, really coming upon things that might have led up, directly or indirectly, to his murder. “Do you remember anything about the daughter?” he asked. “Not very much. She rode for us in one or two scenes, but she was hard to use in the picture. I do remember that she was an awfully disagreeable sort of girl, and most unpopular. What I wanted to tell you particularly was that Mortimer had a crooked record behind him, and that at least one man near him—this Wrenn—knew it. That was one thing. The other——” But Barrison could not help interrupting. “Just a moment, if you don’t mind, Miss Templeton! This is all tremendously interesting to me—more interesting than you can possibly guess! It’s just possible that you’ve put me on the clew I’ve been looking for. Was there any man in that crowd called Blankey, or Blinkey, or anything like that?” She shook her head wonderingly. “Not that I know of,” she said. “But Alan had several particular pals, he and Wrenn. One of them may have been called that. I don’t know.” Jim was slightly disappointed, but, after all, he had gained a good deal already; he could afford to be philosophical and patient. “And you don’t remember anything about the girl at all?” he insisted. “Only that she was disagreeable, and could ride?” “Wait a minute,” said Miss Templeton thoughtfully; “I’ve some old snapshots tucked away. There ought to be some group with that girl in it.” Barrison smoked three cigarettes in frantic succession while she hunted. Finally, she put a little kodak photograph in his hand.