Barrison’s blood was thrilling with that excitement of the chase which keeps a good detective alive on this earth, and without which one can scarcely imagine him contented. CHAPTER XXIII TWIXT THE CUP AND THE LIP Rita received them in her dressing room, which was frankly a utilitarian apartment. Since she had to share it in turn with other performers, she had not much chance to impress her individuality upon it. And, for that matter, she was not the type of woman, probably, who would have thought it worth her while to take the trouble. She scorned frivolities. When they saw her at close range, they were both struck by the fact that she was scarcely made up at all. Doubtless, if she had taken the trouble, she could have softened her face and expression, and made herself less hard and repellent. Not that she was ugly. She was not; her features were regular enough, and her black eyes quite splendid in their smoldering sort of way. If she had not bound up her hair so tightly, its masses and luster would have been a sensation; and her figure was good, in a lean, wiry style all its own. The truth was that she was uncompromising, unyielding, ungraceful as she was ungracious. If Rita had really experienced a shock during her act, she certainly had recovered from it, so far as the eyes of outsiders could determine. After greeting them, she eyed her visitors coldly and sharply. “Wanted to talk to me?” she demanded, in rather a metallic voice. “Please, for the _Blaze_,” said Teddy Lucas, in his most insinuating tone. But Rita the Daredevil shook her head with a slight scowl. “Waste of time,” she stated. “We aren’t playing here after next week, and——” “I beg your pardon!” slid in Teddy smoothly but firmly. “You are not playing at this theater, but you have time at——” “I tell you——” she began hotly. But another voice made itself heard. It was, as they were somewhat surprised to find, the voice of Rita’s subservient partner, who had appeared just behind them, and who now confronted them with a curious little air of authority, in spite of his plump body and his very ancient evening dress. “If you will excuse me for interrupting,” he said courteously, and made them a bow which was quite proper and dignified. It was the bow of—what was it? Jim tried to think. Was it the bow of a head waiter, or a floorwalker, or—a ringmaster? That was it, a ringmaster. This man was used to the exacting proprieties of the circus. No one else could be so perfect! Instantly, Jim placed him as Blankley himself. “If you will excuse me for interrupting,” he repeated gently. “Our plans have changed. Vaudeville performers live, unfortunately, in a world of changes. We had expected to play in and around New York for some weeks; our expectations have not materialized. We leave New York to-night.” “To-night!” repeated Teddy Lucas, sitting up and opening his eyes. “Isn’t that rather short notice?”