"I can do that easy enough," said Peter. "Morris gave me a card to her manager and I can get one from him. I'm going to see him right away and find out what he knows about Mary Blake. He's the only person, so far, that can give me a straight line on her." He reached for the telephone and instructed the operator in the outer office to get Mr. Frederick Jones of the Westmoreland Theatre on the wire. While waiting for the connection, he continued his talk with his partner. "Get out the drag-net for those two girls, O'Malley. Spread it all over the country and up into Canada. Comb the city with a fine-tooth comb. If Mary really hadn't any luggage, it's on the cards that she may not have left town. But," he shook his head thoughtfully, "I've got a hunch, O'Malley, that we won't find Mary Blake. The letter said, 'There'll be no one left but Anne....' Whatever was to happen has happened ... and I think--I can't explain it, but I feel it in my bones--that our only hope is to find Anne." The telephone, at his elbow, buzzed sharply. "Mr. Jones is very busy," Peter's operator informed him. "Can his secretary take a message?" "Yes," Peter replied. "Let me have the secretary." The connection made, Peter was informed that it would be impossible to see Mr. Jones that afternoon, and it was only by using Donald Morris's name that he was able to make an appointment for the following morning at eleven o'clock. On Tuesday, therefore, prompt to the minute, Peter presented himself to the dragon (in the shape of a bobbed and powdered switch-board operator) who guarded the entrance to the offices of the Westmoreland Theatre Building. He had to assure her that he was not an actor out of work, and present his credentials, and it was not until his statement that he had an appointment had been verified that he was allowed to climb the three flights of stairs to the office of Frederick Jones, Manager. Even here he was subjected to a maddening delay before he could gain audience. When he reached Mr. Jones at last, however, he found him genial and cordial enough. The few lines which Donald Morris had written on his card turned the trick, and Mr. Jones expressed himself delighted to be of service. Peter had had plenty of time to go over carefully his line of attack. He regretted the necessity, as he would have expressed it, "of putting any one wise," but, on the other hand, he felt confident that Mr. Frederick Jones must be well aware of Donald Morris's interest in Miss Blake. He was also sure that her disappearance would come to the knowledge of her manager in short order. He, therefore, went straight to the bat. "I want to talk to you about Miss Mary Blake," he said. Leaning his elbow on the desk, with chin in hand, he regarded the manager keenly. "What about Mary Blake?" Jones questioned, sharply. "She's disappeared," answered Peter, without emphasis. "What!" The manager started to his feet.