"She's disappeared from her apartment and left no address," Peter explained, quietly. "Good God!" cried the manager, leaning over and beating his clenched fist on the desk. "Do you know what you're saying? But, of course, it can't be! Why, she was going to be in town all summer, and we start rehearsal on a new play the middle of July! 'Dark Roads' ended its run last Saturday night. She must have gone off for the week-end somewhere. You're just trying to get a rise out of me!" "I'm not," said Peter, gravely. "She's gone away for some time, and under peculiar conditions. So far, we haven't been able to find any trace of her. If you think I'm kidding you, you can call up Mr. Morris and ask him. He found out, accidentally, that she'd gone away, and he thought it was so serious that he called me in. I'm a detective," and Peter presented his business card. The manager looked at it and dropped heavily into his chair. "This is bad news for me, Mr. Clancy," he said. "Damn bad news. She's worth twenty-five to fifty thousand a year to me, I don't mind telling you, and if anything has happened to her--if she's gone off her nut--or anything--she's a strange sort of girl----" "How, 'strange'?" interrupted Peter, his eyes narrowing. "Well--she's the greatest emotional actress in the world to-day. You can take it from me. And I said it to Arthur Quinn, many and many a time, when he was alive. She can take the heart out of your body and wring it like a wet sponge. She's beautiful, and clever as the devil--but, like most temperamental people, she has her own peculiarities. And sometimes they were a bit hard to deal with." "For instance?" prompted Peter. "Well, for instance--she'd never rehearse without a full costume and make-up, and the lights just as they would be at performance. Said she couldn't feel the part unless the conditions were all the way they were going to be. It made it necessary to get her costumes ready before we started rehearsal, and sometimes it was a damn nuisance." "But it doesn't strike me that there was anything very unreasonable about that," objected Peter. "Might be a bit unusual, but----" "Oh, that wasn't the only thing," Jones broke in. "I couldn't get her to meet anybody, not even people who would be useful to her. She would see a few newspaper men, but only in the theatre, between the acts. She objected to being photographed, too, and I had the devil and all of a time getting the right kind of publicity for her." "But you have some photographs," said Peter, eagerly. "Surely there are some to be had. That's what I want particularly." "Oh, yes," grudgingly, "we've got some that were taken a year or two ago. Quinn didn't seem to have so much trouble with her. He got a lot, and they are beauties, and good enough to use. She hasn't changed any since they were taken. But people like to see new ones." "Can you spare me some?" asked Peter. "I can't get very far without 'em, you can see that for yourself."