"Oh, sure," answered Jones, readily. "You bet I'll do anything I can to help you." He touched a button on his desk and instructed the sleek youth who immediately appeared to bring him the photographs of Miss Blake. They were speedily produced, and Peter gazed at them with deep interest. There were four different poses, two full length, in evening dress, one of the head in profile, and one full face. It was the latter which interested Peter the most. It was a striking portrait. The brilliant light, falling from above upon one side of the face, left the eyes in a transparent shadow, out of which they looked with a burning, compelling intensity. Haunting, magnetic eyes they were, full of dramatic possibilities. The nose was short and straight, with rather full nostrils, expressive of temperament and passion. The mouth was sensitive, not too small, and exquisite in its subtle lines and curves. The contours of the face were fine and beautifully modelled, the cheek-bones and chin delicately defined. There was a nervous sensibility in the face, a tension and unrest about the pose of the head upon the slender, gracious neck and shoulders, which suggested an intense, artistic temperament. "Great, aren't they?" said Jones, looking at them as they lay on the desk between the two men. "Wonder what club old Quinn held over her to make her sit for 'em?" "She and Quinn were great friends, weren't they?" asked Peter. "Do you know where he picked her up?" Jones shook his head. "Haven't the faintest idea. He had a way of snatching 'em out of the atmosphere, had Arthur Quinn, and he was tight as a drum about 'em all. Nobody had ever heard of her, so far as I know, and I know every possible bet, from the Keith Circuit up. My business. Quinn sprung her in the title rôle of 'Constance' the first shot out of the box. Don't know where she got her training, but she had it all right, all right, and then some. She never missed a trick, and she was a success from the drop of the hat. Of course Quinn was a wonder at putting 'em through a course of sprouts, but the girl appeared on the first night as if she'd been acting since she was a baby. Maybe they're born that way sometimes, but I never ran across one that was." "I suppose she made a lot of money," hazarded Peter, following a train of thought of his own. "Oh, lord, yes," agreed Jones. "I don't mind telling you in confidence, Mr. Clancy, that I paid her, on my last year's contract, a cool thousand a week." "Great Scott!" exclaimed Peter. "As much as that?" "I sure did," said the manager. "Why, look here. I guess I can show you." He drew toward him a bank book, stuffed with vouchers, which lay upon the desk. Running rapidly through the cancelled checks, he selected several and slid them across the polished mahogany to Peter. "Just came in from the bank. End of the month," he explained. "Run your eye over those if you don't believe me."