"I don't think there is a soul," answered the manager, frowning. "She had nothing to do with any member of the company; pretty up-stage with all of 'em, though not offensive about it exactly. Just kept 'em all at a distance--same as she did me, to tell you the truth. As I told you, she'd never meet anybody I asked her to--except Mrs. Atterbury, and I nearly dropped dead when she asked me if it would be O. K. for her to give a reading there. I was tickled to death, of course. Great ad. for her; but she never followed it up. Just like her," he grumbled. "Other than letting Morris take her around a little she let the whole thing slide." "Had no social ambitions, evidently," Peter remarked. "And you never met any friends of hers?" "Not a soul." "Strange," Peter said. And again, to himself, as he hurried from the manager's office, he repeated, "Strange--so beautiful, so successful, and so alone. Why?... There was her sister, and there was Donald Morris and the manager.... And besides them, nobody--nobody but Angelo, and he'd only just seen her, as he couldn't help seeing her.... And an old lady, a stout old lady, who called there.... And the voice over the wire.... It was an odd voice--unusual--I'm sure I'd know it again, anywhere.... And, by gad, I'd give a hundred dollars to know who was the owner of that voice over the wire." CHAPTER XII A SIGNATURE CARD Peter looked at his watch as he ran down the stairs of the Westmoreland Theatre Building. It was nearly one o'clock, and he decided that he would have time enough to snatch a bit of lunch before he made the attempt to see Mr. Walter Dunne, of the Scoville Bank. He stopped in at a public telephone booth in a cigar store, and called Donald Morris and O'Malley. To the one he reported what slight progress he had made, and from the other he received the information that he, O'Malley, had been down to the apartment and seen the janitor and that there was nothing new there. No one had called to see either of the sisters and no word of any kind had been received from them. "Get the photographs down here as quick as you can," O'Malley urged. "I've wired our correspondents all over the country, but you know, Pete, they can't do such a hell of a lot without the pictures, and neither can the boys here." "Send Maggie over to the Fifth Avenue Bank," said Peter, quickly. "I've got to go there, anyway. Have her meet me in half an hour and I'll give her the photographs. You can get them copied, p. d. q., and broadcast 'em all over the map, see. Tell her to meet me in twenty minutes, I can make it by then." Hastily he hung up the receiver, snatched a sandwich and a glass of milk at a near-by drug store, met Maggie, his switch-board operator, at the Fifth Avenue Bank and delivered the photographs to her with instructions to rush them back to the office.