And then the thought of the lame man occurred to him, and his eyes sought the first seat in the front row, which was also the seat nearest to the boxes. The man had gone. As he made this discovery, George emerged from the passage. “Gurther!” said Leon. “What a fool I am! But how clever!” “Gurther?” said Manfred in amazement. “Do you mean the man with the club foot?” Leon nodded. “He was not alone, of course,” said Gonsalez. “There must have been two or three of the gang here, men and women—Oberzohn works these schemes out with the care and thoroughness of a general. I wonder where the management have taken the girl?” He found the manager discussing the tragedy with two other men, one of whom was obviously associated with the production, and he signalled him aside. “The lady? I suppose she’s gone home. She’s left the theatre.” “Which way did she go?” asked Gonsalez, in a sudden panic. The manager called a linkman, who had seen a middle-aged woman come out of the theatre with a weeping girl, and they had gone down the side-street towards the little square at the back of the playhouse. “She may have taken her home to Chester Square,” said Manfred. His voice belied the assumption of confidence. Leon had not brought his own machine, and they drove to Chester Square in a taxi. Fred, the footman, had neither heard nor seen the girl, and nearly fainted when he learned of the tragic ending to his master’s career. “Oh, my God!” he groaned. “And he only left here this afternoon . . . dead, you say?” Gonsalez nodded. “Not—not The Snake?” faltered the man. “What do you know about the snake?” demanded Manfred sternly. “Nothing, except—well, the snake made him nervous, I know. He told me to-day that he hoped he’d get through the week without a snake-bite.” He was questioned closely, but although it was clear that he knew something of his master’s illicit transactions, and that he was connected in business with Oberzohn, the footman had no connection with the doctor’s gang. He drew a large wage and a percentage of profits from the gaming side of the business, and confessed that it was part of his duties to prepare stacks of cards and pass them to his master under cover of bringing in the drinks. But of anything more sinister he knew nothing. “The woman, of course, was a confederate, who had been planted to take charge of the girl the moment the snake struck. I was in such a state of mind,” confessed Leon, “that I do not even remember what she looked like. I am a fool—a double-distilled idiot! I think I must be getting old. There’s only one thing for us to do, and that is to get back to Curzon Street—something may have turned up.” “Did you leave anybody in the house?” Leon nodded. “Yes, I left one of our men, to take any ’phone messages that came through.”