And he saw her lips were moving. He could not read them, as the girl who told of it had done, but he imagined she said, “I am Betty Varian,—I am Betty Varian.” Yet her face was expressionless,—no eager air of imparting information, no apparent interest in the scene about her,—the face in the screen seemed like that of an automaton saying the words as if from a lesson. Rod couldn’t understand it. He feared that it was merely a chance likeness,—he had heard of exact doubles,—and as the scene passed, and the crowd on the meadow returned no more to the story, he left his seat and went in search of the owner of the theater. But all his questioning failed to elicit any information as to the scene or where it was taken. The theatrical manager arranged for his picture through an agent and knew nothing of the company that took it or the author of the play. The next morning Rodney tried again to locate the producer, but failing, decided to return home and put the matter in the hands of Pennington Wise: He was sure the girl on the screen was Betty, yet had he been told authoritatively that it was not, he could believe himself the victim of a case of mistaken identity. He related his experiences to Minna and Zizi and they both felt there was little to hope for as a result. “You see,” Zizi explained it, “when those crowds are picked up at random that way, they are always chatting about their own affairs. Now, it may well be this girl had been reading the circulars about Betty, also she may have been told how much she looked like her, and that would explain her speaking the name. And except for the actual name, I don’t believe the Ella Sheridan person read it right.” “I don’t either,” Minna agreed. “I wish I could see something in it, Rod, but it’s too absurd to think of Betty in the moving pictures, even by chance, as you say. And, too, where could she be that she would saunter out and join in a public picture like that?” “I know, it seems utterly absurd,—but—it was Betty,—it was, it _was_! When will Mr Wise be back, Zizi?” “I had a letter this morning, and he says not to expect him before the end of the week at least. He is on an important trail and has to go to a distant town, then he will come back here.” “Oh, I want to consult him about this thing,” and Rodney looked disconsolate. “Work at it yourself, Rod,” Zizi advised him. “Get lists of the picture making companies, write to them all, and track down that film. It must be a possible thing to do. Go to it!” “I will,” Rodney declared, and forthwith set about it. “Now, I want to go off on a little trip,” Zizi said to Minna. “And I don’t want to say where I’m going, for it may turn out a wild goose chase. The idea is not a very big one,—yet it might be the means of finding out a lot of the mystery. Anyway, I want to go, and I’ll be back in three days or four at most.”