"Sorry, gentlemen," says he, "but we haven't heard a word from him since he disappeared. Haven't even a clue. It's an absolute mystery. He seems to have vanished, that's all. And we don't know what to make of it. Rather embarrassing for us, too. You know we've just started rehearsals for his new piece, 'Oh, Say, Belinda!' Biggest thing he's done yet. And Mr. Shuman has spent nearly $10,000 for the setting and costumes of one number alone. Yet here Deems walks off with the lyrics for that song--the only copy in existence, mind you--and drops out of sight. I suppose he wanted to revise the verses. You see the hole it put us in, though. We're rushing 'Belinda' through for an early production, and he strays off with the words to what's bound to be the big song hit of the season. Why, Miss Ladue, who does that solo, is about crazy, and as for Mr. Shuman----" "Yes, I understand, Whitey," I breaks in. "That's good press agent stuff, all right. But Mr. Ellins here ain't so much worried over what's going to happen to the show as he is over what has happened to Penrhyn Deems. Now how did he disappear? Who saw him last?" Whitey shrugs his shoulders. "All a mystery, I tell you," says he. "We haven't a single clue." "And you're just sitting back wondering what has become of him," demands Mr. Robert, "without making an effort to trace him?" "Well, what can we do?" asks Whitey. "If the fool newspapers would only wake up to the fact that a prominent personage is missing, and give us the proper space, that might help. They will in time, of course. Got to come to it. But you know how it is. Anything from a press bureau they're apt to sniff over suspicious. As if I'd pull one as raw as this on 'em! Huh! But I'm working up the interest, and by next Sunday I'll bet they'll be carrying front page headlines, 'Where is Penrhyn Deems?' You'll see." "Suppose he should turn up tomorrow, though?" I asks. "Oh, but he couldn't," says Whitey quick. "That is, if he's really lost or--or anything has happened to him. What makes you think he might show up, Torchy?" "Just a hunch of mine," says I. "I was thinking maybe some of his friends might find him somewhere." "I'd like to see 'em," says Whitey emphatic. "It--it would be worth a good deal to us." "Yes," says I, "I know how you feel about it. Much obliged, Whitey. I guess that's all we can do; eh, Mr. Robert?" But we're no sooner out of the office than I gives him the nudge. "Bunk!" says I. "I'd bet a million of somebody else's money that this is just one of Whitey's smooth frame-ups." "I hardly think I follow you," says Mr. Robert.