"Here's the idea," says I. "When 'The Buccaneer's Bride' was having that two-year run Penrhyn Deems was a good deal in the spotlight. He had write-ups reg'lar, full pages in the Sunday editions, new pictures of himself printed every few weeks. He didn't hate it, did he? But these last two pieces of his were frosts. All he's had recent have been roasts, or no mention at all. And it was up to Whitey to bring him back into the public eye, wasn't it? Trust Whitey for doing that." "But this method would be so thoroughly cold-blooded, heartless," protests Mr. Robert. "Wouldn't stop Whitey, though," says I. "Then we must do our best to find Penrhyn," says he. "Sure!" says I. "Sleuth stuff. How about startin' at his rooms and interviewin' his man?" "Good!" says Mr. Robert. "We will go there at once." We did. But what we got out of that pie-faced Nimms of Penrhyn's wasn't worth taking notes of. He's got a map about as full of expression as the south side of a squash, Nimms. A peanut-headed Cockney that Penrhyn found somewhere in London. "Sure I cawn't say, sir," says he, "where the mawster went to, sir. It was lawst Monday night 'e vanished, sir." "Whaddye mean, vanished?" says I. "'E just walked out, sir, and never came back," says Nimms. "See, sir, I've 'ad 'is morning suit all laid out ever since, sir." "Then he went in evening clothes?" puts in Mr. Robert. "Not exactly, sir," says Nimms. "'E was attired as a court jester, sir; in motley, you know, sir, and cap and bells." "Wha-a-at?" says Mr. Robert. "In a fool's costume? You say he went out in that rig? Why the deuce should he----" "I didn't ask the mawster, sir," says Nimms, "but my private opinion of the matter, sir, is that he was on 'is way to a masked banquet of some sort. I 'appened to see a hinvitation, sir, that----" "Dig it up, Nimms," says I. "Might be a clue." Sure enough, Nimms had it stowed away; and the fathead hadn't said a word about it before. It's an invite to the annual costume dinner of the Bright Lights Club. "Huh!" says I. "I've heard of that bunch--mostly producers, stage stars and dramatists. Branch of the Lambs Club. Whitey would have known about that event, too. And Alf. Shuman. If Deems had been there they'd have known. So he didn't get there. I expect he wore a rain coat or something over his costume, and went in a taxi; eh, Nimms?" "Quite so, sir," says Nimms. "A long raincoat, sir." "But," breaks in Mr. Robert, "a man couldn't wander around New York dressed in a fool's costume without being noticed. That is, not for several days." "You bet he couldn't," says I. "So he didn't."