ing up and down in front of the cottage, arguing earnestly: I could
tell by her bearing she was refusing whatever he proposed. But I didn't
know her then, and naturally I never connected Max with the fellow I
saw, disguised in a motoring coat and cap. Neither of 'em had any place
in my thoughts that night."

Ember uttered a thoughtful "Oh?" adding: "Did you find out at all
definitely when Max is expected back?"

"Two or three weeks now, they say. He's got his winter productions to
get under way. As a matter of fact, it looks to me as if he must be
neglecting 'em strangely; it's my impression that the late summer is a
producing manager's busiest time."

"Max runs himself by his own original code, I'm afraid. The chances are
he's trying to raise money out on the Coast. No money, no
productions--in other words."

"I shouldn't wonder."

"But there may be something in what you say--suspect, that is. If I
agree to keep an eye on him, will you promise to give me a free hand?"

"Meaning--?"

"Keep out of Max's way: don't risk a wrangle with him."

"Why the devil should I be afraid of Max?"

"I know of no reason--as yet. But I prefer to work unhampered by the
indiscretions of my principals."

"Oh--go ahead--to blazes--as far as you like."

"Thanks," Ember dryly wound up the conference; "but these passing
flirtations with your present-day temper leave me with no hankering for
greater warmth...."

Days ran stolidly on into weeks, and these into a month. Nothing
happened. Max did not return; the whispered rumour played wild-fire in
theatrical circles that the eccentric manager had encountered financial
difficulties insuperable. The billboards flanking the entrance to the
Theatre Max continued to display posters announcing the reopening early
in September with a musical comedy by Tynan Dodd; but the comedy was not
even in rehearsal by September fifteenth.

Ember went darkly about his various businesses, taciturn--even a trace
more than ever reserved in his communication with Whitaker--preoccupied,
but constant in his endeavour to enhearten the desponding husband. He
refused to hazard any surmises whatever until the return of Max or the
reappearance of Mary Whitaker.

She made no sign. Now and then Whitaker would lose patience and write to
her: desperate letters, fond and endearing, passionate and insistent,
wistful and pleading, strung upon a single theme. Despatched under the
address of her town house, they vanish