onally. And to know a person only professionally is no
guarantee that you know the facts about her."

"Very true," said Ashton-Kirk. His eyes were still going over the
sheets. "You say here that Parslow was rather negative concerning her."

"Yes. You see, she was with him for some time; and once, when he
couldn't do very well without her, she told him she'd have to have more
money. A thing like that," and Burgess smiled and nodded, "sometimes
makes them shy of the good word." The man nursed his knee, the hard hat
still in his hands. "I went to see Parslow at his office. He's been
manager of that theatre for fifteen years and made it pay, after every
one else had failed. Kind of a tight old wax, I'd say. I couldn't get
much out of him at first; but later he talked plenty. He wouldn't say
anything against her, but he didn't praise her much."

"At Nashville you had more success?"

"Oh, yes; a good bit more. She'd been there a season, after leaving
Cleveland. There is a Mrs. Thatcher, who keeps a boarding-house, who let
me in on some inside stuff. You've seen it all in the report, I suppose.
The lead that took me to New Orleans was a promising one, but it didn't
turn out as well as I expected. But I got some information, at that."

Ashton-Kirk once more pressed one of his call bells; and then turning to
Burgess, he said:

"What you have learned will be of real service. It's always well, I
think, to have a background for a case like this; the bare facts
concerning the crime itself are not always quite satisfactory."

Here Stumph entered the study, and the investigator spoke to him.

"Bring me Volume IV, and at once, please."

After the grave-faced servant had left the room, Ashton-Kirk went on
with his remarks to Burgess. Bat Scanlon sat quietly listening; there
was something forlorn and sunken in the way his big frame rested in the
padded chair, and the expression on his face was one of almost despair.

In a few moments Stumph appeared bearing a huge canvas-covered book;
this he laid upon the table, and Ashton-Kirk at once began to turn the
pages, filled with writing in a copper plate hand and ruled with great
precision.

"I had intended to put Fuller on this," said he, as he scanned the
entries, "but he's still deep in something else."

Burgess half arose and looked at the open pages. And as he settled back
on the sofa, he nodded.

"Yes, he's clever at that. But I guess we can go through with it, and
not bot