eadlines, '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.

"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 th