e 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."

That's a good line to pull, that "he couldn't, so he didn't," when
you're doin' this Sherlock-Watson stuff. Sounds professional. Mr. Robert
nods and then looks at me expectant as if he was waitin' to hear what
I'd deduce next. But as a matter of fact my deducer was runnin' down.
Yet when you've got a boss who always expects you to cerebrate in high
gear, as he's so fond of puttin' it, you've got to produce something
off-hand, or stall around.

"Now, let's see," says I, registerin' deep thought, "if Penrhyn was to
go anywhere on his own hook, where would it be? You know his habits
pretty well, Mr. Robert. What's your guess?"

"Why, I should say he would make for the nearest golf course," says he.

"He's a golf shark, is he?" says I.

"Not in the sense you mean," says Mr. Robert. "Hardly. Penrhyn is a
consistent but earnest duffer. The ambition of his life is to break 100
on some decent course. He has talked enough about it to me. Yes, that is
probably where he is, if he's still alive, off playing golf somewhere."

"Begging your pardon, sir," puts in Nimms, "but that could 'ardly be so,
sir, seeing as 'ow 'is sticks are still 'ere. That's the strange part of
'is disappearance, sir. 'E never travels without 'is bag of sticks. And
they're in that closet, sir."

"Couldn't he rent an outfit, or borrow one?" I suggests.

"He could," says Mr. Robert, "but he wouldn't. No more than you would
rent a toothbrush. That is one of the symptoms of the go