Baker. He hoped sincerely that
by means of the photograph which had been in the company's files, some
trace of the persons responsible for the threats might be obtained.

The trip to the studio was made most uneventfully, and Ruth started in
with her work in very good spirits. Duvall, leaving the girl with her
mother, sought out Mr. Baker in the latter's private office.

"Hello!" Baker cried, grasping the detective's hand warmly. "Anything
new?"

"Not a thing. How about the photograph we were going to trace?"

Mr. Baker frowned.

"It's a curious thing," he replied. "Most curious. The picture in
question was, I find, taken from the files by Mr. Moore, our president,
and placed on his desk. He always admired it, and kept it there, along
with a number of others, to show to persons calling upon him. Now, it
seems, it has disappeared. There is not the slightest trace of it."
"But," Duvall objected, "who could have taken it?"

"A dozen people. Half a hundred, I guess. You see, Mr. Moore's office is
a big room, just beyond here." He rose, and led the detective through a
short corridor. "Here it is," he went on, throwing open the door. "This
is where Mr. Moore receives his callers. It is his reception room, and
no private papers are kept here. Those are all in the smaller office
adjoining. This room is open at any time. After Mr. Moore leaves in the
evening, and he often leaves early, anyone might come in here. And when
the offices are closed, at night, I suppose any employee of the company
might look in, if he cared to do so, without anyone objecting. You see,
this is a sort of public room. The inner office is always kept locked,
but there has never seemed to be any good reason for locking this one."

"Still, although you cannot tell who has taken the picture, it seems
clear enough that it must have been removed by some one employed in the
studio."

"Even that is by no means certain. So many people come here every day.
All sorts of visitors, writers, actors, and the like. After business
hours I don't doubt any number of persons enter this room, to look at
the pictures of our great successes that hang on its walls. And then
there are the caretakers, the scrub-women, and their friends. I find
that they, many of them, bring in outsiders, after working hours, to
look at the studio, and the famous offices. Of course it should not be,
and it will not be, in the future, but up to now we have rather welcomed
people from outsi