ed. "The sixth name, that of Miss
Marcia Ford, contains in all fourteen letters. None of the others do.
Two, those of Miss King and Miss Green, come the nearest. Miss King's
full name contains twelve letters, Miss Green's, thirteen. Any one of
the three _might_ be the one we seek."

"I can answer for Miss King at once," said Mr. Baker, quietly. "She is
my stenographer, and most certainly _not_ the woman who was in the
theater to-night."

"That leaves then, Miss Green and Miss Ford. What do they do, and what
are their addresses?"

Mr. Baker referred to his book.

"Miss Green is a telephone operator. Her address is given here as 310
Gold Street, Brooklyn. Miss Ford is a film cutter, and lives at 122 West
9th Street, New York."

"Neither sounds particularly promising," Duvall remarked, with a frown.

"No. But of course we are assuming that the woman in question works in
the studio. If she does _not_, our whole fabric falls to pieces." Duvall
took the torn piece of card from his pocket and glanced at it.

"The address given here begins with the number 1," he said,
significantly. "It may be that Miss Marcia Ford, of 122 West Ninth
Street, is the woman we are looking for, although I confess I should
have suspected some rival motion picture star, rather than a film
cutter."

"By George, I forgot the fact that the card had an address on it," Baker
exclaimed. "I think we had better look up Miss Ford at once."

"I agree with you," Duvall said. A few moments later they were driving
at top speed back toward New York.

It was five minutes to twelve when they reached the corner of Fifth
Avenue and Ninth Street and turned west. Duvall realized that they were
following a very slim clue, but it seemed for the moment the only
promising one they had.

The house, No. 122, proved to be a typical high stooped, brownstone
boarding house of this section of the city. It was for the most part
dark, although one or two of the upper windows showed lights.

Accompanied by Baker, Duvall quickly mounted the steps and rang the
bell. At first there was no answer, although they could hear the sound
of the bell tinkling mournfully inside. A second summons brought no
greater response. At the third, a woman's head appeared in one of the
upper windows, and they heard a shrill and not over pleasant voice
asking them what they wanted.

"I have an important message for Miss Marcia Ford," Duvall replied
pleasantly. "I must see her at once."