e other is--Addie Chatfield was certainly in
Bristol on that date and for eleven days after it."

"Well--what next?" asked Copplestone.

"I've been thinking that over while you stared at the bill," answered
Gilling. "I think the best thing will be to find out where Addie
Chatfield put herself up during her stay. I daresay you know that in most
of these towns there are lodgings which are almost exclusively devoted to
the theatrical profession. Actors and actresses go to them year after
year; their owners lay themselves out for their patrons--what's more,
your theatrical landlady always remembers names and faces, and has her
favourites. Now, in my stage experience, I never struck Bristol, so I
don't know much about it, but I know where we can get information--the
stage door-keeper. He'll tell us where the recognized lodgings are--and
then we must begin a round of inquiry. When? Just now, my boy!--and a
good time, too, as you'll see."

"Why?" asked Copplestone.

"Best hour of the evening," replied Gilling with glib assurance.
"Landladies enjoying an hour of ease before beginning to cook supper
for their lodgers, now busy on the stage. Always ready to talk,
theatrical landladies, when they've nothing to do. Trust me for
knowing the ropes!--come round to the stage door and let's ask the
keeper a question or two."

But before they had quitted the foyer an interruption came in the shape
of a shrewd-looking gentleman in evening dress, who wore his opera hat at
a rakish angle and seemed to be very much at home as he strolled about,
hands in pockets, looking around him at all and sundry. He suddenly
caught sight of Gilling, smiled surprisedly and expansively, and came
forward with outstretched hand.

"Bless our hearts, is it really yourself, dear boy!" exclaimed this
apparition. "Really, now? And what brings you here--God bless my soul and
eyes--why I haven't seen you this--how long is it, dear boy!"

"Three years," answered Gilling, promptly clasping the outstretched hand.
"But what are you doing here--boss, eh?"

"Lessee's manager, dear boy--nice job, too," whispered the other. "Been
here two years--good berth." He deftly steered Gilling towards the
refreshment bar, and glanced out of his eye corner at Copplestone.
"Friend of yours?" he suggested hospitably. "Introduce us, dear boy--my
name is the same as before, you know!"

"Mr. Copplestone, Mr. Montmorency," said Gilling. "Mr. Montmorency, Mr.
Copplestone."

"Ser