“Then somebody else stole it and he got the script from them. I tell you it is mine!” cried Ruth.
“Miss Fielding! Let us be calm——”
“You would not be calm if you discovered somebody trying to make use of something you had originated, and calling it theirs—no you wouldn’t, Mr. Hammond!”
“But it seems impossible,” he said weakly.
“That old man is an actor—an old-school actor. You can see that easily enough,” she declared. “There was such a person about the Red Mill the day my script was lost. Oh, it’s plain enough.”
“Not so plain, Miss Ruth,” said Mr. Hammond firmly. “And you must not make wild accusations. That will do no good—and may do harm in the end. It does not seem probable to me that this old hermit could have actually stolen your story. A longshore character like him——”
“He’s not!” cried Ruth. “Don’t you see that he is playing a part? He is no fisherman. No longshore character, as you call him, would be as afraid of the sea as he is. He is playing a part—and he plays it just as well as the parts Mr. Hooley gives him to play.”
“Jove! There may be something in that,” murmured the manager.
“He got my script some way, I tell you!” declared Ruth. “I am not going to let anybody maul my story and put it over as his own. No, sir!”
“But—but, Miss Ruth!” exclaimed Mr. Hammond. “How are you going to prove what you say is true?”