"Miss Williamson," he continued, musing to himself, "Marjorie Williamson; you are the poor victim who lost your mother and your livelihood through the same man. I must see you, for you and I ought to shake hands."
Half-an-hour later, he entered the Caledonian Theatre by the stage-door, at the entrance of which he was confronted by an old fellow, who gruffly enquired his business.
"Have you been here long?" he asked.
"Yes, close on twenty years; why?"
"I want a little information. What's your name?"
"Mine is Morris."
"Well, what is it you want to know?" said Jones, looking suspiciously at him.
"Do you know Miss Williamson?"
"Yes, I do."