So, when he went to the theatre that night, Hanlon was, to all intents and purposes, roaring drunk. He was surly and insolent to everyone he met, and his performance was terrible. The roches did not stay in straight lines, they were out of step often, and fumbled and stumbled in one way or another much of the time. The master of ceremonies finally came out, forced Hanlon off the stage, then apologized to the stunned audience.
"What made you think you could get away with anything like this?" the manager demanded hotly, down in Hanlon's dressing room. "You're through here—the act is cancelled. And I'll make sure no other theatre hires you."
"Well now, that's right," another angry voice broke in, and Hanlon turned to see Yandor, his face black. "Your entire contract is broken as of now. I'll not tolerate such a disgraceful performance from anyone under me."
Hanlon blustered and cursed, and yanked off his costume to get into his street clothes. He apparently was not concerned with the roches—did not even take off their costumes—but actually he was seeing to it that none of this anger touched their minds or affected them in any way.
Back in his room he considered the matter for some time, and decided he had put it across all right—that these touchy men would not connect him with any reverses they might suffer later in their outside criminal work.
He considered the problem of his roches. He had always loved dogs, and having become so intimate with these Estrellan pooches, he hated to part with them. They were such lovable pets, so gentle and affectionate and loyal. Knowing their minds so intimately, Hanlon knew they had often wondered at the way they were being handled and made to do things beyond their ordinary ability—yet not one of them had ever had the least rebellious thought of ill-feeling toward this master who made them do such unusual things.
But Hanlon knew he could no longer take care of them as they deserved, that they would only be in his way from now on. His first act the next morning after they had been fed, was to see to it that they were taken out and good homes found for them. There were many children living in his own and neighboring houses, who were glad to receive gifts of such fine pets.
That worry solved, Hanlon went back to his room and spent most of the day there, a great deal of it lying down on his bed or sprawled out in his easy chair, his mind in that of Ebony, the cat, or roaming the city watching the minds of the people he knew and suspected.
During the afternoon the masked man called on Yandor again. Through Ebony's sharp eyes Hanlon carefully scrutinized and studied the lower part of the visitor's face, which luckily the mask did not cover.
"Hah!" he exclaimed gleefully. For those scratches were quite plainly visible to one who knew exactly where they were, and who was specifically looking for them, even though it was apparent there had been a careful attempt to conceal them with cosmetics.