Mr. Baker was waiting in the lobby when the detective arrived, and at a nod from the latter the two men retired to the dressing room in which they had had their previous consultation. The moving picture man's face was eager, expectant, as he waited for Duvall to speak, and the latter felt his chagrin increase by the moment.
When he had at last finished his account of the affair, Mr. Baker looked exceedingly grave.
"Too bad—too bad," he muttered, "to have had her in our hands like that, and then, to lose her."
"Did you ever see the woman before?" Duvall questioned.
"No. Of course she might be in our employ, but I doubt it, although I could not be expected to know by sight every girl who works in the plant. There are stenographers, film cutters and pasters, dozens of others, that I do not engage directly, and never see. Let me look at the card."
Duvall handed the torn bit of pasteboard to him.
"Not much to go on," he said, quietly.
"No. Not much."
"Of course," the detective went on, "the evening has not been entirely wasted. We know the woman by sight, and that is a great deal. As for her name, I have made a careful study of this card, and assuming it to have been of the usual length in comparison to its width, the name following the 'Miss,' if it was a first name, points to a very short one, such as Mary, and not a long one, such as Margaret."
"How do you make that out?"