“And then you—you—a reporter came along—and you have it at your fingers’ ends. I do not understand. How did you know so much?”
“I guessed it,” replied Larry. “We newspaper men have to guess at a lot, and sometimes we hit it. But how long has he been missing? Where did he go? Who took him? Which way did he go? Did any one see him taken away?”
“Oh, what a lot of questions!” cried the singer, and she smiled the least bit through her tears. “I can not answer them all, but I will do my best. I saw Lorenzo standing in the wings when my last song was almost finished. When I looked again he was gone.”
“But some one must have seen him,” insisted Larry. “There were a lot of people back of the scenes, and they must have noticed him. Did the stage-doorkeeper see him go out?”
“I do not know. I have not asked. Listen. It is necessary to be secret about this at present. I do not want any publicity.”
“But I can’t help you without publicity,” insisted Larry. “That’s my business. I’m a newspaper reporter. I want the story.”
“Yes! Yes!” exclaimed the singer. “I understand. Let me think!”
She paced rapidly up and down the room. Then she exclaimed:
“I have it. Yours is an afternoon paper, is it not?”
“Yes.”