"Handsomeness has nothing to do with it!" snapped Albert, among whose rare and austere amusements none was more prized than that of keeping his younger brother in his place. "I am simply doing what I consider to be right and just. Now, when you return to London I want you to institute inquiries as to where my daughter is to be found. If you are successful, I wish you to visit her. I should not like to think that she was actually destitute. Of course, she can never return here, but I can see that she is provided for."
There was silence. Then Uncle Fred inquired, after the fashion of all feeble folk:
"How should I set about finding her? London is a big place. I suppose the police—"
"I will not have the police brought into the matter until absolutely necessary," thundered Albert. "You must search the theatres!"
It was a magnificent suggestion, but too daring for Albert's audience—certainly for Uncle Fred.
"I have never been inside a theatre in my life," he objected.
"Neither have I. But you need not go inside. Enquire at the door whether my daughter is employed there. Demand to see the manager!"
"Do you think he will tell me?"
"Threaten him with the law if he won't. These fellows are usually under police observation, in any case. They won't dare to fight."
"Perhaps a word with the stage-door keeper—" suggested Mrs. Clegg timidly.