"Well?" he enquired.
"I want to ask a favour," began Uncle Fred. But the man cut him short.
"What is it? Temperance, or Christian Science? You can't put up no notices on our call-board. Management don't allow it."
"I have reason to believe," pursued Uncle Fred, with feeble dignity, "that a young woman is employed here—"
"We employ thirty-six of 'em," said the stage-door man.
"I have just seen her likeness—in a group—round there"—explained Uncle Fred, waving his umbrella vaguely towards the front of the house.
"It very often starts that way," remarked the stage-door man. "But why not pay for a seat, like a little gentleman, and go in front and see the gel?"
"She's my niece," explained Uncle Fred.
"They always are," said the stage-door man. "Or else cousins! Good night, Tirpitz!"
He shut the little glass shutter in the investigator's face, and recomposed his features to slumber. But Uncle Fred, though not a dashing person, possessed some elements of the dogged persistence of the Clegg family. He rapped on the window-pane. The stage-door man opened it again.