CHAPTER XXII.
THE STORY TOLD.
The Booth Dramatic Club was holding rehearsal at its rooms on West Fourteenth Street. The rooms were on the top floor of an old-fashioned house, and were nicely fitted up with stage, dressing room, and scenery.
The play long in rehearsal was to have been presented to the intimate friends of the members of the club that night, but the death of Townsend, the illness of Maynard, and the strange disappearance of two young men who held leading parts had made a postponement necessary.
There was a stage entrance from a hall which ran along the east side of the house, and at eight o’clock Nick Carter, in the guise of Mantelle, passed through the hall and stepped out on the stage. He was accompanied by Patsy, who carried a large suit case.
“I wonder which is my dressing room?” whispered Nick.
Patsy looked amused. The two detectives had run many risks in getting into the house and up to the rooms of the club, but the test now seemed at hand.
“Well,” said the assistant, “you’ve got a leading rôle, according to the programme we found, and you must have a fine dressing room. Wait! I’ll just scout around and find a room with your stage costume in it. If I make a mistake no one will wonder at it, while they would suspect something at once if you got into the wrong room.
“There,” said Patsy, returning in a moment. “I’ve located the place and the rig. I hope you’ll make a hit in your part to-night! You wear a wig and all that, so no one will suspect you. What luck! Sure I don’t play anything? Well, then, I’ll be your servant for the night, and sit in the dressing room and watch.”
Nick dressed in the costume he wore in the play, and went out on the stage. Half a dozen of the members were there, and he nodded at them all, giving the sign with the left hand. They were all too busy with their own affairs to pay special attention to him.