“I think we had better give up any idea of ever getting trace of the stolen film,” said Frank. “It is my opinion that it has been destroyed, just to block us. If Slavin hasn’t, he can’t dispose of it in this country without implicating himself as a thief. He knows, too, that as soon as it is used we can stop it and get it back. Going to the hotel, Randy?”
“No, I’ve got something to attend to.”
“Pretty late in the evening for business; isn’t it?” questioned Frank, curiously.
“That’s all right,” answered Randy, very seriously. “I’ve been watching the New Idea and I’m going to keep it up until I find out something.”
“You mean about the stolen film? Don’t waste the time, Randy,” advised Frank. “As to how their show is progressing, we don’t care a snap of a finger. They are pretty nearly at the end of their rope. Did you know that Trudelle, the partner of Slavin, met Mr. Strapp on the street yesterday and hinted at selling out to him if he would pay a liberal bonus on the lease?”
“I didn’t,” replied Randy, “but I do know that Slavin and Trudelle are quarrelling with one another most of the time. I’ve got a friend in one of their ushers—and he’s keeping me posted.”
It was to meet this friend in question that Randy now proceeded to the neighborhood of the New Idea, instead of going with the others to their hotel. Randy could not get the great film out of his mind, and an incident had occurred a night previous that had started him on a plan for getting as close to the affairs of Slavin as was possible. His idea in doing this was the hope that he might find out what had become of the great film.
Randy had been passing the New Idea late at night. The place had been shut up for over an hour, but one of the entrance doors was open and a young fellow about his own age sat outside—on a stool. He was crying and Randy went up to him.
Sympathy and help was what the lad wanted, Randy soon found out. He was an usher and handy boy about the place, slept behind the stage nights, and he said had not been paid his wages for a week. He had asked for some money to send to a sick mother after the show that night. Slavin, in an ugly mood, had refused to give him even the two dollars he so badly needed and had kicked him over on a chair, badly bruising his arm.
“And Slavin and his partner take what money comes in and go off every night with it, playing cards and wasting it,” complained the little fellow, bitterly.