Pandemonium reigned in the executive offices, as on the lot. Only one stage—Stage B— the one next to Tad Boone's—was in service, where a "western" was being made. But from the distraught attitude of the performers, it was plain that little would be accomplished that day.

The men of the company were being questioned as the Blade man rejoined Inspector Corot in the small room to which the witnesses were being admitted one at a time. However, the police learned little in the beginning. The stories of the players were as alike as two peas, only differing in their emotional points of view. That is, so far as the male performers were concerned.

The examination of the women was saved to the last. Before they were led in, Inspector Corot turned to the reporter.

"You might run out now," he suggested, with a meaningful look, "and see what Moody is about."

THE detective-sergeant was on his hands and knees behind the set of Stage A.

"No one crawled out through the left—or the back—as that Foye dame thinks," he grunted, as he scrambled to his feet. "There's no tracks below those dummy windows. The getaway was through that door on the right or the open stage front."

"It must have been the door, then," said Dawson quickly. "For the director and his assistants are certain no one could have passed between them and the players."

WELL, I don't know about that," Moody rumbled. "There was two actors in front of that door, and they're just as certain that nobody passed them in the dark. If everybody's right, then the murderer didn't lam. He's still with us!"

"How about the knife?" "Yeah!" said the detective-sergeant weakly. "Of course we've still got to find that. But once we dig it up—"

"Well, Tom," intruded the quiet voice of the inspector, unexpectedly. "Anything doing?"

"The search was a frost," admitted the assistant. "Not so much as a penknife on any of those babies, though there were plenty of corkscrews."