Ida needed no urging, for she was full of her subject.
‘Oh, it was terrible!’ she exclaimed, shuddering. ‘Helga Lund had been perfectly wonderful all through the first and second acts. I don’t know when I have been so thrilled. But soon after the third act began she stopped right in the middle of an impassioned speech and stared fixedly into the audience, apparently at someone in one of the front rows of the orchestra.
‘I’m afraid I can’t describe her look. It seemed to express merely recollection and loathing at first, as if she had recognized a face which had very disagreeable associations. Then her expression – as I read it, at any rate – swiftly changed to one of frightened appeal, and then it jumped to one of pure harrowing terror.
‘My heart stopped, and the whole theater was as still as a death chamber – at least, the audience was. Afterward I realized that the actor who was on the stage with her at the time had been improvising something in an effort to cover up her lapse; but I don’t believe anybody paid any attention to him, any more than she did. Her chin dropped, her eyes were wild and seemed ready to burst from their sockets. She put both hands to her breast, and then raised one and passed it over her forehead in a dazed sort of way. She staggered, and I believe she would have fallen if her lover in the play hadn’t supported her.
‘The curtain had started to descend, when she seemed to pull herself together. She pushed the poor actor aside with a strength that sent him spinning, and began to speak. Her voice had lost all of its wonderful music, however, and was rough and rasping. Her grace was gone, too – Heaven only knows how! She was positively awkward. And her words – they couldn’t have had anything to do with her part. They were incoherent ravings. The curtain had started to go up again. Evidently, the stage manager had thought the crisis was past when she began to speak. But when she only made matters worse, it came down with a rush. After a maddening delay, her manager came out, looking wild enough himself, and announced, with many apologies, that Miss Lund had suffered a temporary nervous breakdown.’
Nick Carter had listened intently, now and then scanning the article which described the affair.
‘Too bad!’ he commented soberly, when Ida had finished. ‘But haven’t you any explanation, either? The paper doesn’t seem to have any – at least, it doesn’t give any.’
A curious expression crossed Ida’s face.
‘I had forgotten for the moment,’ she replied. ‘I haven’t told you one of the strangest things about it. In common with everybody else, I was so engrossed in watching Helga Lund’s face that I didn’t have much time for anything else. That is why there wasn’t a more general attempt to see whom she was looking at. We wouldn’t ordinarily have been very curious, but she held our gaze so compellingly. I did manage to tear my eyes away once, though; but I wasn’t in a position to see – I was too far to one side. She appeared to be looking at someone almost on a line with our box, but over toward the other side of the theater. I turned my glasses in that direction for a few moments and thought I located the person, a man, but, of course, I couldn’t be sure. I could only see his profile, but his expression seemed to be very set, and he was leaning forward a little, in a tense sort of way.’
Nick nodded, as if Ida’s words had confirmed some theory which he had already formed.
‘But what was so strange about him?’ he prompted.
‘Oh, it doesn’t mean anything, of course,’ was the reply; ‘but he bore the most startling resemblance to Doctor Hiram Grantley. If I hadn’t known that Grantley was safe in Sing Sing for a long term of years, I’m afraid I would have sworn that it was he.’
The detective gave Ida a keen, slightly startled look.
‘Well, stranger things than that have happened in our experience,’ he commented thoughtfully. ‘I haven’t any reason to believe, though, that Grantley is at large again. He would be quite capable of what you have described, but surely Kennedy would have notified me before this if –’
The telephone had just rung, and, before Nick could finish his sentence, Joseph, his butler, entered. His announcement caused a sensation. It was:
‘Long distance, Mr Carter. Warden Kennedy, of Sing Sing, wishes to speak with you.’
The detective got up quickly, without comment, and stepped out into the hall, where the nearest instrument of the several in the house was located.
Patsy Garvan gave a low, expressive whisper.
‘Suffering catfish!’ he ejaculated. ‘It looks as if you were right, Ida!’
After that he relapsed into silence and listened, with the others. Nick had evidently interrupted the warden.
‘Just a moment, Kennedy,’ they heard him saying. ‘I think I can guess what you have to tell me. It’s Doctor Grantley who has escaped, isn’t it?’
Naturally, the warden’s reply was inaudible, but the detective’s next words were sufficient confirmation.
‘I thought so,’ Nick said, in a significant tone. ‘One of my assistants was just telling me of having seen, last night, a man who looked surprisingly like him. When did you find out that he was missing? … As early as that? … I see… Yes, I’ll come up, if necessary, as soon as I can; but first I must set the ball rolling here. I think we already have a clue. I’ll call you up later… Yes, certainly… Yes, goodbye!’
A moment later he returned to the dining room.
‘Maybe your eyes didn’t deceive you, after all, Ida,’ he announced gravely. ‘Grantley escaped last night – in time to have reached the theater for the
