So he was. His slim person was easily distinguishable in the wealth of electric light that flooded the street upon which looked the broad doorways and the allegorical facades of the Park.

The second act of "La Belle Helene" was not yet over when Appleton entered and stood at the rear of the parquet circle. He indifferently watched the finale, made some mental comments upon the white flowing gown of Pauline Hall, the make-up of Fred Solomon, and the grotesqueness of the five h.e.l.lenic kings. Then he scanned the audience.

Haslam and Amy dismounted near the theatre and entrusted the bicycle to a small boy's care. When they had bought admission tickets and reached the lobby, the gay finale of the second act was being given. The curtain fell, was called up three times, and then people began to pour forth from the entrance to drink, smoke, or enjoy the air in the entr'acte.

Appleton was involved in the movement of those who resorted to the little garden with flowers and fountain and asphalt paving, accessible through the northern exits. He paused for a time by the fountain, not sufficiently curious to join the crowd that stood gaping at the apertures through which the members of the chorus could be seen ascending the stairs to the upper dressing-rooms, many of them carolling sc.r.a.ps of song from the opera as they went.

Appleton soon reentered the lobby and again surveyed the audience closely. Haslam caught sight of him just in time to avoid him. Amy had resumed the concealment of her veil.

To the surprise of his watchers, Appleton left the theatre before the third act opened. Again he jumped upon a 'bus, but this time it was upon one moving northward.

"It looks as if he were going back to the Grand Opera House," suggested Amy, as she and her companion started to repossess the bicycle.

"His movements are a trifle unaccountable," said Haslam, thoughtfully.

"Ah! Now you admit he is acting queerly. Perhaps you'll see I was quite right."

Again mounted upon the bicycle, the doctor and the young woman returned to the chase. They were soon brought to a second stop by Appleton's departure from the 'bus at Girard Avenue.

"Where can he be going to now?" queried Amy.

"He's going to take that east-bound Girard Avenue car."

"So he is. What can he mean to do in that part of town?"

They turned down Girard Avenue. The car was half a block in advance of them.

"You're energetic enough in this pursuit," Amy shouted back to the doctor as the machine fled over the stones, "even if you don't believe in it."

"Energetic in your service, now and always."

She made no answer.

This time her reflections were abruptly checked--as his had been on Broad Street--by the cry of the other.

"See! He's getting off at the Girard Avenue Theatre."

Again they found a custodian for their bicycle and followed Appleton into a theatre.

The young man stopped at the box-office in the long vestibule, bought a ticket, and had a call made for a coupe. Then he pa.s.sed through the luxurious little foyer, beautiful with flowers and soft colours, and stood behind the parquet circle railing.

Adelaide Randall's embodiment of "The Grand d.u.c.h.ess" held his attention for a time. Haslam and Miss Winnett, to avoid the risk of being discovered by him, sought the seclusion of the balcony stairs.

"We had a few bars of Offenbach at the Park, and here we have Offenbach again," commented the doctor.

"And again, only a few bars, for there goes our man."

Appleton, having given as much attention to the few spectators as to the players, left the theatre and got into the cab that had been ordered for him.

Haslam, behind the pillar at the entrance to the theatre, overheard Appleton's direction to the driver. It was:

"To the Grand Opera House. Hurry! The opera will soon be over."

The cab rumbled away.

"It's well we heard his order," observed Haslam to Amy. "We couldn't have hoped to keep up with a cab. He'll probably wait at the Grand Opera House till we get there."

"But we mustn't lose any time, for, as he said, the performance will soon be over."

"Oh, 'Tell' is a long opera and Guille will have an encore for the aria in the last act. That will give us a few minutes more."

III

_A Telegraphic Revelation_

A boy walking down Girard Avenue, as Appleton got into the cab, had been whistling the tune of "They're After Me,"--a thing that was new to the variety stage last fall, but is dead this summer. The air, whistled by the boy, clung to Appleton's sense, and he unconsciously hummed it to himself as his cab went on its grinding way over the stones.

The cabman was considerate of his horse, and he coolly ignored Appleton's occasional shouts of, "Get along there, won't you?"

It was, therefore, not impossible for the bicyclists to keep in sight of the coupe.

"All this concern about a man you say you don't care for," said Haslam to Amy, as the bicycle turned up Broad Street. "It's unprecedented."

"It's only humanity."

"You didn't bother about following me around like this when you threw me over."

"You didn't threaten to kill yourself."

"No; if I had, I'd have carried out my threat. But for months I endured a living death--or worse."

"Really? Did you, though?"

Eager inquiry and sudden elation were expressed in this speech.

"Of course I did. Why do you ask in that way?"

"Oh--you took me by surprise. Why did you never tell me it affected you so? I thought--I thought--"

"What did you think?"

"That if you really cared for me you would have--tried again."

"What? Then I was fatally ignorant! I thought that when you said a thing, you meant it."

"I didn't know what I meant until it was too late."

"But is it too late--ah! see, he's getting out of the cab at the Grand Opera House."