The Problem of Dressing Room A | Page 4

her half a dozen
times.
"Between a hundred and thirty and a hundred and forty," he ventured.
"Does there happen to be a hypnotist connected with the company?"
"I don't know," Hatch replied.
The Thinking Machine waved his slender hands impatiently; he was
annoyed. "It is perfectly absurd, Mr. Hatch," he expostulated, "to come
to me with only a few facts and ask advice. If you had all the facts I
might be able to do something; but this----"
The newspaper man was nettled. In his own profession he was
accredited a man of discernment and acumen. He resented the tone, the
manner, even the seemingly trivial questions, which the other asked. "I
don't see," he began, "that the candy even if it had been poisoned as I
imagine you think possible, or a hypnotist could have had anything to
do with Miss Wallack's disappearance. Certainly neither poison nor
hypnotism would have made her invisible."
"Of course you don't see!" blazed The Thinking Machine. "If you did,
you wouldn't have come to me. When did this thing happen?"
"Saturday night, as I said," the reporter informed him a little more
humbly. "It closed the engagement in Springfield. Miss Wallack was to
have appeared here in Boston to-night."

"When did she disappear-- by the clock, I mean?"
"The stage manager's time slip shows that the curtain for the third act
went up at nine-forty-one--he spoke to her, say, one minute before, or
at nine-forty. The action of the play before she appears in the third act
takes six minutes; therefore----"
"In precisely seven minutes a woman, weighing more than 130 pounds,
certainly not dressed for the street, disappeared completely from her
dressing room. It is now five-eighteen Monday afternoon. I think we
may solve this crime within a few hours."
"Crime?" Hatch repeated eagerly. "Do you imagine there is a crime
then?"
Professor Van Dusen didn't heed the question. Instead he rose and
paced back and forth across the reception room half a dozen times, his
hands behind his back and his eyes cast down. At last he stopped and
faced the reporter, who had also risen.
"Miss Wallack's company, I presume, with the baggage, is now in
Boston," he said. "See every male member of the company, talk to
them and particularly study their eyes. Don't overlook anyone, however
humble. Also find out what became of the box of chocolate candy, and
if possible how many pieces are out of it. Then report here to me. Miss
Wallack's safety may depend upon your speed and accuracy."
Hatch was frankly startled. "How----" he began.
"Don't stop to talk--hurry!" commanded The Thinking Machine. "I will
have a cab waiting when you come back. We must get to Springfield."
The newspaper man rushed away to obey orders. He didn't understand
them at all. Studying men's eyes was not in his line; but he obeyed
nevertheless. An hour and a half later he returned, to be thrust
unceremoniously into a waiting cab by The Thinking Machine. The cab
rattled away toward South Station, where the two men caught a train,
just about to move out for Springfield. Once settled in their seats, the

scientist turned to Hatch, who was nearly suffocating with suppressed
information.
"Well?" he asked.
"I found out several things," the reporter burst out. "First, Miss
Wallack's leading man, Langdon Mason, who has been in love with her
for three years, bought the candy at Schuyler's in Springfield early
Saturday evening before he went to the theater. He told me so himself
rather reluctantly; but I--I made him say it."
"Ah!" exclaimed The Thinking Machine. It was a most unequivocal
ejaculation. "How many pieces of candy are out of the box?"
"Only three," explained Hatch. "Miss Wallack's things were packed
into the open trunk in her dressing room, the candy with them. I
induced the manager----"
"Yes, yes, yes!" interrupted The Thinking Machine impatiently. "What
sort of eyes has Mason? What colour?"
"Blue, frank in expression, nothing unusual at all," said the reporter.
"And the others?"
"I didn't quite know what you meant by studying their eyes, so I got a
set of photographs. I thought perhaps they might help."
"Excellent, Excellent!" commented The Thinking Machine. He shuffled
the pictures through his fingers, stopping now and then to study one,
and to read the name printed below. "Is that the leading man?" he asked
at last, and handed one to Hatch.
"Yes."
Professor Van Dusen did not speak again. The train pulled into
Springfield at nine-twenty. Hatch followed the scientist without a word
into a cab.

"Schuyler's candy store," quickly commanded The Thinking Machine.
"Hurry."
The cab rushed off through the night. Ten minutes later it stopped
before a brilliantly lighted candy store. The Thinking Machine led the
way inside and approached the girl behind