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"So?"
    "If you bothered to keep reading ..." Joe said, pointing at another paragraph in the story. "See here? Emeralds. Heiress. Emily Cornwall seldom seen. Returns to England."
    "And?"
    "We found the magazine, with that particular story marked, in Jillian's apartment," Karen said. "This Emily Cornwall person looks quite a lot like Jillian."
    Joe looked at Frank. "Does that fact suggest to you what it suggests to me?"
    "It's a possibility," Frank said.
    "Let's cut the mumbo-jumbo," Karen said. "You think Jillian may be impersonating Emily Cornwall?"
    "I think it's worth looking into," Frank said.
    "There's the big money Jillian was hoping to make," Joe pointed out. "But I'm not sure where the man in the Rolls-Royce fits in."
    Frank rolled his eyes. "What man in the Rolls-Royce?"
    Joe ran through what he'd learned from Mrs. Farnum. "So that's the whole story. Whatever's up doesn't sound very legal."
    Karen cut in. "I know Jillian - she'd never do anything that was against the law."
    "This Emily Cornwall business is just one possibility." Frank frowned. "It might even be some kind of curve ball to throw us off - pitched by the people who kidnapped Jillian." His frown deepened. "If, of course, she was actually kidnapped."
    "I think that knock you took has put all sorts of weird ideas in your head," Joe said. "Maybe you should take the afternoon off."
    "No, I can handle it. Besides, we have an appointment at the theater this afternoon." Frank tested his sore head again and winced. "There's a matinee of 'Tis a Pity She Won't Be Woo'd, and we'll be able to talk to most of the people who worked with Jillian."
    Karen picked up the news magazine. "Let me show this to some friends in the magazine biz. I won't give away anything, and I may be able to find out more about Miss Cornwall and her fortune."
    "Sounds like a good idea," Joe said. "Then you and I can meet for dinner afterward, Karen, to talk over what you've found out."
    Frank took his brother aside. "Joe, you and I are supposed to be handling this case. We don't need volunteer help."
    "I do," Joe told him, and then turned back to Karen. "Dig into Emily Cornwall - as a personal favor to me."
    Karen smiled and dropped the magazine into her big black shoulder bag. She turned to Frank. "I really am a good reporter," she said. "I'll get you all the information there is to be found."
    Frank studied her silently for a few seconds. "Okay," he said finally. "We'll see."
    ***
    The manager of the Piccadilly Rep, the company presenting 'Tis a Pity She Won't Be Woo'd, was putting on his makeup for the play. "I'm flattered that an American movie agent - Larry Berman - was interested in our show."
    The man glued pieces of bushy black beard to his face, having painted his nose and cheeks bright red. "I play Sir Toby Bearpit," he said, talking to Frank's and Joe's reflections in his makeup mirror. "Even gotten some excellent notices. 'Ralph Estling is more than adequate.' That's from the London Times, my boys."
    "I'm happy for your career," Frank told him. "But I'm afraid Larry Berman didn't arrange this meeting to check out your play. We're trying to locate Jillian Seabright. Why did she quit?"
    "According to her agent, she got a better offer." Estling puffed out his cheeks, snarling so his white teeth showed under the false hair. "Beard is just about right, I think."
    "We're talking about Ian Fisher-Stone here?" Frank asked.
    "Yes, old Ian. Not much of an agent, as I told Jilly many a time. She's a very talented lady and deserves much better representation."
    "You've met Fisher-Stone?"
    "Yes, unfortunately. I'm not partial to having whiskey fumes breathed on me."
    Frank nodded to his brother. "How did he let you know Jillian was leaving - in person?"
    "No, thank heaven, merely over the telephone. 'Dear gell is off to do a major role, old man.' Something like that."
    Joe said, "And you just let Jillian out of her contract with you?"
    Estling smiled, still carefully smoothing his beard. "We're a