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I’m afraid. After she came here—”
    “Wait, wait,” said Humbleby, applying himself hurriedly to his notebook. “When did she come here?”
    “About a year ago, I think. She was taken on as an extra, to start with.”
    “And where did she come from?”
    “I’ve an idea she was in repertory, but which repertory I can’t say.”
    “We ought to find that out easily enough… Sorry to interrupt. Go on.”
    “As I say, she was taken on as an extra. After that she got a cameo part in a film called—damn, what was it?” Judy flicked her fingers irritably. “Oh, I remember— Visa for Heaven.”
    “A cameo part?”
    “Yes, you know: the film equivalent of a bit part on the stage. Something just a little more important than merely walking on. And then the last thing I heard—though I wouldn’t swear to its being true—is that Jocelyn Stafford signed her up for quite a good part in this Pope film.”
    Fen looked up. “Really? Do you know what part?”
    “Martha Blount, she said.”
    “It’s a role which gets more and more etiolated,” said Fen cheerfully, “as one script conference follows another. But even so, not a bad chance for a girl who’s virtually unknown. Have you any idea how she came by the job?”
    “Yes, I rather fancy it was Maurice Crane’s doing.”
    “We seem to be hearing a great deal about this fellow,” Humbleby complained, “but I’m sorry to say that I for one haven’t the remotest idea who or what he is. Do please explain.”
    “He’s Madge Crane’s youngest brother,” said Judy, “the other two being Nicholas Crane, who’s a director, and David Crane, who’s something very minor in the Script Department. Maurice is a camera-man—and a very good one, which means that he’s an influential person hereabouts.”
    “Do you suppose that his getting Gloria Scott this part would be an attempt at reparation for—um—coercing her into maternity?”
    “It might be. If in fact he was responsible for that.”
    “There’s another candidate, of course.” And Humbleby sighed dejectedly. “Of the two men, which would be the more adversely affected by the publication of Miss Scott’s—um—condition? “
    “Stuart North, certainly. Camera-men, however good, aren’t celebrities. Actors are.” Judy replied so promptly that for a moment the tangential nature of the question did not strike her; when it did, she said inquisitively: “Why do you ask that?”
    “It’s possible,” Humbleby answered with reserve, “that someone may have made an attempt to conceal the motive for Gloria Scott’s suicide.”
    “You mean torn up a suicide note, or something like that?”
    “Something like that.”
    “Stuart North would certainly have more reason for doing that than Maurice Crane. On the other hand—” Judy’s grey eyes widened suddenly. “Hell, what a fool I’m being! I’ve just remembered.”
    “Remembered what?”
    “That Stuart North was in America during December and January, doing a short run of a Shaw play on Broadway. And Gloria was very definitely in England. So we’ve been maligning Stuart.”
    “You think, then, that Maurice Crane—”
    “He or someone else.”
    “I suppose”—Humbleby scratched his nose ruefully—“that you can’t think of anyone, Crane apart, who would be likely to know?”
    “There’s one possibility, yes—a girl called Valerie Bryant, who was Gloria’s particular friend.”
    “Where can we find her?”
    “I’ve an idea she’s working on a film now—a musical comedy called Gaiety Sue.”
    “Lumme,” said Humbleby; it was his affectation to relapse occasionally into the milder forms of plebeian slang. “Is she an actress, then?”
    “A chorus girl.”
    “And it would be possible for me to meet her this morning, would it?”
    “That depends on the shooting schedules. The film’s on the floor all right, but they mayn’t today be doing anything she’s concerned in. I can find out for you.”
    “I wish you