“I don’t see what we can do,” said Joe.  “If we start an inquiry it may cause a fight.  Let it go.  We’ll have to charge it to profit and loss.  And don’t forget to let me have some of those tickets.  I want to examine them.”

Mr. Moyne promised to attend to the matter.  Joe then had to go on in his Box of Mystery trick, and when this was finished, amid much applause, he caused Helen to “vanish” in the manner already described.

The circus made considerable money in this town, even with the bogus admissions, and as the weather was fine and as the show would exhibit the next day in a big city for a two days’ stand, every one was in good humor.  Staying over night in the same city where they exhibited during the day was always a rest for the performers.  They got more sleep and were in better trim for work.

The last act was finished, the chariot races had taken place, and the audience was surging out.  The animal tent had already been taken down and the animals themselves were being loaded on the railroad train.

As Joe, Helen, and the other performers started for their berths, to begin the trip to the next town, the “main top” began coming down.  The circus was on the move.

Soon after breakfast the next morning, having seen that all his apparatus had safely arrived, Joe visited Mr. Moyne in the latter’s office.

“Have you a bunch of tickets for me?” asked the young magician.

“Yes, here they are—­several hundred picked at random from the boxes at the entrance.  I can’t see anything wrong.  If you’re looking for counterfeit tickets I don’t believe you’ll find them,” added Mr. Moyne.

“I don’t know that I am looking for counterfeits,” said Joe.  “That may be the explanation, or it may be there is a leak somewhere in the ticket wagon.”

“I’m almost sure there isn’t,” declared the treasurer.  “But of course no one is infallible.  I hope you get to the bottom of the mystery.”

“I hope so myself,” replied Joe, with a smile, as he put the tickets in a valise.

A little later he was on his way downtown.  He had several hours before he would have to go “on,” as he did not take part in the parade, and he had several matters to attend to.

Joe made his way toward a large office building, carrying the valise with the circus tickets.  A little later he might have been seen entering an office, the door of which bore the name of “Herbert Waldon, Consulting Chemist.”

“Mr. Strong,” said Joe to the boy who came forward to inquire his errand.  “Mr. Waldon is expecting me, I believe.”

“Oh, yes,” said the boy.  “You’re to come right in.”

Joe was ushered into a room which was filled with strange appliances, from test tubes and retorts to electrical furnaces and X-ray apparatus.  A little man in a rather soiled linen coat came forward, smiling.

“I won’t shake hands with you, Mr. Strong,” he said, “for I’ve been dabbling in some vile-smelling stuff.  But if you wait until I wash I’ll be right with you.”