As time for the curtain to rise drew near, Hedin found himself fidgeting nervously.  Had the theatre party been called off?  The house was already well filled; surely there was no block of vacant seats that would accommodate a dinner party.  Then, as he had about given up hope, he raised his eyes to a box just as Jean McNabb entered, followed closely by Wentworth.  Hedin stared as if petrified, brushed his hand across his eyes as though to clear his vision of distorting film, and stared again.  For Wentworth was lifting a coat from Jean’s shoulders, but it was not a sable one.  Seizing his hat and coat, Hedin rushed from the building, narrowly avoiding collision with an usher.

Without pausing to put on his coat, he dashed for the store and letting himself in, took the stairs three at a time.  Upon the second flight, he met the night watchman who, recognizing him, allowed him to pass, but noting his evident agitation and unaccountable haste, silently and discreetly followed and took up a position where he could watch every move of the excited department head.  Hastening to the fur safe, Hedin unlocked and threw it open.  He switched on the light, and peered into the interior.  The Russian sable coat was not in its accustomed place.  And a hurried search of the safe showed that it was in no other place.  Closing the door, he inspected the case that contained the less valuable furs, and it was but the work of a moment to discover that the baum marten coat was missing.  Dumbfounded, he stared at the empty space where the coat should have been.  His brief inspection in the theatre had told him this was the coat Jean McNabb was wearing—­but where was the sable?  He distinctly remembered replacing the marten with his own hands, and of seeing the girl pass down the aisle wearing the sable.

He sank into his chair and, leaning forward, buried his face in his arms upon his desk.  He tried to think clearly, but found himself entirely incapable of thought.  How did it happen?  Where was the sable?

Calling the watchman, Hedin questioned him for half an hour, but learned nothing.  He even made a personal inspection of every door and window in the store, and sent the watchman to the basement on a tour of similar inspection.  When the man returned and reported nothing disturbed, Hedin left the store and proceeded directly to his room, where he spent a sleepless night in trying to solve the mystery.

After breakfast the following morning Jean McNabb sat before the little dressing table in her room when the doorbell rang, and the maid announced Mr. Hedin.

“Tell Mr. Hedin I can’t see anyone this morning,” she said, without looking up.

Again the maid tapped at the door, and entering, handed the girl a hastily scribbled leaf torn from a notebook.  Jean read it at a glance, and her face flushed with swift anger.  No salutation, only a few scrawled words:  “Must see you at once.  Purely matter of business—­very important—­about the coat.”