Kennedy’s voice roused me from my reverie.

“Does this door lead through to the other vaults, Mr. Manton?”

“Yes.”  The promoter straightened, after replacing the records of the negative.  “I designed this system of storage myself and superintended every detail of construction.  It is—­” He checked himself with an exclamation, noticing that the door was open.  With a flush of anger he slammed it shut.

“I should think the connecting doors would be kept shut all the time,” Kennedy remarked.  “In case of fire only one compartment would be a loss.”

“That’s the idea exactly!  That’s why I was on the point of swearing.  The boys down here are getting lax and I’m going to make trouble.”  Manton turned back and called to the boy outside.  “Where did you say Wagnalls went?”

“I don’t know, sir!  Sometimes he goes across to McCann’s for a cup of coffee, or maybe he went up to the printing department.”

Manton faced us once more.  “If you’ll excuse me just a moment I’m going to see who’s responsible for this.  Why,” he sputtered, “if you hadn’t called me around the rack I wouldn’t have noticed that the door was open and then, if there had been a fire—­I—­I’ll be right back!”

As Manton stormed off Kennedy smiled slightly, then nodded for me to follow.  We passed through into the rooms for positive storage.  These in turn had fireproof connecting doors, all of which were open.  In each case Kennedy closed them.  Eventually we emerged into the main part of the basement through the farther vault door.  Nothing of a suspicious nature had caught our attention.  I guessed that Kennedy simply had wished to cover the carelessness of the vault man in leaving the inner doors wide open.

At the entrance which had first admitted us to the negative room, however, Kennedy stooped suddenly.  At the very moment he bent forward I caught the glint of something bright behind the heavy steel door, and in the shadow so that it had escaped us before.  As he rose I leaned over.  It was a cigarette case, a very handsome one with large initials engraved with deep skillful flourish.

“Who is ’J.  G.’?” Kennedy asked.

I felt a quiver of excitement.  “Jack Gordon, the leading man.”

“What’s an actor doing down in the film vaults?” he muttered.

Slipping the case into his pocket, he glanced about on the floor and something just within the negative room caught his eye.  Once more he bent down.  With a speculative expression he picked up the cork-tipped stub of a cigarette.

At this instant Manton returned, breathing hard as though his pursuit of the missing Wagnalls had been very determined.  The butt in Kennedy’s fingers attracted his attention at once.

“Did—­did you find that here?” he demanded.

Kennedy pointed.  “Right there on the floor.”

“The devil!” Manton flushed red.  “This is no place to smoke.  By—­ by all the wives of Goodwin and all the stars of Griffith I’m going to start firing a few people!” he sputtered.  “Here, sonny!” He jumped at the boy, frightening him.  “Close all these doors and turn the combinations.  Tell Wagnalls if he opens them before he sees me I’ll commit battery on his nose.”