“He was soon hard at work, but was interrupted by Tommy hurrying up the stairs ...

Here’s a good thing, guv’nor.” Tommy Burke pushed a letter across Hawke’s desk. “Free seats at the Palladium Cinema, oh, boy!” Hawke stretched out his hand and read the letter. It ran: Dear Mr Hawke, – I have much pleasure in enclosing two complimentary tickets to any performance this week. If you have time afterwards, I should be delighted to renew our acquaintance. – Yours sincerely, Harry T. Dorman, Manager.

“Rather unusual,” commented Hawke. “Especially since I’ve never met the gentleman.”

“Well, I’m jiggered!” exclaimed Tommy. “He must be mixing you up with someone else. But we’ll use the tickets, won’t we?”

“We’ll certainly accept,” agreed Hawke, “and we’ll go tonight, about half-past five. I’m very curious, indeed.” But Tommy was puzzled by his peculiarly serious tone.

“Why so curious? It’s only an advertising stunt, and a case of mixed identity, surely.”

“Both are possible, but it’s far more likely that Dorman has something to tell me, wishing to consult me without saying so directly. The suggestion of a chat, and the hint at an earlier acquaintanceship, speak volumes.”

Inquiries

“But, hang it, why couldn’t he have written or telephoned for an interview?” demanded Tommy.

“That’s what we have to find out,” said Hawke. “Meanwhile, there’s a job for you. Make inquiries up and down the street for similar letters.” Tommy reached for his coat.

“London cinemas haven’t had a very good time lately,” he said, “and it’s better to have a full house with a lot of complimentaries than an empty house altogether. I’ll bet it’s just an advertisement!”

Hawke smiled, watched him go, and then turned his attention once more to the pile of correspondence on his desk. He was soon hard at work, but was interrupted by Tommy hurrying up the stairs and then bursting into the office.

“Here we are, guv’nor!” Tommy had his hat on the back of his head, and there was a gleam of triumph in his eyes. “The whole street’s had them! I’ve discovered twenty-five!”

“How many were asked to go to see the manager?” “None of them!” answered Tommy, a trifle disconcerted. “The letters are worded a bit differently from yours.”

Hawke frowned thoughtfully.

“It’s all very carefully done and cleverly worded,” he reflected. “But I still think Mr Dorman chose this peculiar method of asking me to see him for a consultation.”

Three-quarters of an hour later, Hawke and Tommy entered the huge cinema house.

A fair crowd was in the foyer, and the house looked busy enough. Several other complimentary tickets were presented at the pay-box, near which was standing a tall, dark-haired, and portly man, well-dressed, and apparently genial.

“That’ll be Dorman,” whispered Tommy. “I wouldn’t be surprised,” admitted Hawke.

It was not long before they were engrossed in the film. The whole audience was extremely attentive, and when at last the lights went up, Tommy blinked at his employer.

“That was a great film! Will we bother to stay for the news and the supporting programme, now?”

“We’ll see it all,” said Hawke, and they sat through an hour’s extra programme, although nothing like so interestedly. Tommy yawned several times, and jumped up with alacrity when the end of the programme was reached. Hawke did not hurry to the exit, however, and they were practically the last to leave after that performance.

People were crowding through the foyer, and the box-office was busy.

Hawke spoke to a commissionaire, and was directed at once to the manager’s office, which led from the foyer. A man’s voice called, “Come in,” and Hawke entered, saying to Tommy just before he did so: “Stay here, old son, and keep your eyes open.”

“Right-ho,” said Tommy, and then with a grin added, “I’ll make sure no one raids the box-office.”

Hawke smiled and stepped inside. He saw a tall, dark-haired man sitting at a desk, and a platinumblonde girl sitting next to him. On the desk was a heap of silver, a bank paying-in book, and a pile of torn tickets.

The manager looked worried and spoke absently. “Yes, what is it?”

“Well, well!” exclaimed Hawke. “Is this the way you treat old friends, Harry! Until I had that circular letter of yours, I’d no idea you were in London!”

Harry T. Dorman pushed his chair back, stood up and stretched out a hand. He was puzzled, but Hawke noticed he was careful to conceal that from the girl. He played up well as he said: “Well, I’m blowed. You of all people!”

“I thought I’d use your tickets right away. Hawke’s not the lad to throw up a chance of a free evening’s entertainment,” said Dixon Hawke, and thus made sure that Dorman realised who he was. Dorman’s face brightened, and he turned to the girl.

“Give a hand at the box-office for 10 minutes or so, Miss Reed, will you?”

He waited for the girl to go out, and stepped to the door, making sure that it was closed. Then he turned abruptly, and Hawke saw that his hands were unsteady.

“I hope you don’t mind the way I wrote, Mr Hawke –”

“Of course not,” said Hawke promptly. “I thought it a very clever method of approach, but it puzzled me. Why on earth couldn’t you get in touch with me by normal means?”

Dorman drew a deep breath.

“I’ll tell you as quickly as I can. I – I’m being blackmailed, heavily. I’ve paid every penny I can, and I can’t go on. Now I’m told that if I don’t find more money, my employer will be informed that I’m defrauding them.”

Emezzlement

Hawke frowned. “Are you doing that?” “Great guns, no! But I’ll be frank, Mr Hawke. Ten years ago, under another name, I served a sentence of a year for embezzlement. I was desperate, my wife was ill – oh, I’m not going to make a lot of excuses. I committed a crime, paid for it, and then started life afresh. After a while I was lucky enough to get this job, under a new name, of course. If my employer knew of that year in prison, I’d go out like a shot.” “I can understand your difficulties,” said Hawke. “I’ve heard of you, and I knew you would help me if you could. If I went to the police they would find out about my past, and almost certainly tell my employer, but – the situation’s grown worse even since I wrote to you. I am just checking the money – takings against counterfoils. The takings are £40 short. And I had a telephone message a quarter of an hour ago. If I don’t take £25 to the blackmailer within an hour, he will telephone my employers, and an immediate audit will be made of the night’s takings. When it’s discovered they’re short – ”

Dorman looked positively haggard. “What can I do? It’s someone in the theatre, I know. Someone who can get at the ticket-box. Someone who knows my every move. That’s why I wrote to you as I did.” Hawke said slowly: “If it’s someone here, surely you’ve an idea who it is?”

More on Monday.