"I don't care who he is or who vouched for him," a voice growled. "Wait a minute, did you say Augustus Madison?"
    "Yes," the clerk hissed. "The movie star, Augustus Madison, He just finished filming."
    "I see.... Well. Mr. Madison," the manager emerged, smiling.
    Madison introduced himself.
    "The pleasure is all mine sir, certainly. I heard that you were detained from making last night's performance, no doubt something of great importance. We do maintain for emergency circumstances a spare box...."
    "That would be great," he smiled. "Just swell."
    "Anything we can do to help an actor of your caliber, sir."
    "Well, I'd appreciate that, I would."
    "Are you going to be in the city long?"
    "Probably only for another couple days." At least, if he had anything to say about it.
    "Anything we can do to make your stay here more pleasurable." He looked distinctly starstruck.
    "Thank you very much." I really want to get this Muse, he thought. He sends women out to do his dirty work.
    By midafternoon the radio waves were overloaded with information. There was no way for the police to hide what was going on with the afternoon editions of the paper were screaming bloody murder. No one had paid for the clue ad; it had been substituted for the planned text without their knowledge, and they were most unhappy about it. The mayor had stated that for some time now and without his knowledge the police had been dealing with these taunting criminals. He insisted that there was no way this latest crime would succeed; manpower had been doubled for the night and a net laid across the city to ensure success, drawing upon forces from neighboring communities as well as Boston itself.
    Roger Fitzgerald was interviewed on the radio and asked what he thought about the possibility of the performance being targeted.
    "That's why I have demanded additional police protection," he answered. "You are aware that earlier in my career I was stalked and nearly kidnapped, and I am not willing to live in fear any longer."
    "Strong words. Thank you sir, and break a leg tonight."
    I don't trust that man, Madison thought again.
    Hunter found himself thinking that it was all a little too obvious. Unless it was a distraction, with the police concentrating on the theater....
    Argus pondered the riddle. All stages of the same? Was there another stage in this affair? Who leaves behind but sin... Roger Fitzgerald, the prodigal son, on poor terms with his father, did seem to be the likely target of a kidnapping. The villains might also be after the door money, but with half the police in the state guarding the place that seemed a bit unlikely. But that being the case, how would they get to Fitzgerald?
    Something about it bothered her. Was the father somehow involved in it? She pulled out files on him and on others Roger would have known while he lived in Boston.
    It was bothering Hunter as well. The whole business was just too pat.
    Madison wasn't bothered at all. He called Happy Harry, the only man who knew his secret identity, to fill him in on events.
    "Whew, sounds like you're hip deep in the middle of one and that the women out there can't be trusted," was his judgment.
    "I've never seen anything like it."
    "Even with your charming smile, they still kicked you in the balls?"
    "Yeah."
    "So what about the two you're working with out there, they any good?"
    "Yes, they're definitely more up on this detective stuff than I am."
    "Well, out here we have the police, they just call in for help."
    "I guess they don't do it that way out here."
    "Seems like a stupid way to do things,"
    "I know," Vanguard agreed.
    Argus' research took her some hours. Robert Fitzgerald held all the family money—inherited, it seemed—and owned a mansion on the North Shore. The separation had been unpleasant, and the papers had recently speculated that Roger's visit to the area might indicate a reconciliation, but his father was not planning to attend any performances, so that seemed unlikely. It seemed he was in fact somewhat resentful of the fact that rather than being known in his own right as the millionaire scholar, the elder Fitzgerald was now known to the press as the reclusive and estranged father of the actor. Robert was on sabbatical, translating some Greek materials for the university, and had not been seen in the city recently.
    She suddenly found herself wondering, would his father pay a ransom?
    Some more digging turned up a statement he had made during the initial kidnapping scare. "If someone took him I would thank them," Fitzgerald pere had claimed. Perhaps he hadn't meant it, but that seemed a slender hope for a kidnapper to stake such a crime upon when there were other, better-loved children of millionaires to be found.
    
    Vanguard got a call from the police.
    "Hello, Mr. Madison?"
    "This is he."
    "Ah, this is the chief of police calling. I'm just wondering, we've just spoken with the people at the Pilgrim Theater, and we had been hoping to make use of their spare box to maintain surveillance, for the potential threat tonight, and we were informed that you had a seat up there. We just wanted to let you know that we were going to be up there with you, if that was all right with you."
    "That should be fine," he allowed slowly.
    "Thank you very much for your willingness to cooperate on this, sir. We won't have anyone much there, just a few police officers to make sure that everything's on the up and up."
    "Okay."
    "I'm a big fan, sir," he added.
    "Thanks very much."
    "Have you been enjoying your stay in Boston?"
    

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