“At tampering with the illusionists’ equipment?” He put down his paintbrush and looked up at me, as if he was really taking in what I had said for the first time. “Here, what are you getting at? You’re one of those newspaper reporters, aren’t you? Slipping in here on some flimsy pretext and then asking questions.”

He got to his feet, towering over me.

“Oh, no.” I backed away. “I promise you I’m not a reporter. I suppose it’s just morbid curiosity. I was up onstage, you see, covering up that girl with my wrap, and I heard Mr. Scarpelli say that someone must have tampered with his equipment, so I just wondered how anyone could have done that.”

“Curiosity killed the cat,” he said bluntly.

“I know. My mother was always telling me that I ask too many questions. It’s a failing of mine, and I’m taking up your time. I should be going. Thank you again.”

I turned away.

“I don’t see how anyone could have tampered with Scarpelli’s table,” he said. “How are they going to get in, to start with? They’d have to get past Ted at the stage door.”

“Can’t you get to the stage from the front of the theater?”

“Nah. We only open the doors an hour before the performance and then there’s always something going on backstage. We’re all here, aren’t we? The illusionists are getting ready. We’d spot an outsider in a second.”

“Of course you would. You spotted me right away, didn’t you?”

“And if any stage door Johnny slips in, well, he’d be tossed out on his ear.”

“I really have taken enough of your time,” I said hastily. “I should be going. Nice talking to you, Mr. . . .”

“Reg,” he said. “Just plain Reg.”

“Nice talking to you, Reg.”

“And you too, miss.” I saw that he was now eyeing me with interest. Perhaps he thought I’d been flirting with him. “So you’re not in the theater yourself then?”

“I have been,” I said, stretching the truth only a little. “At this moment I’m not working.”

“Happens to the best of performers,” he said. “Say, if you’d like to go for a malt sometime?”

“That’s kind of you, but I have a very jealous boyfriend,” I said.

I beat a hasty retreat then and made my way back to Ted at the stage door.

“No luck then, miss?” he asked.

“I didn’t really expect to find it,” I said, “but at least I can say that I tried now.”

He nodded with sympathy.

“Ted, you’re here all the time, aren’t you? You’d know if anyone tried to sneak into the theater?”

“I’ve been stage doorkeeper for twenty years now,” he said proudly. “I can keep out unwanted intruders better than anybody.”