The detective had barely made his change, when he heard the low voice of
Busby near by, the friend who had smuggled him upon the stage that
evening.
"Hist! There she is, Chick!"
"Cervera?"
"Yes. Down yonder, just to the right of the electric switchboard. Slip
in back of this wood wing, and you can have a good look at her."
"All right, Busby, old man," whispered Chick. "Don't you pay too much
attention to me, or it may be noticed. I'll see all there is to be seen,
old boy."
Busby winked understandingly, and Chick stepped back of the scenery
mentioned, through a portion of which he could easily watch Cervera
unobserved.
That she was a daughter of sunny Spain no man would have doubted. Her
wavy hair was as dark as night, and her eyes were as radiant as the
night stars. Her rich, olive complexion was much rouged, adding to the
brilliancy of her splendid beauty.
She appeared to be about twenty-five, and was clad in her stage costume,
which combined all the bright hues of the rainbow, and was enlivened by
a myriad of dazzling jewels and diamonds.
The costume served to display to advantage her matchless figure,
however, and Chick was fain to admit that he had never seen a much more
striking beauty.
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