ile after mile, thinking,
always thinking, and searching his mind for a solution of the mystery.

It was evening. He had walked past the scene of the Colossus crash
several times. He found himself on a side street. He looked up and saw
in electric lights:

TOWN HALL

_Munsterbergen, the Mad Musician_
Concert Here To-night.

He took five dollars from his pocket and bought a ticket. He entered
with the crowd and was ushered to a seat. He looked neither to the right
or left. His eyes were sunken, his face lined with worry.

Something within Jenks caused him to turn slightly. He was curiously
aware of a beautiful girl who sat beside him. She had a mass of golden
hair which seemed to defy control. It was wild, positively tempestuous.
Her eyes were deep blue and her skin as white as fleecy clouds in
spring. He was dimly conscious that those glorious eyes were troubled.

She glanced at him. She was aware that he was suffering. A great surge
of sympathy welled in her heart. She could not explain the feeling.

A great red plush curtain parted in the center and drew in graceful
folds to the edges of the proscenium. A small stage was revealed.

A tousle-headed man with glaring, beady black eyes, dressed in black
evening clothes stepped forward and bowed. Under his arm was a violin.
He brought the violin forward. His nose, like the beak of some great
bird, bobbed up and down in acknowledgment of the plaudits which greeted
him. His long nervous fingers began to caress the instrument and his
lips began to move.

Jenks was aware that he was saying something, but was not at all
interested. What he said was this:

"Maybe, yes, I couldn't talk so good English, but you could understood
it, yes? Und now I tell you dot I never play the compositions of any
man. I axtemporize exgloosively. I chust blay und blay, und maybe you
should listen, yes? If I bleeze you I am chust happy."

Jenks' attention was drawn to him. He noted his wild appearance.

"He sure looks mad enough," mused Jenks.

* * * * *

The violinist flipped the fiddle up under his chin. He drew the bow over
the strings and began a gentle melody that reminded one of rain drops
falling on calm waters.

Jenks forgot his troubles. He forgot everything. He slumped in his seat
and his eyes closed. The rain continued falling from the strings of the
violin.

Suddenly the melody changed to a glad little lilting measure, as sweet
as