The Film Mystery

  XII

  EMERY PHELPS

  "There--there is something the matter with the curtains?" Phelpssuggested.

  Kennedy pointed to the two holes and the spots. "Miss Lamar met herdeath from poison introduced into her system through a tiny scratchfrom a prepared needle."

  "Yes?" Phelps was calm now, and cool. I wondered if it were pretense onhis part. "What have these little marks to do with that?"

  "Don't you see?" rejoined Kennedy. "If some one had come here beforethe scene in the picture was played; had thrust a small needle, perhapsa hollow needle from a hypodermic syringe, through the heavy thicknessof this silk--thrust it in here, the point sticking out here--well,there would be two holes left where the threads were forced apart, likethis!" Kennedy took his stickpin, demonstrating.

  "How could that cause Stella's death?" Phelps, at first quite upsetapparently by Kennedy's discovery, now was lapsing again into hishostile mood. His question was cynical.

  "Try to recall Miss Lamar's actions," Kennedy went on, patiently. "Whatwas she supposed to do in the very first scene? 'The portieres move andthe fingers of a girl are seen on the edge of the silk. A bare andbeautiful arm is thrust through almost to the shoulder and it begins tomove the portieres aside, reaching upward to pull the curtains apart atthe rings.'"

  "Do you mean to tell me--" Phelps's eyes were very wide as he paused,grasping the scheme and yet disbelieving--unless it all were a bit offine acting--"do you mean to tell me it is possible to calculate athing like that? How would anyone know where her arm would be?"

  "It is simpler than it sounds, Mr. Phelps." Kennedy was suddenly harsh."There is only one natural movement of an arm in that case. The culpritwas undoubtedly familiar with Miss Lamar's height and with her mannerof working. It is a bit of action which has to be repeated in both thelong shot and close-up scenes. Jameson here can tell you how many timesa scene is rehearsed. There probably were a dozen sure chances of theneedle striking the girl's bare flesh. You will see from the positionof the holes that it was arranged point downward and slightly turnedin, and on a particular fold of the curtain, too; showing that some oneplaced it there only after a nice bit of calculation. Furthermore, itwas high enough so that there was little chance of anyone being prickedexcept the star, whose death was intended."

  Phelps either seemed convinced, or else he felt it inadvisable toirritate Kennedy by a further pretense of skepticism.

  A point occurred to me, however. "Listen, Craig!" I spoke in a lowvoice. "Remember all the emphasis you placed upon the fact that shewould cry out. She was not supposed to cry out in that first scene."

  "No, Walter, but if you'll read the second, the close-up, you'll seethat the script actually calls for a cry. Now suppose she makes anexclamation in the first instead. Nobody would think anything of it.They would assume that she had played her action a little in advance,perhaps.

  "And then consider this, too! Miss Lamar, receiving the scratch, wouldcry out unquestionably. But she has been before the camera for yearsand she is trained in the idea that film must not be wasted uselessly.She would not interrupt her action for a little scratch because inthese circumstances any little startled movement would fit in with theaction. By the time the scene was over she would have forgotten theincident. It would mean very little to her in the preoccupation ofbringing the mythical Stella Remsen into flesh-and-blood existence. Thepoison, however, would be putting in its deadly work."

  "Wouldn't it act before the thirteenth scene--" I began.

  "Not necessarily. As a matter of fact, an actress, in the excitement ofher work, might resist the effects for a much longer period than someone who realizes he is sick. Some day I'm going to write a book onthat. I'm going to collect hundreds of examples of people who keepplugging along because they refuse to admit anything's the matter withthem. It's like Napoleon's courier who didn't drop until he'd deliveredhis message and made his last precise military salute."

  One other thought struck me. "The blood spots on the curtain cannot beMiss Lamar's if, as you say, the scratch brought no blood."

  "How about the nocturnal visitor who removed the needle in the dark?Can't you imagine him pricking himself beautifully in his hurry."

  "Good heavens!" I felt the chills travel up and down my spine. "Theremay be another fatality, then!" I exclaimed.

  Kennedy was noncommittal. "It would be too bad for justice to becheated in that fashion," he remarked.

  Phelps meanwhile had been listening to us impatiently. Finally heturned to Mackay.

  "Was that all you called me out here for? Did you just want to show methe pinholes in those portieres?"

  "Not exactly," Mackay replied, eyeing him sharply. "Some one forced hisway into this library last night. My guard saw him, and also saw asecond man who remained out in the shrubbery and seemed to be watchingthe first. One shot was fired, but both men got away. An automobile waswaiting, perhaps two of them."

  "How does this concern me?" Phelps's voice rose in anger. He strodeinto the library and over to the French windows, inspecting the damageto the fine woodwork with steadily rising color. Then he hurried backto the side of Mackay.

  "It's up to you, District-Attorney Mackay," he said, with a great showof his ill feeling. "You practically forced me out of my own house. Yousent my servants away. You put your own guards in charge, young,inexperienced deputies who don't know enough to come in when it's wet.Now you have me make this trip out here in business hours just to showme where a needle has been stuck in a curtain and where a pair ofimported window sashes have been ruined."

  Mackay was unruffled. "It is necessary, Mr. Phelps, that you look overthis room and see that nothing else has been disturbed; that there isno further damage. Moreover, I thought you might be interested, mightwish to help us determine the identity of the intruder."

  "If there's any way I can really help you to dothat"--sarcastically--"I'll be delighted."

  "Were you here the night before the murder?" Mackay asked.

  "You know I seldom spend the night in Tarrytown. I have quarters in NewYork, at the club, and recently I have been spending all my time in NewYork, on account of the situation in the picture business."

  "You were not here the night before the murder, then?"

  "No!"

  "But you were out here yesterday before the actors arrived, beforeManton or any of his technical staff and crew came?"

  "I was out very early, to make sure the servants had the house ready."Phelps was red now. "Are you insinuating anything, Mackay?"

  The little district attorney was demonstrating a certain quality ofdogged perseverance. "Some one put the needle in the curtain before thecompany arrived. You probably were in the house at the time; or at theleast your servants were. Whoever did was the one who murdered StellaLamar."

  "And also," rejoined Phelps, tartly, "was the intruder who broke inhere last night and ruined my window sash. If you had had better guardsyou might have caught him, too!"

  "Are you sure of your servants? Are they reliable--"

  "I never anticipated a murder and so I didn't question them as to theirpoisoning proclivities when I engaged them. But you know where they areand you can examine them. If I were you, Mackay--"

  "Gentlemen!" Kennedy hastened to stop the colloquy before it became anout-and-out quarrel. Then he faced the banker.

  "Mr. Phelps," Kennedy's voice was soft, coaxing, "I don't think Mr.Mackay quite understands. It would be a great service to me if youwould give the house a quick general inspection. You are familiar withthe things here, enough to state whether they have been disturbed toany appreciable degree. You see, we do not know the interiorarrangements as they were before this unfortunate happening."

  With rather ill grace Phelps stalked up the steps, acceding toKennedy's request, but disdaining to answer.

  Kennedy turned to Mackay as the banker disappeared out of earshot."That's just to cool him off a bit. I have everything I came to getright here." Producing a pair of pocket scissors, he cut the p
iercedand spotted bit of silk from the portieres, ruthlessly. It wasnecessary vandalism.

  "What was the poison, Mr. Kennedy?" Mackay asked, in a low voice.

  "I think that it was closely allied to the cyanide groups in itsrapacious activity."

  "But you haven't identified it yet?"

  "No. So far I haven't the slightest idea of its true nature. It seemsto have a powerful affinity for important nerve centers of respirationand muscular co-ordination, as well as possessing a tendency todisorganize the blood. I should say that it produces death byrespiratory paralysis and convulsions. To my mind it is an exact,though perhaps less active, counterpart of hydrocyanic acid. But thatis not what it is or I would have been able to prove it before this."

  Mackay nodded, listening in silence.

  "You'll say nothing of this?" Kennedy added.

  "I'll be silent, of course."

  Heavy footsteps from the rear marked the return of Phelps, who hadcovered the upper floors, descending by the back stairs so as to have alook at the kitchen.

  "Everything seems to be all right," he remarked, half graciously.

  Kennedy led the way to the front porch. There he seemed more interestedin the weather than in the case, for he studied the sky intently.Glancing up, I saw that the morning was still gray and cloudy, with nopromise that the sun would be able to struggle through the overhangingmoisture.

  "I don't think we'll go back to the city--that is, all the way in," heremarked, speaking for both of us. "I want to go to the Manton studiofirst. This is no day for exteriors and so they'll probably be workingthere." He smiled at Phelps. "I want to see if any of our possiblesuspects look as though they had been engaging in nocturnal journeys."

  Phelps had been rubbing his eyes. He dropped his hand so quickly that Iwanted to smile; then to cover his confusion he promptly offered todrive us in. Mackay at the same time volunteered his car.

  Kennedy accepted the latter offer. As he thanked the banker I wonderedif any suspicion of that individual lurked in the back of his mind.Phelps certainly had made a very bad impression upon me with hisantagonistic attitude, with his readiness to transform every questioninto a personal affront.

  "Just one other thing, Mr. Phelps," exclaimed Kennedy, as we were aboutto descend to Mackay's car. "Why did you wish the scenes in 'The BlackTerror' actually taken in your library?"

  Kennedy had asked the question before. Had he forgotten? I glanced atthe banker and read the same thought in his expression.

  "I--I'm proud of my library and I wanted to see it in pictures," hereplied, after some hesitation and with a little rancor.

  "Not to save money?"

  "It would be no appreciable saving."

  "I see." Kennedy was tantalizingly deliberate. "How long have you heldthe controlling interest in Manton Pictures, Mr. Phelps?"

  "Uh"--in surprise--"nearly a year."

  "You could have had your library photographed at any time, then, simplyby stating your request as you did in this case. In that year therehave been pictures which would have served the purpose as well as this;better, in fact, because in this picture the library seems to be darkalmost altogether. In other stories there probably were infinitelybetter chances for the exhibition of the room. Why did you wait for'The Black Terror'?"

  As a clear understanding of Kennedy's question and all it entailedfiltered into the mind of Phelps he became so red and flushed withanger that I felt sure he was going to explode on the spot.

  "Because I didn't think of it before," he sputtered.

  "You said the situation in the picture business made it necessary foryou to stay in town. Is there any trouble between Manton and yourself?"

  "Not a bit!"

  "Was Stella Lamar making any trouble, of a business nature, such asthreatening to quit Manton Pictures?"

  "No!" Phelps' eyes now were narrowed to slits.

  "Are you sure?"

  With a great effort Phelps achieved a degree of self-control. He forceda smile. His remark, presumed to be a pleasantry, I knew masked thetrue state of his feelings.

  "As sure, Mr. Kennedy," he rejoined, awed by Kennedy's reputation evenin the full flood of his anger, "as sure as I am that I'd like to throwyou down these steps!"