XV
I BECOME A DETECTIVE
Important as it was to watch Enid and Marilyn, Werner and the rest,Kennedy decided that it was now much more important to hold to hisexpressed purpose of returning to the laboratory with our trophies ofthe day's crime hunt.
"For people to whom emotion ought to be an old story in their everydaystage life, I must say they feel and show plenty of it in real life," Iremarked, as Enid set us down and drove off. "It does not seem to pall."
"I don't know why the movie people buy stories," remarked Craig,quaintly. "They don't need to do it--they live them."
When we were settled in the laboratory once more Kennedy plunged withrenewed vigor into the investigation he had dropped in the morning inorder to make the hurried trip to the Phelps home in Tarrytown.
I had hoped he would talk further of the probabilities of theconnection of the various people with the crime, but he had no commenteven upon the admission of Enid that she had known Millard for a periodlong antedating the trouble with Stella Lamar.
It seemed that, after all, he was quite excited at the discovery of theampulla and was anxious to begin the analysis of its scale-likecontents. I was not sure, but it struck me that this might be the samesubstance which had spotted the towel or the portieres. If that wereso, the finding of it in this form had given him a new and tangibleclue to its nature, accounting for his eagerness.
I watched his elaborate and thorough preparations, wishing I could beof assistance, but knowing the limitations of my own chemical andbacteriological knowledge. I grasped, however, that he wasconcentrating his study upon the spots he had cut from the portieres,in particular the stain where the point of the needle had been, andupon the incrustations on the inner surface of the tube. He madesolutions of both of these and for some little time experimented withchemical reactions. Then he had recourse to several weighty technicalbooks. Though bursting with curiosity, I dared not question him, nordistract him in any way.
Finally he turned to a cage where he kept on hand, always, a few ofthose useful martyrs to science, guinea pigs. Taking one of the littleanimals and segregating him from the others, he prepared to inoculatehim with a tiny bit of the solution made from the stain on the piececut from the portiere.
At that I knew it would be a long and tiresome analysis. It seemed awaste of time to wait idly for Kennedy to reach his conclusions, so Icast about in my mind for some sort of inquiry of my own which I couldconduct meanwhile, perhaps collecting additional facts about those wewere watching at the studio.
Somehow I could not wholly lose my suspicions of the director, Werner;especially now as I marshaled the evidence against him. First of all hewas the only person absolutely in control of the movements of StellaLamar. If she did not bring up her arm against the curtains in a mannercalculated to press the needle against her flesh it certainly would notseem out of the way for him to ask her to do it over again, or even forhim to direct changes in her position. This he could do either inrehearsal or in retakes after the scene had actually been photographed.It was not proof, I knew. Practically all of them were familiar withthe action of the scene, could guess how Werner would handle it. Thepoint was that the director, next to Millard, was the most thoroughlyconversant with the scenes in the script, had to figure out everythingdown to the very location and angles of the camera.
Another matter, of course, was the placing of the needle in the silk.For that purpose some one had to go to Tarrytown ahead of the others,or at least had to precede the others into the living room. Offhand Iwas compelled to admit that this was easiest for Phelps--Phelps, theman who had insisted that the scene be taken in his library. At thesame time, I knew it was quite possible for the director to haveentered ahead of anyone else, possible for him to have issued orders tohis people which would keep them out of the way for the brief moment heneeded.
A third consideration was the finding of the ampulla in McGroarty'scar. Stella, Marilyn, Jack Gordon, Merle Shirley, and Werner had riddenout together. Werner had not returned. While this fact did not indicatedefinitely that he might have dropped it, coupled with the otherconsiderations it pointed the suspicion of guilt at the director.
Then there was the finding of the towel in the washroom of the officebuilding at the studio. While Kennedy now said it was not used to wipethe needle, while we now knew that the needle remained in the portieresfrom the morning of Stella's death until late that night, yet Kennedyaffirmed the connection of the towel with the crime in some subtle way.It was true that members of the cast sometimes used the washroom, yetit was evident that Manton, Millard, and Werner, who had rooms on thefloor, were the more apt to be concerned in the attempt to dispose ofit. Against Manton I could see no real grounds for suspicion. In ageneral way we had been compelled to eliminate Millard early in ourinvestigation. Again I was brought, in this analysis of the mystery, toWerner.
One other point remained--the identity of the nocturnal visitor toTarrytown. In connection with that I remembered the remark of Marilyn.Werner was acting as he always acted when he was out late the nightbefore, she had said. While my theories offered no explanation of thesecond man, the watcher, I saw--with an inner feeling of triumph--thateverything again pointed to the director.
I determined not to tell my conclusion to Kennedy, yet. I did not wantto distract him. Besides, I felt he would disagree.
"What do you think of this, Craig?" I suggested. "Suppose I start outwhile you're busy and try to dig up some more facts about these people?"
"Excellent!" was his reply. "I can't say how much longer my analysiswill keep me. By all means do so, Walter. I shall be here, or, if not,I'll leave a note so you can find me."
Accordingly, I took up my search, determined to go slowly andcarefully, not to be misled by any promising but fallacious clues. Iknew that Werner would be working at the studio, from all we had heardin the morning. I determined upon a visit to his apartment in hisabsence.
From the telephone book I discovered that he lived at the WhistlerStudios, not far from Central Park on the middle West Side--a newbuilding, I remembered, inhabited almost entirely by artists andwriters. As I hurried down on the Subway, then turned and walked easttoward the Park, I racked my brain for an excuse to get in. Enteringthe lower reception hall, I learned from the boy that the director hada suite on the top floor, high enough to look over the roofs of theadjoining buildings directly into the wide expanse of green and road,of pond and trees beyond.
"Mr. Werner isn't in, though," the boy added, doubtfully, withoutringing the apartment.
"I know it," I rejoined, hastily. "I told him I'd meet him here thisafternoon, however." On a chance I went on, with a knowing smile, "Iguess it was pretty late when he came in last night?"
"I'll say so," grinned the youth, friendly all of a sudden. He hadinterpreted the remark as I intended he should. He believed that Wernerand I had been out together. "I remember," he volunteered, "because Ihad to do an extra shift of duty last night, worse luck. It must havebeen after four o'clock. I was almost asleep when I heard the taxi atthe door."
"I wonder what company he got the taxi from?" I remarked, casually. "Itried to get one uptown--" I paused. I didn't want to get into a mazeof falsehood from which I would be unable to extricate myself.
"I don't know," he replied. "It looked like one of the Maroon taxis,from up at the Central Park Hotel on the next block, but I'm not sure."
"I think I won't go upstairs yet," I said, finally. "There's anothercall I ought to make. If Mr. Werner comes in, tell him I'll be back."
I knew very well that Werner would not return, but I thought that thebluff might pave the way for getting upstairs and into the apartment alittle later. Meanwhile I had another errand. The boy nodded a good-byas I passed out through the grilled iron doors to the street. Less thanfive minutes afterward I was at the booth of the Maroon Taxi Company,at the side of the main entrance of the Central Park Hotel.
Here the starter proved to be a loquacious individual, and I caughthim
, fortunately, in the slowest part of the afternoon. Removing a pipeand pushing a battered cap to the back of a bald head, he pulled outthe sheets of the previous day. Before me were recorded all the callsfor taxicab service, with the names of drivers, addresses of calls, anddestinations. Although the quarters in the booth were cramped and closeand made villainous by the reek of the man's pipe, I began to scan thelists eagerly.
It had been a busy night even down to the small hours of the morningand I had quite a job. As I came nearer and nearer to the end my hopesebbed, however. When I was through I had failed to identify a singlecall that might have been Werner's. Several fares had been driven toand from the Grand Central Station, probably the means by which he madethe trip to Tarrytown. In each case the record had shown the CentralPark Hotel in the other column, not the Whistler Studios. I was forcedto give up this clue, and it hurt. I was not built for a detective, Iguess, for I almost quit then and there, prepared to return to thelaboratory and Kennedy.
But I remembered my first intention and made my way back to theWhistler Studios. Anyhow, I reflected, Werner would hardly havesummoned a car from a place so near his home had he wished to keep histrip a secret. It was more important for me to gain access to hisquarters. There it was quite possible I might find something valuable.I wondered if I would be justified in breaking in, or if I wouldsucceed if I attempted it.
Things proved easier than I expected. My first visit unquestionably hadprepared the way. The hallboy took me up in the elevator himselfwithout telephoning, took me to Werner's door, rang the bell, and spoketo the colored valet who opened it. As I grasped the presence of theservant in the little suite I was glad I had not tried my hand atforcing an entrance. I had quite anticipated an empty apartment.
The darky, pleasant voiced, polite, and well trained, bowed me into alittle den and proceeded to lay out a large box of cigarettes on thetable beside me, as well as a humidor well filled with cigars of goodquality. I took one of the latter, accepting a light and glancing about.
Certainly this was in contrast with Manton's apartment. There wasnothing garish, ornate, or spectacular here. Richly, lavishlyfurnished, everything was in perfect taste, revealing the hand of anartist. It might have been a bit bizarre, reflecting the nervoustemperament of its owner. Even the servant showed the touch of hismaster, hovering about to make sure I was comfortable, even to bringinga stack of the latest magazines. I hope he didn't sense my thoughts,for I cursed him inwardly. I wanted to be alone. Ordinarily I wouldhave enjoyed this, but now I had become a detective, and it wasnecessary to rummage about, and quickly.
The sudden ringing of the telephone took the valet out into the tinyhall of the suite and gave me the opportunity I wished.
Phelps apparently was calling up to leave some message for Werner,which I could not get, as the valet took it. What, I wondered, wasPhelps telephoning here for? Why not at the studio? It looked strange.
I lost no time in speculation over that, however. The moment I was leftto myself I jumped up and rushed to a writing desk, a carved antiquewhich had caught my eye upon my entrance, which I had studied from myplace in the easy chair. It was unlocked, and I opened it withoutcompunction. With an alert ear, to warn me the moment the colored boyhung up, I first gazed rather helplessly at a huge pile of literarylitter. Clearly there was no time to go through all of that.
I gave the papers a cursory inspection, without disturbing them, hopingto catch some name or something which might prove to be a random clue,but I was less lucky than Kennedy had been in his casual look atManton's desk the afternoon before. Still able to hear the valet at thetelephone, I reached down and opened the top drawer of the desk. Hereperhaps I might be more fortunate. One glance and my heart gave astartled leap.
There in a compartment of the drawer I saw a hypodermic needle--infact, two of them--and a bottle. On the desk was a fountain pen inkdropper, a new one which had never been used. I reached over, pressedits little bulb, uncorked the bottle, inserted the glass point, suckedup some of the contents, placed the bulb right side up in my waistcoatpocket, and recorked the bottle. Next I took and pocketed one of thetwo needles, both of which were alike as far as I could see.
Then I heard a good-by in the hall. I closed drawer and desk hastily.As I caught the click of the receiver of the telephone on its hook Iwas halfway across the floor. Before the colored boy could enter againI was back in my chair, my head literally in a whirl.
What a stroke of good fortune! I had no expectation of proving Wernerto be the guilty man by so simple a method as this, however. If he werethe slayer of the star he would be too clever to leave anything soincriminating about. I have always quarreled with Poe's theory in ThePurloined Letter, believing that the obvious is no place to hideanything outside of fiction. What I conceived, rather, was that Wernerreally was a dope fiend. The nature of the drug Kennedy would tell mevery easily, from the sample. Establishing Werner's possession of theneedles was another point in my chain of presumptions, showing that hewas familiar with their use; and added to that was the psychologicaleffect upon him of the habit, a habit responsible in many other casesfor murders as skillfully carried out as that of Stella Lamar, often,too, without the slightest shred of real motive.
I recalled Werner's habitually nervous manner and was sure now that theneedles actually were used by him. Was it due to the high pressure ofhis profession? Had that constant high tension forced him to findrelief in the most violent relaxation?
Elated, I was tempted at first to crowd my luck. I wondered if I couldnot discover another ampulla such as the chauffeur, McGroarty, hadpicked up in his car. When Werner's servant, almost apologetically,explained that the telephone message was from a near-by shop and thathe would have to leave me for a matter of ten or fifteen minutes, Iassured him that it was all right and that I would occupy myself with amagazine. The moment he was out the door I sprang to action and began aminute search of every nook and cranny of the rooms.
But gradually a sense of growing fear and trepidation took hold of me.Suppose, after all, Werner should return home unexpectedly? The coloredboy did not seem surprised that I should wait, a slight indication thatit was possible. Further, I could never tell when the darky might notreturn himself, breaking in upon me without warning and discovering me.At the best I was not a skillful investigator. I did not know justwhere to look for hidden evidences of poison, nor was I able to workfast, for fear of leaving too tangible marks of my actions behind me. Agreat perspiration stood out on my forehead. Gradually a trembling tookhold of my limbs and communicated itself to my fingers.
After all, it was essential that Werner be kept in ignorance of mysuspicions, granting they were correct. It would be fatal if I shouldfrighten him inadvertently, so that he would take to flight. Realizingmy foolhardiness, I returned to my chair at last, picking up a magazineat random. I did so not a moment too soon. A slight sound caught my earand I looked up to see the valet already halfway into the room. Histread was so soft I never would have heard him.
"I don't think I'll wait any longer," I remarked, rising and stretchingslightly, as though I had been seated all the time. "I'll ring up alittle later; perhaps come back after I get in touch with Mr. Werner."
"Who shall I say was here, sah?" the boy asked, with just a trace ofdarky dialect.
Above all I didn't want to alarm Werner. I could not repeat theexplanation I had allowed the attendant downstairs to assume from myremark, that I was a friend who had been out with the director thenight before. I should have to take a chance that Werner's servant andthe hallboy would not compare notes, and that the latter would saynothing to the director upon his arrival.
"I'm an old friend from the Coast," I explained, with a show of takingthe negro into my confidence. "I wanted to surprise him and so"--Islipped a half dollar into a willing palm--"if you'll say nothing untilI've seen him--"
He beamed. "Yes, sah! You jus' count on George, sah!"
Downstairs I wondered if I could seal the tongue of the youth who hadaccom
modated me before. Then I discovered that he had gone off duty. Itwould be extremely unlikely that he would be about until the followingday. I smiled and hastened out to the street.
Once in the open air again, I realized the full extent of the risk Ihad taken. All at once it struck me that no amount of explanation fromeither Kennedy or myself would serve to mollify Werner if he wereinnocent and learned of my visit. I doubted, in this moment ofafterthought, that I would escape censure from Kennedy, who surelywould not want his case jeopardized by precipitate actions upon mypart. I began to run, to get away from the Whistler Studios as fast aspossible.
Then I saw I had grown panicky and I checked myself. But I hurried tothe Subway and up to the university again, and to the laboratory, eagerto compare notes with Kennedy.
"If I were Alphonse Dupin," he remarked, calmly, grasping myexcitement, "I would deduce that you have discovered something. I wouldalso deduce that you believe it important and that you have nointention of withholding the information from me, whatever it is."
"Correct," I answered, grinning in spite of myself.
Then I handed him the needle, telling him in a few brief words of myvisit to Werner's apartment, of the hallboy's confirmation of anocturnal trip of some sort, of my search of the desk and some otherparts of the suite. "I fixed it so that he won't hear of my visit, atleast for some time. He won't suspect who it was, in any case."
Kennedy examined the hypodermic.
"Not like the one used," he murmured.
"I thought that," I explained. "It simply indicates he is a dope fiendand is familiar with the use of a needle. Here!" I produced the inkfiller which I had used to bring a sample of the contents of thebottle. "This seems to be what he uses. What is it?"
Kennedy sniffed, then looked closely at the liquid through the glass ofthe tube. "It's a coca preparation," he explained. "If Werner usesthis, he's unquestionably a regular drug addict."
"Well," I paused, triumphantly, "the case against the chief director ofManton Pictures grows stronger all the time."
"Not necessarily," contradicted Kennedy, perhaps to draw me out.
"He's familiar with hypodermic syringes," I repeated.
"Which doesn't prove that no one else would use one."
"Anyhow, he was out until four A.M. last night and some one broke intoPhelps's house to--"
"You can't establish the fact that he went out there. There are plentyof other places he could have been until four in the morning."
"But I can assume--"
"If you are going to assume anything, Walter, why not assume he was thesecond man, the man who watched the actual intruder?"
I turned away, despairing of my ability to convince Kennedy. As amatter of fact I had forgotten the other prowler at Tarrytown.
Then I noticed that the one guinea pig in the separate cage was dead.In an instant I was all curiosity to know the results of Kennedy'sinvestigations.
"Did you make any progress?" I asked.
"Yes!" Now I noticed for the first time that he was in fine humor. "Ihad quite finished the first stage of my analysis when you came in."
"Then what was it? What was the poison that killed Stella Lamar?" Iglanced at the stiff, prone figure of the little animal.
Kennedy cleared his throat. "Well," he replied, "I began the study withthe discovery I made, which I told you, that strange proteins werepresent." He picked up the ampulla and regarded it thoughtfully. Thenhe fingered the bit of silk cut from the portieres. "It is a poisonmore deadly, more subtle, than any ever concocted by man, Walter."
"Yes?" I was painfully eager.
"It is snake venom!"