XXI
MERLE SHIRLEY OVERACTS
Appalled, I wondered who it was who had, to cover up one crime,committed another? Who had struck down an innocent man to save a guiltyneck?
Kennedy hurried to the side of the physician and I followed.
"What symptoms did you observe?" asked Kennedy, quickly, seekingconfirmation of his own first impressions.
"His mouth seemed dry and I should say he suffered from a quickprostration. There seemed to be a complete loss of power to swallow orspeak. The pupils were dilated as though from paralysis of the eyes.Both pharynx and larynx were affected. There was respiration paralysis.It seemed also as though the cranial nerves were partially paralyzed.It was typically a condition due to some toxic substance whichparalyzed and depressed certain areas of the body."
Kennedy nodded. "That fits in with a theory I have."
I thought quickly, then inquired; "Could it be the snake venom again?"
"No," Kennedy replied, shaking his head; "there's a difference in thesymptoms and there is no mark on any exposed part of the body, as nearas I could see in a superficial examination."
He turned to the physician. "Could you give me blood smears and some ofthe stomach contents, at once? Twice, now, some one has been strickendown before the very eyes of the actors. This thing has gone too far totrifle with or delay a moment."
The doctor hurried off toward the dressing room, anxious to helpKennedy, and as excited, I thought, as any of us. Next Kennedy faced me.
"Did you watch the people at all, Walter?"
"I--I was too upset by the suddenness of it," I stammered.
All seemed to have suspicion of some one else, and there was a generalconstraint, as though even the innocent feared to do or say somethingthat might look or sound incriminating.
I turned. All were now watching every move we made, though just yetnone ventured to follow us. It was as though they felt that to do sowas like crossing a dead line. I wondered which one of them might belooking at us with inward trepidation--or perhaps satisfaction, ifthere had been any chance to remove anything incriminating.
Kennedy strode over toward the ill-fated set, Mackay and I at hisheels. As we moved across the floor I noticed that everyone clusteredas close as he dared, afraid, seemingly, of any action which mighthinder the investigation, yet unwilling to miss any detail of Kennedy'smethod. In contrast with the clamor and racket of less than a half hourpreviously there was now a deathlike stillness beneath the archedground-glass roof. The heat was more oppressive than ever before. Inthe faces and expressions of the awed witnesses of death's swift handthere was horror, and a growing fear. No one spoke, except in whispers.When anybody moved it was on tiptoe, cautiously. Millard's creation,"The Black Terror," could have inspired no dread greater than this.
Of the people we wished to study, Phelps caught our eyes the first.Dejected, crushed, utterly discouraged, he was slouched down in a chairjust at the edge of the supposed banquet hall. I had no doubt of thenature of his thoughts. There was probably only the most perfunctorysympathy for the stricken director. Without question his mind ran todollars. The dollar-angle to this tragedy was that the death of Wernerwas simply another step in the wrecking of Manton Pictures. Kennedy, Isaw, hardly gave him a passing glance.
Manton we observed near the door. With the possible exception ofMillard he seemed about the least concerned. The two, scenario writerand producer, had counterfeited the melodrama of life so often in theirproductions that even the second sinister chapter in this film mysteryfailed to penetrate their sang-froid. Inwardly they may have felt asdeeply as any of the rest, but both maintained their outward composure.
On Manton's shoulders was the responsibility for the picture. I couldsee that he was nervous, irritable; yet, as various employeesapproached for their instructions in this emergency he never lost hisgrasp of affairs. In the vibrant quiet of this studio chamber, stillunder the shadow of tragedy, we witnessed as cold-blooded a bit ofbusiness generalship as has ever come to my knowledge. We overheard,because Manton's voice carried across to us in the stillness.
"Kauf!" The name I remembered as that of the technical, or art,director under Werner, responsible for the sets of "The Black Terror."
"Yes, Mr. Manton!" Kauf was a slim, stoop-shouldered man, gray, and adynamo of energy in a quiet, subservient way. He ran to Manton's side.
"Remember once telling me you wanted to become a director, that youwanted to make pictures for me?"
"Yes, sir!"
"You are familiar with the script of 'The Black Terror,' aren't you?You know the people and how they work and you have sets lined up. Howwould you like to finish the direction?"
"But--but--" To the credit of the little man he dabbed at his eyes. Iguess he had been fond of his immediate superior. "Mr.--Mr. Werner isd-dead--" he stammered.
"Of course!" Manton's voice rose slightly. "If Werner wasn't dead Iwouldn't need another director at a moment's notice. Some one has tocomplete 'The Black Terror.' We have all these people on salary, andall the studio expense, and the release date's settled, so that wecan't stop. It's your chance, Kauf! Do you want it?"
"Y-yes, sir!"
"Good! I'll double your salary, including all this week. Now can youfinish this banquet set to-night, while you have the people--"
"To-night!" Kauf's eyes went wide, then he started to flush.
"Well, to-morrow, then! We simply can't lay off a day, Kauf!"
"All--all right, sir!"
It seemed to me that everyone in the place sensed the horror of this.Literally, actually, Werner's body could not be cold. Even the police,the medical examiner, had not had sufficient time to make the trip outfor their investigation. Yet the director's successor had beenappointed and told to hurry the production.
I glanced at Phelps. He raised his head slowly, his expression liftingat the thought that production was to continue without interruption. Inanother moment, however, there was a change in his face. His eyessought Manton and hardened. His mouth tightened. Hate, a deep,unreasoning hate, settled into his features.
Kennedy, pausing just long enough to observe the promoter's appointmentof Kauf to Werner's position, continued on toward the set. Now as Ilooked about I saw that Jack Gordon was missing, as well as MarilynLoring. Presumably they had gone to their dressing rooms. All the otheractors and actresses were waiting, ill at ease, wondering at theoutcome of the tragedy.
Suddenly Kennedy stopped and I grasped that it was the peculiar actionsof Merle Shirley which had halted him.
The heavy man was the only one of the company actually in thefabricated banquet hall itself. Clinging to him still were the grimflowing robes of the Black Terror. As though he were some old-fashionedtragedian, he was pacing up and down, hands behind his back, headbowed, eyes on the floor. More, he was mumbling to himself. It wasevident, however, that it was neither a pose nor mental aberration.Shirley was searching for something, out in the open, without attemptat concealment, swearing softly at his lack of success.
Kennedy pushed forward. "Did you lose something, Mr. Shirley?"
"No!" The heavy man straightened. As he drew himself up in his sinistergarb I thought again of the cheap actors of a day when moving pictureshad yet to pre-empt the field of the lurid melodrama. It seemed to methat Merle Shirley was overacting, that it was impossible for him to beso wrought up over the slaying of a man who, after all, was only hisdirector, certainly not a close nor an intimate relationship.
"Mr. Kennedy," he stated, ponderously, "there has been a second death,and at the hand which struck down Stella Lamar in Tarrytown. Somewherein this banquet hall interior there is a clue to the murderer. I havekept a careful watch so that nothing might be disturbed."
"Do you suspect anyone?" Kennedy asked. Shirley glanced away and weknew he was lying. "No, not definitely."
"Who has been in the set since I left with the doctor?"
"No one except myself, that is"--Shirley wanted to make it clear--"noone has had any opportunit
y to hide or move or take or change a thing,because I have been right here all the time."
"I see! Thanks, and"--Kennedy seemed genuinely apologetic--"if youdon't mind--I would prefer to make my investigation alone."
Shirley turned on his heel and made for his dressing room.
Meanwhile I had noticed a bit of by-play between Enid Faye and LawrenceMillard, the only others of our possible suspects about. Enid first hadcaught my eye because she seemed to be pleading with the writer, tryingto hold him. I gathered from the look of disgust on Millard's face thathe wanted to get Shirley out of the set before Kennedy should observethe heavy man's odd reaction to the tragedy. While I had never seenMillard and Shirley together, so as to establish in mind the state oftheir feelings toward each other, this would seem to indicate that theywere friendly. Certainly Shirley was making a fool of himself. Enidacted, I guessed, so as to prevent Millard's interference, probablywith the idea that Millard in some fashion might bring suspicion uponhimself. It struck me that Enid had a wholesome respect for Kennedy.
At any rate, Millard watched the little scene between Kennedy andShirley with a quizzical expression. As Shirley left he shrugged hisshoulders, then he gave Enid's cheeks a playful pinch each and startedout after the heavy man in leisurely fashion.
Just about the same moment Kennedy called me to his side.
"Walter," he pleaded, in a low voice, "will you hurry out to thedressing room where the doctor and I took Werner and get the bloodsmears and sample of the stomach contents? I don't want to leave this,because we must work fast and get all the data we need before thepolice arrive. With perhaps a hundred people to question they'll be aptto make a fine mess of everything. This is an outlying precinct wherewe'll draw the amateurs, you know."
I saw that Mackay was helping him and so I left cheerfully, making myway as fast as I could toward the door through which both Shirley andMillard had passed.
In the hallway of the building devoted to dressing rooms I found that Idid not know which one contained Werner's body. This corridor wasfamiliar. Here Kennedy and I had waited for Marilyn Loring and hadwitnessed the scene between Shirley and herself. Now I did not evenremember the location of her room.
At last, on a chance, I tried a door softly. From within came whisperedvoices of deep intensity. About to close it quickly, I realizedsuddenly that I recognized the speakers in spite of the whispers. Itwas Marilyn and Shirley. They were together. Now I recollected thefigured chintz which covered the wall and was to be seen through thecrack made by the open door. It was her room. They had not heard myhand on the knob, nor the catch, did not know that anyone couldeavesdrop.
"You see!" Her tones were the more vibrant "You waited!"
"I had to!"
"No! I advised you to act at once."
"I couldn't! I can't even now!"
"All right!" Her tone became bitter. "Go ahead, your own way. But youmust count the cost. You may lose me again, Merle Shirley."
"How do you mean?"
Her answer, in the faintest of whispers, staggered me.
"If you have the blood of another man on your hands I'm through."