Part 7 (2/2)

”This is my place,” he explained. ”It connects with Manton, on one side, through his reception room. You see, in addition to directing Stella Lamar I have been in general charge of production and most of the casting is up to me.”

Kennedy entered after Werner, interested, and I followed. The door through to the reception room stood open and beyond was the one to Manton's quarters. I could see the promoter at his desk, receiver at his ear, an impatient expression upon his face. In the reception room a rather pretty girl, young and of a shallow-pated type I thought, was busy at a clattering typewriter. She rose and closed the door upon Manton, so as not to disturb him.

”The next office on this side is Millard's,” volunteered Werner. ”He's the only scenario writer dignified with quarters in this building.”

”Manton has other writers, hasn't he?” Kennedy asked.

”Yes, the scenario department is on the third floor across the court, above the laboratory and cutting rooms.”

”Who else is in the building here?”

”There are six rooms on this floor,” Werner replied. ”Manton, the waiting room, myself, Millard, and the two other directors. Below is the general reception room, the cas.h.i.+er, the bookkeepers and stenographers.”

As Manton probably was having trouble obtaining his connection, and as Kennedy continued to question Werner concerning the general arrangement of the different floors in the different buildings about the quadrangle, all uninteresting to me, I determined to look about a bit on my own hook. I was still anxious to be of genuine a.s.sistance to Kennedy, for once, through my greater knowledge of the film world.

Strolling out into the corridor, I went to the door of Millard's room.

To my disappointment, it was locked. Continuing down the hall, I stole a glance into each of the two directors' quarters but saw nothing to awaken my suspicion or justify my intrusion. Beyond, I discovered a washroom, and, aware suddenly of the immense amount of dust I had acquired in the ride in from Tarrytown, I entered to freshen my hands and face at the least. It was a stroke of luck, a fortunate impulse.

The amount of money to be made in the movies had resulted, in the case of Manton, in luxurious equipment for all the various departments of his establishment. I had noticed the offices, furnished with a richness worthy of a bank or some great downtown inst.i.tution. Now, in the lavatory, immaculate with its white tile and modern appointments, I saw a shelf literally stacked, in this day of paper, with linen towels of the finest quality.

As I drew the water, hot instantly, my eye caught, half in and half out of the wire basket beneath the stand, one of the towels covered with peculiar yellow spots. Immediately my suspicions were awakened. I picked it up gingerly. At close range I saw that the spots were only chrome yellow make-up, but there were also spots of a different nature.

I did not stop to think of the unlikeliness of the discovery of a real clue under these circ.u.mstances, a.n.a.lyzed afterward by Kennedy. I folded the towel hastily and hurried to rejoin him, to show it to him.

I found him with Werner, waiting for the results of Manton's efforts to locate Millard. Almost at the moment I rejoined the two a boy came to summon Werner to one of the sets out on the stage itself. Kennedy and I were alone. I showed him the towel.

At first he laughed, ”You'll never make a detective, Walter,” he remarked. ”This is only simple coloring matter-Chinese yellow, to be exact. And will you tell me, too”--he became ironical--”how do you expect to find clues of this sort here for a murder committed in Tarrytown when all the people present were held out there and examined, when we are the first to arrive back here?

”Yellow, you know, photographs white. Chinese yellow is used largely in studios in place of white in make-up because it does not cause halation, which, to the picture people, is the bane of their existence.

White is too glaring, reflects rays that blur the photography sometimes.

”If you will notice, the next time you see them shooting a scene, you will find the actors' faces tinged with yellow. Even tablecloths and napkins and 'white' dresses are frequently colored a pale yellow, although pale blue has the actinic qualities of white for this purpose, and is now perhaps more frequently used than yellow.”

I was properly chastened. In fact, though I did not say much, I almost determined to let him conduct his case himself.

Kennedy saw my crestfallen expression and understood. He was about to say something encouraging, as he handed back the towel, when his eye fell on the other end of it, which, indeed, I myself had noticed.

He sobered instantly and studied the other spots. Indeed, I had not examined them closely myself. They were the very faint stains of some other yellow substance, a liquid which had dried and did not rub off as the make-up, and there were also some small round drops of dark red, almost hidden in the fancy red scrollwork of the lettering on the towel, ”Manton Pictures, Inc.” The latter had escaped me altogether.

”Blood!” Kennedy exclaimed. Then, ”Look here!” The marks of the pale yellow liquid trailed into a slender trace of blood. ”It looks as if some one had cleaned a needle on it,” he muttered, ”and in a hurry.”

I remembered his previous remark. The murder had been in Tarrytown. We had just arrived here.

”Would anyone have time to do it?” I asked.

”Whoever used the towel did so in a hurry,” he reiterated, seriously.

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