Part 35 (2/2)
”Look at the way this was done!” he murmured, almost in admiration.
”This wasn't the work of any roughneck. It--it was a dainty job!”
XXVII
THE FILM FIRE
The bag lay open at my feet. The microscope and other paraphernalia brought by Kennedy were untouched. Taking the film from Mackay and placing the can in with the other things, Kennedy snapped the catch and turned to me as he straightened.
”I think our evidence is safest in plain sight, Walter. We'll carry it about with us.”
Lloyd Manton seemed to be a genuinely unhappy individual. After some moments he excused himself, nervously anxious about the turn of affairs at the studio. Immediately I faced Kennedy and Mackay.
”Manton's the only one who knew just where we put the bag,” I remarked.
”When he left us in the bas.e.m.e.nt he had plenty of time to run up and steal the towel and return.”
”How about the itching salve?”
”In his hurry he might have left the towel in the paper, intending to destroy it later.”
Kennedy frowned. ”That's possible, Walter. I had not thought of that.
Still”--he brightened--”I'm counting on human nature. I don't believe anyone guilty of the crime could have that towel in his possession, after the hints I have thrown out, without examining it so as to see what telltale mark or stain would be apt to betray his ident.i.ty.”
”You can see that Manton's the logical man?”
”It would be easy for anyone else to follow and observe us.”
”Then--?”
”First of all we must keep an eye out for any person showing signs of the itching concoction. We must observe anyone with noticeably clean hands. Princ.i.p.ally, however, another thing worries me.”
”What's that, Mr. Kennedy?” asked Mackay.
”Walter and I found a cigarette case belonging to Jack Gordon in the bas.e.m.e.nt; also a b.u.t.t smoked three-quarters of the way down and left directly in the negative room. The fire doors between the different film vaults, which are arranged like the safety compartments in a s.h.i.+p, were all open. I want to know why Gordon was down there and--well, I seem to sense something wrong.”
”Good heavens! Craig,” I interposed. ”You don't attach any importance to the fact that those doors were open!”
”Walter, in a case of real mystery the slightest derangement of matters of ordinary routine is a cause for suspicion.”
I had no answer, and as we re-entered the studio I devoted my attention to the various people we had tabulated as possible suspects, noticing that Kennedy and Mackay did likewise.
Jack Gordon was in the ballroom scene in make-up. Kauf still was concerned with technical details of the set and lighting, and, although the cameras were set up, they were not in proper place, nor was either camera man in evidence. With Gordon was Enid. From a distance they seemed to be engaged in an argument of real magnitude. There was no mistaking the dislike on the part of each for the other.
Marilyn was the most uneasy of all of the princ.i.p.als. She was pacing up and down, glancing about in frank distress of mind. I looked at her hands and saw that she had crushed a tube of grease paint in her nervousness. Not only her fingers were soiled, but there were streaks on her arms where she had smeared herself unconsciously. As we watched she left the studio, hurrying out the door without a backward glance.
Marilyn, at least, showed no indications of the salve, nor of painfully recent acquaintance with water.
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