The Film Mystery by Arthur B. Reeve


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Page 57

I gave the papers a cursory inspection, without disturbing them,
hoping to 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 at Manton's desk the afternoon before. Still able to
hear the valet at the telephone, I reached down and opened the
top drawer of the desk. Here perhaps I might be more fortunate.
One glance and my heart gave a startled leap.

There in a compartment of the drawer I saw a hypodermic needle--
in fact, two of them--and a bottle. On the desk was a fountain
pen ink dropper, a new one which had never been used. I reached
over, pressed its little bulb, uncorked the bottle, inserted the
glass point, sucked up some of the contents, placed the bulb
right side up in my waistcoat pocket, and recorked the bottle.
Next I took and pocketed one of the two 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 I was halfway across the floor. Before the colored
boy could enter again I was back in my chair, my head literally
in a whirl.

What a stroke of good fortune! I had no expectation of proving
Werner to be the guilty man by so simple a method as this,
however. If he were the slayer of the star he would be too clever
to leave anything so incriminating about. I have always quarreled
with Poe's theory in The Purloined Letter, believing that the
obvious is no place to hide anything outside of fiction. What I
conceived, rather, was that Werner really was a dope fiend. The
nature of the drug Kennedy would tell me very easily, from the
sample. Establishing Werner's possession of the needles was
another point in my chain of presumptions, showing that he was
familiar with their use; and added to that was the psychological
effect upon him of the habit, a habit responsible in many other
cases for 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 the needles actually were used by him. Was it due to the
high pressure of his profession? Had that constant high tension
forced him to find relief in the most violent relaxation?

Elated, I was tempted at first to crowd my luck. I wondered if I
could not discover another ampulla such as the chauffeur,
McGroarty, had picked up in his car. When Werner's servant,
almost apologetically, explained that the telephone message was
from a near-by shop and that he would have to leave me for a
matter of ten or fifteen minutes, I assured him that it was all
right and that I would occupy myself with a magazine. The moment
he was out the door I sprang to action and began a minute 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 colored boy did not seem surprised that I
should wait, a slight indication that it was possible. Further, I
could never tell when the darky might not return himself,
breaking in upon me without warning and discovering me. At the
best I was not a skillful investigator. I did not know just where
to look for hidden evidences of poison, nor was I able to work
fast, for fear of leaving too tangible marks of my actions behind
me. A great perspiration stood out on my forehead. Gradually a
trembling took hold of my limbs and communicated itself to my
fingers.

After all, it was essential that Werner be kept in ignorance of
my suspicions, granting they were correct. It would be fatal if I
should frighten him inadvertently, so that he would take to
flight. Realizing my foolhardiness, I returned to my chair at
last, picking up a magazine at random. I did so not a moment too
soon. A slight sound caught my ear and I looked up to see the
valet already halfway into the room. His tread was so soft I
never would have heard him.

"I don't think I'll wait any longer," I remarked, rising and
stretching slightly, as though I had been seated all the time.
"I'll ring up a little later; perhaps come back after I get in
touch with Mr. Werner."

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Books | Photos | Paul Mutton | Thu 13th Nov 2025, 21:05