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Page 7
"Find anything, Mr. Kennedy?" queried the physician once more.
Kennedy beckoned all of us to the side of the ill-fated actress.
Lifting the right arm, finding the spot which had caused his
exclamation before, he handed his pocket lens to Doctor Blake.
After a moment a low whistle escaped the lips of the physician.
Next it was my turn. As I stooped over I caught, above the faint
scent of imported perfume which she affected, a peculiar
putrescent odor. This it was which had caught Kennedy's nostrils.
Then through the glass I could detect upon her forearm the
tiniest possible scratch ending in an almost invisible puncture,
such as might have been made by a very sharp needle or the point
of an incredibly fine hypodermic syringe. Drawing back, I glanced
again at her face, which I had already noted was blotched and
somewhat swollen beneath the make-up. Again I thought that the
muscles were contorted, that the eyes were bulging slightly, that
there was a bluish tinge to her skin such as in cyanosis or
asphyxiation. It may have been imagination, but I was now sure
that her expression revealed pain or fear or both.
When I looked at her first I had been unable to forget my
impression of years. Before me there had been the once living
form of Stella Lamar, whom I had dreamed of meeting and whom I
had never viewed in actual life. I had lacked the penetration to
see beneath the glamour. But to Kennedy there had been signs of
the poisoning at once. Doctor Blake had searched merely for the
evidences of the commoner drugs, or the usual diseases such as
cause sudden death. I recalled the cyanides. I thought of curare,
or woorali, the South American arrow poison with which Kennedy
once had dealt. Had Stella received an injection of some new and
curious substance?
Mackay glanced up from his inspection of the mark on the arm.
"It's an awfully tiny scratch!" he exclaimed.
Kennedy smiled. "Yet, Mackay, it probably was the cause of her
death."
"How?"
"That--that is the problem before us. When we learn just exactly
how she scratched herself, or was scratched--" Kennedy paced up
and down in front of the fireplace. Then he confronted each of us
in turn, suddenly serious. "Not a word of what I have
discovered," he warned.
III
TANGLED MOTIVES
"Do you wish to examine the people now?" Mackay asked.
Kennedy hesitated. "First I want to make sure of the evidence
concerning her actual death. Can you arrange to have the clothes
she has on, and those she brought with her, all of them bundled
up and sent in to my laboratory, together with samples of her
body fluids as soon as the coroner can supply you?"
Mackay nodded. This pleased him. This seemed to be tangible
action, promising tangible results.
Again Kennedy glanced about in thought. I knew that the scratch
was worrying him. "Did she change her clothes out here?" he
inquired.
The district attorney brightened. "She dressed in a small den
just off the living room. I have a man posted and the door
closed. Nothing has been disturbed."
He started to lead the way without further word from Kennedy,
proud to have been able once more to demonstrate his foresight.
As we left the library, entering the living room, there was an
appreciable hush. Here were grouped the others of the party
brought out by the picture company, a constrained gathering of
folk who had little in common beyond the highly specialized needs
of the new art of the screen, an assembly of souls who had been
forced to wait during all the time required for the trip of
Kennedy and myself out from New York, who were compelled to wait
now until he should be ready to examine them.
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