 Chapter 30 of The Fillin Mystery This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information, or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org Reading by Ian McMillan The Fillin Mystery by Arthur B. Rave Chapter 30 The Ballroom Scene Sounds of music caught our ears as we entered the studio courtyard of mountain pictures. Carrying the bag with its indisputable proof of some person's guilt, we made our way through the familiar corridor by the dressing rooms, out under the roof of this so-called large studio. There a scene of gaiety confronted us with a sharp contrast with the gloomy atmosphere of the rest of the establishment. Kauf, however, had thoroughly demonstrated his genius as a director. To counteract the depression caused by all the recent melodramatic and tragic happenings, he had brought in an eight-piece orchestra, establishing the men in the set itself so as to get full photographic value from their jazz antics. Where Werner and Manton had dispensed with music, in a desperate effort at economy, Kauf had realised that money saved in that way was lost through time wasted with dispirited people. It was a lesson learned long before by other companies. In other studios, I had seen music employed in the making of soberly dramatic scenes, solely as a need to the actors, enabling them to get into the atmosphere of their work more quickly and naturally. Under the lights, the entire set sparkled with a tawdry garishness, apt to fool those uninitiated into the secrets of photography. On the screen, colours which now seem dull and flat, we take on a soft richness and a delicacy characteristic of the society in which Kauf's characters were supposed to move. Obviously fragile scenery would seem as heavy and substantial as the walls and beams of the finest old mansion. Even the inferior materials in the gowns of most of the girls would photograph as well as the most expensive silk. In fact, by long experience, many of the extra girls had learned to counterfeit the latest fashions at a cost ridiculous by comparison. Kennedy approached Kauf, then returned to us. He asks us to wait until he gets this one big scene. It's the climax of the picture, really, the unmasking of the black terror. If we interrupt now, he loses the result of half a day of preparation. He may lose more than that, muttered McKay, and I wondered just whom the district attorney suspected. Is everyone here, I asked, all seven? Gordon and Shirley of the men, and Marilyn and Enid, of course, were out on the floor of the supposed ballroom. Gordon, I recognized, because I remembered that he was to wear the garb of a monk. Marilyn was easily picked out, although the vivacity she assumed seemed unnatural now that we knew her as well as we did. Her costume was a glamorous yama-yama creation of a faint yellow which would photograph dazzling white, revealing trims stocking the ankles and slender bare arms, framing face and eyes dancing with merriment and maliciousness. Unquestionably, she was the prettiest girl beneath the arcs, never to be suspected as the woman who had braved the terrors of a film fire to rescue the man she loved. Enid was stately and serene in the gown of Marie Antoinette. In the bright glare, her features took on a round innocence and she was as successful in portraying sweetness as Marilyn was in the simulation of the mocking evil of the vampire. Shirley interested me the most, however. I wondered if Kennedy still eliminated him in guessing at the identity of the criminal. I called to mind the heavy man's presence in the basement at the time of the explosion and McGrory's information that he had been hanging about that part of the studio for some time previously. Someone had planted a cigarette case and stubbed to implicate Gordon, according to Kennedy's theory. Shirley certainly had had opportunity to steal the tile from the locker as well as to point suspicion towards the leading man. In the midst of my reverie, Shirley approached and passed us. He was in the garb of Mephisto. The others, he had not yet masked his face. A peculiar brightness in his eyes struck me and I nudged Kennedy. Bella Donna, Kennedy explained when he was beyond their shot. Oh, I remembered. Enid told him to use it. What? I repeated the conversation as nearer I could reconstruct it. Hmm. That's a new cure for smoke-burned eyes. No cure at all. I was unable to get any more out of Kennedy, however. Manton I detected in the background with Phelps. The two men were arguing, as always, and it was evident that the banker was accomplishing nothing by this constant hanging about the studio. Where previously my sympathy had been with Phelps entirely, now I realised that the promoter had won me. Indeed, Manton's interest in all the affairs of picture-making at this plant had been far too sincere and earnest to permit the belief that he was seeking to wreck the company or to double-cross his backer. Millard entered the studio as I glanced about for him. He handed some sheets to Cough and then turned to leave. I attracted Kennedy's attention. You don't want Millard to get away, I whispered. Kennedy sent Mackay to stop him. The author accompanied the district attorney willingly. Yes, Mr. Kennedy? As soon as this scene is over, we're going down to the projection room. Everyone concerned in the death of Miss Lamar and of Mr. Werner. The scenario writer looked up quickly. Do you know who it is? He asked soberly. Not exactly, but I will identify the guilty person just as soon as we are assembled down in front of the screen. Shirley had left the studio floor, apparently to go to his dressing room. Now I noticed that he returned and passed close just in time to hear Millard's question and Kennedy's answer. His eyes dilated. As he turned away, his face fell. He went on into the set, but his legs seemed to wobble beneath him. I was sure it was more than the weakness resulting from his experience in the fire. Cough's voice through the megaphone echoed suddenly from wall to wall, reverberating beneath the roof. Already, everyone in the set, masks on, take your places. At a signal, the orchestra struck up and the couple started to dance. It was a wonderfully colourful scene and I saw that Cough proposed to rehearse it thoroughly, doing it over and over without the cameras until every detail reached a practised perfection. In this, I was certain he achieved results superior to Werner's slap dash and bang. Then came the call for action. Camera! Cough began to bob up and down. Into it, everybody! For fascination and charm, this far exceeded the banquet scene which we had witnessed in the taking previously. The music was surprisingly good, so that it was impossible for the people not to get into the swing and the result was a riotous swirling of gracefully dancing pairs. The girls, selected for their beauty, flashing half-revealed faces toward the camera, displaying eyes which twinkled through their masks in mockery at a wholly ineffectual attempt at concealment. Enid maintained her stately carriage but made full use of the dazzling whiteness of her teeth. Early, she permitted the attentions of the cowled monk whom she knew to be her lover. Marilyn was everywhere, making mischief the best she could. Shirley stalked about in his satanic red, which would photograph black and appear even more somber on the screen. Of course, the whole was not photographed in a continuous strip from one camera position. I saw that Cough made several long shots to catch the general atmosphere. Then he made close-up scenes of all the principles and of some of the best-appearing extras. At one time, he ordered a panorama effect in which the cameras panned, swept from one side to the other, giving a succession of faces at close range. Finally, everything was ready for the climax. Shirley had been playing a sort of Jekyll and Hyde role in which he was at once the young lawyer friend of Enid and the black terror. He was masked and cornered at this function of a society terrified by the dread unknown menace. He was to make the transformation directly before the eyes of everyone, using the mythical drug which changed him from a young man of good appearance and family to the being who was a very incarnation of evil. For once, Cough did not rehearse the scene. Shirley was obviously weakened from his experience, and the director wished to spare him. All the details were sorted out through the megaphone, however, and I grasped that the action of this part of the dance was familiar to everyone. It was the big scene of the story toward which all other events had built. Then came the familiar order. Camera! At the start of this episode, the orchestra was playing and the dancers were in motion. Suddenly, Gordon, as the hero, strode up to Shirley and unmasked him with a few bitter words which later would be flashed upon the screen in a spoken title. Instantly, a crowd gathered about, but in such a way as not to obstruct the camera view. Cornered, seeing that flight was impossible, unless he became the black terror and possessed the strength and fearlessness of that strange other self, Shirley drew a little vial from his breast pocket and drank the contents. Evidently, he knew his man's field well. Slowly, he began to act out the change in his appearance which corresponded with the assumption of control by the evil within. His body writhed, went through contortions which were horrible, yet fascinating. It was almost as though a new fearful being was created within sight of the onlookers. Not only was the face altered, but the man's stature seemed to shrink to lose actual inches. I thought it a wonderful exhibition. The very next instant, there came a groan from Shirley, something which at once indicated pain and realisation and fear. He lost all control of himself and in a moment pitched forward upon the floor, spluttering and clutching at the empty air. Another cry broke from between his lips. A ghastly contracted shriek as treble as though from the throat of a woman. This was no part of the story, no skilful bit of acting. It was real. Even before I had grasped the full significance of the happening, Kennedy had dashed forward. The cameras still were grinding and they caught him as he kneeled at the side of the stricken man. Hardly a second afterward, Mackay and I followed and were at Kennedy's side. The cow and the others, their faces weirdly ashen, clustered about in fright. A third time, the invisible hand that struck at a member of the company. The black terror with all the horror written into that story contained nothing as fearful as the menace to the people engaged in its production. Shirley's skin was cold and clammy. His face almost rigid. While conscious, he was helpless. Kennedy found the little vial and examined it. Atropine, he ejaculated. Walter, he turned to me. Get some Faisal Stigman. Quick, have Mackay drive you. It's life or death. Here, I'll write it down. Faisal Stigman. As I raced madly out and down the stairs, Mackay at my heels, I heard a woman scream, Marilyn, did she think him dead? Once in the car, headed for the nearest drugstore grasping wildly at the side or at the back of the seat every few moments as the district attorney skidded round curves and literally hurdled obstacles. I remembered a forgotten fact. Atropine, that was Bellatonna. Simply another name for the drug. Shirley had procured the stuff for use in his eyes. Nevertheless, he had been aware, undoubtedly, of its deadly nature. Passing by Kennedy and the rest of us, he had overheard Kennedy state that the murderer would be identified as soon as all could be assembled in the projection room. The heavy man had not cared to face justice in so prosaic a manner. With the same sense of the melodramatic which had led him to slay Stella Lamar in the taking of a scene, Werner in the photographing of another, he had preferred suicide and had selected the most spectacular moment possible for his last upon earth. Yes, Shirley was guilty. Rather than wait the slow processes of legal justice, he had attempted suicide. Now we race to save his life to preserve it for a more fitting end in the electric chair. End of Chapter 30 Chapter 31 of the film mystery. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. The film mystery by Arthur B. Reeve. Chapter 31 Physo Stigmeen The first drugstore we found was unable to supply us. At a second we had better luck. All in all we were back at the Manton Pictures plant in a relatively few minutes, a remarkable bit of driving on the part of the district attorney. Shirley was still in the set. Kennedy at once administered the Physo Stigmeen. I thought with an air of great relief. This is one of the rare cases in which two drugs, both highly poisonous, are definitely antagonistic, he explained. Each, therefore, is an antidote for the other when properly administered. Marilyn was chafing Shirley's cold hands, tears resting shamelessly upon her lids, a look of deep inexpressible fear in her expression. Will you be able to save him, Professor? We asked, not once, but a dozen different times. None of the rest of us spoke. We waited anxiously for the first signs of hope, the first indication that the heavy man's life might be preserved. It was wholly a question whether the Physo Stigmeen had been given to him quickly enough. Kennedy straightened, finally, and we knew that the crisis was over. Marilyn broke down completely and had to be supported to a chair. Strong, willing arms lifted Shirley to take him to his dressing room. At that moment Kennedy stood up, raising his voice so as to demand the attention of everyone, taking charge of matters through sheer force of personality. I have come here this afternoon, he began, to apprehend the man or woman responsible for the death of Miss Lamar and Mr. Werner, for the fire in the negative vault, and now for this attempt upon the life of Mr. Shirley. Not a sound was evident as he paused. No movement save a vague, uneasy shifting of position as part of some of those who had been on the point of leaving. I have indisputable evidence of the guilty person's identity, but, nevertheless, for reasons which I will explain to you, I have not yet completed my identification. To do so it is necessary that certain photograph scenes be projected on the screen and that certain other matters be made perfectly clear. I am very anxious, you see, to eliminate the slightest possibility of error. Mr. McKay here, Kennedy smiled very slightly, is the district attorney with jurisdiction at Tarrytown, at my request since yesterday, or to be exact, since the death of Mr. Werner warned us that no time could be lost. He has carried a John Doe warrant. Immediately following my identification of the guilty person, he or she, will be placed under arrest. The charge will be the murder of Stella Lamar by the use of poison in a manner which I will explain to you. The trial will take place at White Plains, the county seat of Westchester County, where the murder occurred. Mr. McKay informs me that the courts there are not crowded. In fact, he personally has been able to devote most of his time to this case. Therefore, the trial will be speedy and I am sure that the cold-blooded methods used by this criminal will guarantee a quick sentence and an early trip to the electric chair at Ossoning. Now, suddenly grim, if everyone will go down to the projection room, the larger one, we will bring matters to their proper conclusion. I imagined that Kennedy's speech was calculated to spread a little wholesome fear among the people we had considered suspects. In any case, that was the result for an outsider from the expressions upon the various faces might have concluded that several of them were guilty. Each seemed to start off across the studio floor reluctantly, as though afraid to obey Kennedy, yet unable to resist the fascination of witnessing the identification of the criminal, as though feeling that he or she individually might be accused, and yet unwilling to seek safety at the expense of missing Kennedy's revelation of his methods and explanation of their result. I drew him aside as quickly as I could. Craig, I started eagerly. Isn't this all unnecessary? Can't you see that Shirley is the guilty man? If you will hurry into his room with paper and pencil and get his confession before he recovers from his fright and regains his assurance. What on earth, Walter? You interrupted me with the look of surprise, which I did not miss even in my excitement. What are you driving at, anyway? Why, Shirley is the criminal. He... Nonsense. Wasn't an attempt made to kill him just now? Wasn't it evident that he was considered as dangerous to the unknown as Werner, the director? Hasn't he been eliminated from our calculations as Shirley as the manslaying yesterday? No. I flushed. Not at all, Craig. This was not an attempt at murder. There were none of the criminal's earmarks noticeable at Tarrytown or in the banquet scene. How do you mean, Walter? For once, Kennedy regarded me seriously. Why, you pointed out yourself that this unknown was exceptionally clever. The attempt on Shirley, if it were an attempt, was not clever at all. Why? Why? I was a little sarcastic because I was sure of myself. Because the poison was Atropine, Belladonna, that is common. I've read of any number of crimes where that was used. Do you think for a moment that the mind of how to use snake venom and botulin toxin would descend to anything as ordinary as all this? Well, if it was not an attempt at murder, what was it? Suicide. It's as plain as the nose on your face. Shirley was passing us as we were standing with Millard. And as you told Millard, we were all to go to the projection room to identify the criminal. Therefore, Shirley knew he was at the end of his rope. With the theatrical temperament, he took the poison just as he finished playing his last great scene. And it was a sort of swan song. Quite a theory, Walter. Now I knew Kennedy was unimpressed. But where did he get the Belladonna? For his eyes, after the Smokesmart. The drug is of no use against such inflammation. No, but it served to brighten his eyes. Enid suggested it to him, and he went out and got it. It helped him play his scenes. It gave him the glittering expression he needed in his characterization. Again Kennedy seemed to grasp my view. Finally, he looked up. If Shirley is the criminal, and if he is above using as common a drug as atropine for killing another man then, then why isn't he above using it upon himself? That struck me as easy to answer. Because if he is killing himself, it is not necessary for him to cover his tracks, or to do it cleverly. And besides, it was my big point. He probably didn't decide to try to do it until he overheard us and realized the menace. At that time, he had the Belladonna in his pocket. He did not have an opportunity to procure anything else. Kennedy grinned, You're all wrong, Walter, and I'll show you where your reasoning is faulty. In the first place, if this criminal was the type to commit suicide, at the moment he thought he was about to be caught, he would be the type who would reflect upon that idea beforehand. As his crimes show a great deal of previous preparation, so we may assume that he would prepare for suicide, or rather for the possibility that he might wish to attempt it. Therefore, he would have something better for that purpose than atropine. I shook my head, but Kennedy continued. As a matter of fact, the use of that drug is not less clever than the use of the venom or the toxin. It is more so. Stop and think a minute. The snake venom was employed in the case of Miss Lamar's death because it offered about the least possible chance of leaving tell-tale clues behind. The snake poison could be inflicted with a tiny scratch, and in such a way that an outcry from the girl would never be noticed. Nothing but my pocket lens caught the scratch. Only the great care I used in my examination put us on the trail at all. Now remember how Werner met his death. The toxin gave every symptom of food poisoning. Except that we discovered the broken stem of the wine glass, we would never have been able to prove the tragedy anything but accident. Very possibly we have surely to thank for the fact that our one clue there was not removed or destroyed. In both cases the selection of the poison was suited to the conditions. Therefore, if an attempt was made to kill Shirley and of the fact I am sure, we might expect that the agent likewise would be one least apt to create suspicion. There are no portiers, no opportunity for the use of another venom, and besides that has lost its novelty and so its value. Similarly there is no use of food or wine in the scene, precluding something else along the toxin order. Our unknown realizes that the safest place to commit murder is where there is a crowd. He has followed that principle consistently. In the case of the heavy man who has a bit of business before the camera, where he drinks the contents of a little bottle, the very cleverest thing is to use Belladonna, because Shirley has employed it for his eyes, and because, maliciously almost, it leads immediately to the hypothesis of suicide. He gods Craig. A sudden thought struck me and rather terrified me. Do you suppose Enid Fay suggested the use of the drug to Shirley as part of the scheme to kill him? Is she? I prefer," Kennedy interrupted. I prefer to suppose that the guilty person overheard her, or perhaps saw him by it or learned in some other way that he was going to use it. Completely taken up with this new line of thought, I failed to question Kennedy further, and it was just as well because most of the people were on their way down to the projection room. Not only those we wished present, but practically everyone has sufficient importance about the studio to feel that he could intrude. Kennedy turned to McKay, who had taken no part in our discussion, although an interested listener. You have the bag and all the evidence? Yes. McKay picked it up. Walkins, the cameraman, watched it for me while Jameson and I went after that drug. Kennedy stooped down quickly, but it was locked and had not been tampered with. In the corridor by the dressing rooms we met Koff, and Kennedy stopped him. How long would it take to make a print from the scene where Shirley took the poison? We could have it ready in half an hour, in a case of grim necessity. Half an hour? I exclaimed at that, in disbelief. You couldn't begin to drive the negative in that time, Koff. He glanced at me tolerantly. We make what is called a wet print. That is, we print from the negative while it is still wet, and so we only have the positive to try. Then we put it on drums in a forced draft of hot air. The result is not very good, but it is a fine thing sometimes to get a picture of a parade accident in a theater right after it happens. Will you do it for me, Koff? Kennedy broke in impatiently. This is a case of grim necessity, he added. Koff hurried off, and we made our way across the yard to the stairs leading down into the basement and to the projection room specified by Kennedy. Here Manton was waiting, uneasy, flushed. His face gathered in a frown, and his hands clenching and unclenching in his nervousness. Do you—do you know who it is? He demanded? Not yet, Kennedy replied. First I must marshal all my evidence. Who—who do you want present in the projection room? Mr. Phelps, Mr. Millard, and yourself, Mr. Manton. Miss Loring and Miss Faye, Mr. Gordon. Anyone else who wishes if there is room? Phelps, Millard, Gordon, and the two girls are inside already. Good, we will start at once. Manton turned to lead the way in. At that moment there was a call from the yard. We stopped, looking up. It was Shirley. Wait! Just a minute!" He cried. He was so weak that the two extra men who were helping him virtually supported his weight. On his face was a look of desperate determination. I—I must see this too! He gasped. End of Chapter 31 Chapter 32 of the film mystery. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. The Film Mystery by Arthur B. Reeve Chapter 32 Camera Evidence Coming in from the bright light of open day, the projection room seemed a gloomy, forbidding place, certainly well calculated to break down the reserve of perhaps the cleverest criminal ever pitting his skill against the science of Craig Kennedy. It was a small room, long and not so wide, with a comparatively low ceiling. In order to obviate eyestrain, the walls were painted somberly, and there were no light colours and evidence except for a nearly square patch of white at the farther end, the screen upon which the pictures were projected. The illumination was very dim. This was so that there would be no great contrast between the light reflected from the images cast upon the screen during pictures and the illumination in the room itself between reels, again designed to prevent strain upon the eyes of the employees whose work was the constant examination of film in various stages of its assembly. The chairs were fastened to the floor, arranged in tiny crescents, and placed so as not to interfere with the throw of the pictures from behind. The projection machines themselves, too in number in order to provide continuous projection by alternating the reels, and so threading one machine while running the other, were in a fire-proof booth or separate room, connected with the tiny auditorium only by slits in the wall and a sort of porthole through which the operator could talk or take his instructions. Directly beneath the openings to the booth were a table equipped with a shaded lamp, a stand for manuscripts, and a signal button. Here the film cutters and editors sat, watching the subject upon which they worked and making notes for changes, for bits of superfluous action to be cut out or for titles or spoken inserts to be moved. At a signal the operator could be instructed to stop at any point or to start or to wind back and run some given piece over again. The lights in the room were controlled from within the booth and also by a switch just at the side of the door. A telephone on the table offered a connection with any part of the studio or with the city exchanges so that an official of the company could be reached while viewing a picture. As we entered I tried to study the different faces but found it a hopeless task on account of the poor light. Kennedy took his place at the little table, switching on the little shaded lamp and motioning for McKay to set the traveling bag so that he could open it and view the contents. Then McKay took post at the door, a hand in his pocket, and I realized that the district attorney clasped a weapon beneath the cover of his clothing and was prepared for trouble. I moved over to be ready to help Kennedy if necessary. As Kennedy took his key, unlocking the bag, it would have been possible to have heard the slightest movement of a hand or foot. The faintest gasp of breath, so tense was the silence. First Kennedy took out the various rolls of film. Looking up, he caught the face of the operator at the opening in the wall and handed them to him one by one. Here are two sections of the opening of the story. Scenes one to thirteen of the black terror put together in order but without subtitles. One is printed from the negative of the head camera man, Watkins. The other is exactly the same action as taken by the other photographer. We will run both but wait for my signal between each piece. Understand? Yes, sir. Now I am giving you two rolls which contain prints of the negative from both cameras of the action at the moment of Werner's death. Those are to be projected in the same way when I give you the signal. Following that, there will be two very short pieces which show the attempt upon the life of Mr. Shirley. They are being rushed through the laboratory at this moment and will be brought to you by the time we are ready for them. Finally, Kennedy paused and as he took the rolls of negative of the snake film, I could see that he hesitated to allow them out of his hands even for a few moments. Here is some negative which will be my little climax. It is very valuable indeed, so please be careful. You want to project the negative? queried the operator. Yes, they tell me it can be done even with negative as old and brittle as this if you are careful. I'll be careful, sir. You punch the button there once to stop and two to go. I'll be ready in a moment. As he spoke, he disappeared and soon we heard the unmistakable hiss of the arcs in his machines. Kennedy stooped and from the bag produced the little envelopes with the pocket knives and nail files, the set of envelopes with the samples of blood, the piece of silk he had cut from the portiere at Territown, the tiny bits he had cut from the towel found by me in the washroom of his studio, and a microscope, the last I guessed for effect. Around in the semi-darkness I could see the faces as necks were craned to watch us. Kennedy's deliberations, his air of certainty, must have struck terror home to some one person in the little audience. Often Kennedy depended upon scientific instruments to catch the faint outward signs of the emotions of his people in a seance of this sort to allow the comparison of their reactions in the course of his review of the evidence to give him what amounted to a very sure proof of the one person's guilt, the very absence of some such preparation indicated to me the extent of his confidence. At length he began his little lecture for all the world as though this were one of his classes at the university as though there were at stake some matter of chemical reaction. I need not tell you, ladies and gentlemen, that this is a highly scientific age in which we live. His tones were leisurely, business-like, cool. Your own profession, the moving picture, with all its detail of photography and electricity, its blending of art and drama and mechanics, is indicative of that. But, a pause for emphasis, it is of my own profession I wish to talk just now, the detection and prevention of crime. Criminals as a whole were probably the very first class of society to realize the full benefit of modern science. Banks and business institutions, the various detective and police forces, all grades and walks of life have been put to it to keep abreast of the development of scientific crime. So true has this been that it is a matter of common belief with many people that the hand of the law may be defied with impunity, that justice may be cheated with absolute certainty just so long as a guilty man or woman is sufficiently clever and sufficiently careful. Fortunately, the real truth is quite the reverse. Science has extended itself in many dimensions of space. With the use of a microscope, for instance, a whole new world has opened up to the trained detective. Everyone knows now that the examination of hands and fingers is an infallible aid in the identification of criminals and in the proof of the presence of a suspect at the scene of a crime. I refer to fingerprints, of course, but fingerprints are only one small detail in this department of investigation. Our criminals know that gloves must be worn or any smooth surface wiped so as to remove the prints. In that way they believe they cheat the microscope or the pocket lens. As a matter of fact, few people have thought of another way of gaining evidence from the fingertips, but it is a method possible to the scientist and is not only practicable but exceedingly effective. In time it will be recognized by all specialists in crime. Now I refer to the deposits under the fingernail. Indeed, it is surprising how many things find their way under the nail and into the corners of the cuticle. Kennedy indicated the files and pocket knives visible in the shaded square of light before him. The value of examining fingernail deposits becomes evident when we realize that everyone carries away, in that fashion, a sample of every bit of material he handles. To touch a piece of cloth, even lightly, will result in the catching of a few of its fibers. Similarly, the fingernails will deposit either a small or large portion of their accumulation upon such things as the knife blades or files used to clean them, and their identification is still possible. Nothing in the world is too infinitesimal for use as evidence beneath the microscope. In classifying these accumulations, Kennedy paused and the silence in the little room was death-like. We may say that there are some which are legitimate and some which are not. It is the latter which concern us now. The first day we were here at the studio just four days ago now, and immediately following the murder of Miss Lamar, Mr. Jameson discovered a towel in the washroom on the second floor of the office building. On that towel there were spots of Chinese yellow makeup, as though it had been used to wipe a face or hands by some actor or actress. Those spots were unimportant. There were others, however, of an entirely different nature, together with a mark of blood and a stain which showed that a hypodermic needle had been cleaned upon the towel before it was thrown in the basket. Kennedy leaned forward. His eyes traveled from face to face. That towel was a dangerous clue. Now there was a new grim element in his voice. That towel alone has given me the evidence on which I shall obtain a conviction in this case. Today I let it be known that it was in my possession and the guilty man or woman understood at once the value it would be to me. In order to gain additional clues I purposefully gave the impression that I had yet to analyze either the spots or the trace of blood. I wanted the towel stolen and for that purpose I placed the bag containing it in a locker and left the locker unguarded. I coated the towel with a substance which would cause discomfort and alarm, itching, sav, not with the idea that anyone would be foolish enough to go about scratching before my eyes, but with the idea of making that person believe that such was my purpose, and with the idea of driving him or her to washing his hands at once, and more with the idea of forcing him or scaring him into cleaning his fingernails. I succeeded. On one of these files or knife-blades I have found and identified the fibers of that towel. I do not yet know the person, but I know the mark placed by McKay on the outside of the little envelope, and when I tell McKay the mark he will name the guilty person. Mr. Kennedy—Manton spoke up impulsively—every towel in the studio is the same. I bought them all at the same time. The fibers would all be alike. You have named seven people to me, including myself, as possibly guilty of these—these murders. Your conclusions may be very unjust, and may lead to a serious miscarriage of justice. Kennedy was unperturbed. This particular towel, in addition to the itching-sav, was thoroughly impregnated with a colorless chemical which changed the composition of the fibers in a way easily distinguishing them from the others under the microscope. Do you see, Mr. Manton? The promoter had no more to say. Now, what connection has the towel with the case? Simply this. Kennedy picked up one of the tiny pieces he had cut out of it. The poison used to kill Miss Lamar was snake venom. He paused while a little murmur went through his audience—the first sound I had detected. These spots on the towel are anti-venin. The venom itself is exceedingly dangerous to handle. The guilty man or woman took no chances, but inoculated himself with the anti-venin, protection against any chance action of the poison. The marks on the towel are the marks made by the needle used by that person in taking the inoculation. If you will follow me closely, you will understand the significance of this. Miss Lamar was killed by the scratch of a needle secreted in the portiers through which she came in, playing the scene in Mr. Phelps's library. That I will prove to you when I show you the film. The night following her death, someone broke into the room there at Territown and removed the needle. In removing the needle, that person scratched himself or herself. On the portiers I found some tiny spots of blood. Kennedy paused to hold up the bit of heavy silk. I analyzed them and found that the blood serum had changed in character very subtly. I demonstrated that the blood of the person who took the needle contained anti-venin, and if necessary I can prove the blood to come from the same individual who wiped the needle on the towel in the studio. Kennedy pressed the button before him twice. Now I want you to see, actually see Miss Lamar meet her death. The lights went out, then the picture flashed on the screen before us, revealing the gloom and mystery of the opening scene of the Black Terror. We saw the play of the flashlight, finally the fingers and next the arm of Stella as she parted the curtains. In the close-up we witnessed the repetition of her appearance, since the film was simply spliced together, not matched or trimmed. Following came all the action down to the point where she collapsed over the figure of Werner on the floor. Before the cameraman stopped, Manton rushed in and was photographed bending over her. Kennedy's voice was dramatically tense, for not one of us but had been profoundly affected by the reproduction of the tragedy. Did you notice the terror in her face when she cried out? Was that terror, really? If you were watching, you would have detected a slight flinch as she brushed her arm up against the silk. For just a moment she was not acting. It was pain, not pretended terror, which made her scream. The devilish feature to this whole plot was the care taken to cover just that thing, her inevitable exclamation. Now watch closely as I signal the operator to run the same action from the other camera. Notice the gradual effect of the poison, how she forces herself to keep going without realization of the fact that death is at hand, how she collapses finally through sheer inability to maintain control of herself a moment longer. During the running of the second piece the tense silence in the room was ghastly. Who was the guilty person? Who possessed such amazing callousness that an exhibition of this sort brought no outcry? Now Kennedy glanced around in the dim light. Switched on between the running of the different strips, I'm going to project the banquet scenes and show you the manner of Werner's death. Scene after scene of the banquet flashed before us. Here the cutter had not been sure just what Kennedy wanted, and had spliced up everything. We saw the marvellous direction of Werner, who little realized that it was to be his last few moments on earth, and we grasped the beauty and illusion of the set caused by the mirrors and the man's skill in placing his people. Yet there was not a sound, because we knew that this was a tragedy, a grim episode in which there was no human justification whatsoever. Werner rose at his place, he proposed his toast, he drank the contents of his glass, then his expression changed to wonderment and from that to fear and realization, and he dropped to the floor. Kennedy's voice, interrupting, seemed to me to come from a great distance, so powerfully was I affected by the bit of film. The poison used to kill Mr. Werner was botulin toxin, selected because its effects would not be diagnosed as anything other than ordinary food poisoning. When we look at the print from the second camera's negative, you will notice how quickly it acted. It was the pure toxin placed in his glass before the wine was poured. Once more, the unfortunate director's death was reproduced before us. Struck down, exclaimed Craig, as though by some invisible lightning bolt, without mercy, without a chance, without the slightest bit of compunction. Why? I'll tell you, because he suspected, in fact, knew who the guilty person was. Because he followed that person out to Tarrytown the night the needle was removed from the porchiers, because he was a menace to that person's life. Kennedy turned to the operator. Have those other scenes come down? Yes, sir. All right. Kennedy faced the rest of us again. There was, or rather is, another person who suspects the identity of the criminal. Today an attempt was made upon the life of Shirley. Shirley will not tell whom he suspects, because he has no definite proof. Yet for the mere fact that he suspects, he narrowly escaped the fate of Stella Lamar and Werner. Kennedy pressed the button. Witness the effort to kill the man playing the part of the black terror. The print was terribly bad, in appearance almost a dupe, due to the speed with which it had been made. Nevertheless, the two very brief scenes rushed through for this showing were more absorbingly thrilling, more graphic than anything ever to be seen even in a newsreel at a movie theatre. Notice, Kennedy exclaimed, he puts his hand in one pocket, he fumbles, hesitates, then finds the bottle in the other. Whoever put the poison in the vial were placed it in the wrong pocket. The film shows that very clearly. The camera proves that it was not an attempt at suicide. Yet the poison used was Belladonna, selected because this victim had purchased some, and because it would seem sure, therefore, that he had committed suicide. We sat in silence, listening, horrified. There is still another matter, Kennedy went on, after a moment. The fire in the negative vault this morning was incendiary. I have proved to the satisfaction of several of us that a bomb was constructed of wet phosphorus in old film and placed in the vault by trickery four days ago. The same day Stella Lamar was killed. Through a miscalculation the phosphorus was slow and drying and the fire did not occur until today. Thanks to that fact I have in my possession a bit of negative which the murderer very likely wished to have destroyed. In fact I believe it's destruction to be the motive in planning the fire in the vault. He faced the operator. Ready to run the negative? Yes, sir. Kennedy pressed the button and when the projection machine threw its picture upon the screen I saw something such as I had never imagined before. Everything was black which should have been white and everything white which should have been black. The two extremes shaded into each other in weird fashion. In fact it was uncanny to watch a negative projected and I followed, fascinated. This is a film made with the cooperation of Dr. Nagoya of the Castleton Institute and I am told by Mr. Manton that it is one of the finest snake pictures ever made. Kennedy spoke fast so that we could get the full benefit of his explanation and so that it would not be necessary to subject the negative to the wear and tear of the sprocket wheels and the projection machine again. I am running this for you to show you the action of the rattlesnake whose venom was used to kill Ms. Lamar and to give you an idea of the source of the murderer's knowledge of snake poison. At this moment Dr. Nagoya whom I could barely recognize in the inverted photography seized one of the rattlers. It was a close-up and we could see the reptile dart out its forked tongue seeking to get at the hands of the Japanese locked firmly about its neck. Then another man walked into the picture holding a jar. At once the snake struck at the glass. As it did so it was possible to see drops of the venom projected into the jar. Other details followed and there were views of other sorts and breeds of snakes from the poisonous to the most harmless. The principal scene, however, had been the one showing the venom. Lights up. The operator threw the switch again, stopping the film and at the same time lighting the projection room. Kennedy stepped forward and turned to face us. There was this negative in the vaults, he spoke rapidly. It bore a certain name on the film as editor. Someone knew that proof of the possession of this knowledge of snakes might prove a powerful link in the chain against him. If that had been a positive instead of a negative you would have recognized Dr. Nagoya's assistant. There was a double motive in blowing that vault to destroy the company and to protect himself. In fact all the rest of the negative was destroyed. Only by chance I saved this piece the very one that he wanted to destroy. Everyone waited breathlessly for Kennedy's next move. Suddenly Kennedy flushed. I could see that he became genuinely angry. In this room, he exclaimed, there sits the most unscrupulous, cold-blooded inhuman being I have ever known. Yet he maintained silence, believing still that he can defy the scientific evidence of his crimes. I have not yet mentioned, however, the real proof of his guilt. Kennedy picked up one of the little envelopes, one which contained a blood smear. During the explosion this morning a number of you were cut by falling glass. You will remember that I bound up your cuts, carefully cleansing each one and wiping away the blood. That gave me a sample of the blood of every one but misloring in Mr. Shirley. Subsequently, without their knowledge, I obtained a sample from each of them. Thus I have a specimen from every one concerned, or possibly concerned, in the murders. He glanced about, but even now there was no tell-tale revelation. I have analyzed these, and one shows that the person from whom I obtained this sample has been inoculated with antivenin. The mark on the envelope is the same as the mark on the envelope containing the towel-fibers, a double proof. Furthermore, I am prepared to show that it is the same blood as the blood upon the portierre. He faced me. All at once his voice carried the sharpness of a whip. Walter, relieve McKay at the door and take his weapon. Let no one out. McKay, come here. An instant later the district attorney leaned over. He glanced at the mark indicated by Kennedy, then whispered an aim. The next instant Kennedy rose. I thought so, he muttered. Raising his voice he addressed all of us. Here is a man who thought crime so long that he believed he could get away with murder. Not only did he commit a second murder and plan a third to cover the first, but he planted evidence against nearly all of you. He dropped the ampula in McGrory's car to implicate any one of four people. He coolly stole a cigarette case to put it where it would be found after the film-fire and clinched suspicion. For all of this what justification has he had? Jealousy, jealousy of the narrowest, most primitive sort, actuated him. Not only was he willing to kill Stella Lamar, but he sought to destroy every foot of negative in which she had ever appeared. He was jealous of her success, greater than his, jealous of her interest in other men, greater than her interest in him. Her divorce was maneuvered directly by him simply because he thought it would hurt and humiliate her and for no other reason. When nothing seemed to stop her on her upward climb, when he realized that she was as ambitious as he was in her position in the picture world alone interested her, he sought by devious means, by subtle schemes, by spreading dissatisfaction and encouraging dissension to wreck the company which had made her. At the end he killed her, waiting craftily until she was at the very climax of her finest piece of work, the opening scenes of the black terror. There was bitterness in Kennedy's tones. Before I would not believe that a man—suddenly the projection room was plunged into darkness. Someone had pushed the wall switch close by me. I backed into the doorway, raising my weapon to resist any attempt to escape. Almost at the same instant there were sounds of a struggle. Kennedy had dashed forward in the darkness, sure of the position of his man, unafraid. A scream I recognized from the throat of Enid. I groped for the switch, but the operator in the booth anticipated me. In the versed burst of illumination I saw that Kennedy had forced his antagonist back over the front row of chairs. Almost I heard the crack of the man's spine. I caught a glimpse of the man's face and gasped at the murderous rage as he struggled and strove to break Kennedy's iron grip. Enid was the first at Kennedy's side. With an expression I failed to analyze until long afterward she sought to claw at the murderer's unprotected features, twitching now an impotent fury. You wrote that note for her to meet you at the tea-room, Kennedy muttered, eyes narrowing grimly, knowing that she would be dead before that time. You protected yourself against the poisoned needle in the portiers, but your own blood convicts you, Millard. The End. End of Chapter 32. End of the Film Mystery by Arthur B. Reeve