The haunting hand
a dash of cold water in his face. He stared angrily, then he said:
“Just one thing more. Will you or will you not, drop this damn
foolishness about this mystery stuff?”
“I will not drop it,” she said with quiet defiance.
He walked to where he had thrown his hat and coat, and picked them up.
Then he stood glowering at her across the room.
“That’s all, then. Consider yourself fired from the Superfilm Company.
And Valery will find a notice for himself to-morrow morning. I’m damn
sorry I gave you the job that day, instead of Lulu.”
“You had your good reasons for that, Mr. Stoner.” Before he could
speak, she added quickly: “Why punish Gene for what I’ve done?”
“Because I can get at you through him. Also because I’m sick of the
very sight of him. But any time you change your mind about marrying
me, just let me know. You’ll get your job back if you do.”
With that he stalked out of the room.
For a long time after Margot put out her light, she lay in the
darkness thinking. Strange and ingenious that theory of Stoner’s, but
far stranger still the motive under the theory. She knew now, she felt
it deeply, that he had some motive, other than his desire to force her
to drop the case. At least--her thoughts grew a little confused as she
grew less wakeful--it wasn’t like that exactly. His motive for
advancing the theory was obviously to make her drop _her_ theories,
and the motive back of that was what she couldn’t fathom. Well--if for
a moment she had been intrigued by Stoner’s theory, even to the point
of taking it seriously, she had swung back to a rational contemplation
of him and his theories. As to her own, they were something to take up
with Gene the next day. Poor Gene! It was a shame. But he’d get a job
with some other company, and so would she. But not till she’d solved
the mystery of the arm that tapped the lighted match--the arm that
most positively was _not_ her own.
As on the night before, her last waking memory was of those strange,
pale eyes of Stoner’s, looking at her through a mist of hidden thought
and motive and desire.
CHAPTER X.
A WITNESS FROM THE DEAD
A long night because of long, long thoughts, then a few hours of
sleep and then waking, to see the sun shining through her window.
Margot wondered, as she examined her face in the two foot mirror, just
how many more sleepless nights she could stand without showing the
effects of it. Well, at least she didn’t have to rush over to the
studio and be irritated by Stoner. It was a shame of course, that she
was the cause of Gene being fired, for Stoner would undoubtedly put as
many spokes in Gene’s wheel as possible. But he already had the
reputation of being a clever camera man, and he’d make another good
connection in spite of Stoner.
As to herself, Margot worried not at all. She was sorry to leave the
charming “Conchita” to the mercy of some substitute who might not
understand her passionate Latin temperament as well as
she--Margot--understood it, but, oh, what did it all matter! The
reflection of herself as a passionate Spanish girl made Margot grin in
delighted mockery of her own conception. Of course--she had no doubt
about it--she was quite capable of feeling intensely when the right
man and the right hour should come along, but Spanish girls didn’t
have to have the scene so carefully laid. Was it that American women
were really cold, or that Spanish women were less fastidious? As to
dear old Gene, was he the right one, and was she waiting only for the
hour to strike?
She had reached that point in her reflections, over her coffee and
rolls, in her room, when she was called to the telephone.
As she heard Gene’s voice over the wire, she wondered if it were a
case of thought transference. That very moment as he was calling her,
she was thinking intently about him.
“Hello, that you, Margot? Say, there’s the devil to pay out here. I’m
calling from Astoria. I’ve been given the sack and not a reason
offered. And the report out here is that you’ve had the same dirty
deal. Is it true?”
She told him it was, and asked him to come to her house as soon as
possible; that she had much to tell him, and something for him to do.
His voice sounded more cheerful when he told her that he’d be right
over as quick as he could make train connections.
When Gene arrived she gave him both hands and reached her face up for
his kiss. He gave it eagerly enough, his eyes glowing with joy at the
sight and touch of her. He tried to take her in his arms, but she held
him back and smiled an entreaty that he be patient with her.
“We’ve such a lot to talk about, dear, and so much to do. I promise,
Gene, that just as soon as we clear up the mystery of that old room of
mine, I’ll take your love-making seriously, or else--” She hesitated,
striving to be fair and honest with him.
“Or else you’ll cut out the love-making altogether, is that it,
Margot?”
“Yes, old dear, that’s what I meant, but don’t get humped about it.
Plenty of other bridges to cross first. Who knows, I may discover that
I’m desperately in love with you, when I get all the débris out of my
mind collected there in the last few days.”
Her mood was lightening. Gene always cheered her up. Good sign, she
thought, but she refrained from calling his attention to it. Then she
told him of Stoner’s unexpected call the previous evening. Before she
could expatiate on his avowed reason for coming, Gene exploded.
“So _that_ was his game, keeping me at work in the studio, and
changing me to another unit! I thought it was queer, but I was too
dense to connect it with you, Margot.”
“No denser than I was. It never occurred to me till after he’d gone.
As a matter of fact, he kept my brain too busy with his remarkable
theories, until just before he left, and _then_ he kept _me_ too
busy.”
Gene stared at her, uncomprehending. She laughed at his expression,
then she frowned, remembering with an access of disgust, Stoner’s
physical attempt to force her hand.
“See here, Gene, if he hadn’t fired you I’d not dream of telling you
just what happened last night. But as you’re no longer under his heel
it doesn’t matter _what_ you know. I’ll tell you about my personal
encounter with him first. That’ll clear the deck for the rest of it,
which is really the only interesting thing about last evening.”
She described Stoner’s attack upon her, his love-making, and his cold
fury when she struck him across the mouth. Gene listened with burning
eyes and twitching lips, striding up and down the room as Margot
talked.
“So that’s that, and a jolly good riddance so far as I’m concerned. I
was getting awfully fed-up with his overbearing ways. Until recently
I didn’t dislike Stoner. Of course I could never have been fond of
him, but I liked him--rather--until he antagonized me by his attitude
regarding what occurred, and publicity, and all that. He’s interesting
in a queer, mysterious way. He’s got me guessing as to his real
motives for working up his elaborate theory and coming here with it.
There’s _something_ I can’t reach with my mind, although my
imagination plays with it continually.”
She described to Gene the visit to the “haunted” room, and Stoner’s
antics, which filled the policeman with wondering awe, and made Margot
want to laugh, up to the moment when he explained his theory.
“And the funny thing about it is that on the surface it sounds
reasonable, and it makes you wonder why you hadn’t thought of it
yourself.”
“I suppose,” said Gene thoughtfully, “that such a light _could_ be
sent into a dark room, through an uncurtained window. But it seems to
me that unless you’d lost your wits completely, you’d have known the
difference between a small circular dancing light, and the tiny upward
flare of a lighted match.”
“Of course I would,” she agreed eagerly. “And as to my hand and arm,
really, you know, I’d have to have been utterly mad not to have known
the difference between the shadow of an arm and hand, and the real
thing crawling over the rug.”
“As a matter of fact, it’s all bunk, that idea of a calcium light and
a burning glass being manipulated so as to throw the shadow of your
arm on to the floor.” Gene’s literal type of mind was more inclined to
eliminate the impossible than to consider the possible.
“All the same, there are moments when I wonder a little if it’s not
stupid of me to take such a negative attitude. After all, Gene, mighty
strange things happen, and they’re only strange to those who can’t
understand. I don’t know--I’m not dead sure--that a light couldn’t be
thrown just as he described, and work the same odd tricks. If I were
as sure of Stoner himself as I am of my limited knowledge along such
lines, I’d be inclined to accept his theory, at least to prove or
disprove it, with an open mind.”
“You mean that you think he had a hidden motive for propounding his
theory?”
“Yes, and besides, he admitted to having given me his theory,
expecting that it would clear up the mystery and cause me to drop
further investigation, or words to that effect. Now, what puzzles me
is whether he wants me to drop the whole thing because of the
publicity, or whether he’s using that reason as a screen to his real
one.”
“Good Lord! You make him out a man of mystery with a subtle brain.
That’s far-fetched, dear girl. He’s the most obvious person I know. He
probably concocted that ingenious theory with the hope of convincing
you and making you drop the whole thing, but I’ll bet a good deal that
he’s incapable of anything more intricate or sinister than that.”
“May--be!” Margot puckered her forehead, and her eyes had a far-seeing
expression in their gray depths.
“Well, let’s drop that man for five minutes, him and his theories.”
Gene sat down with an impatient sigh, and lighted a cigarette with
nervous fingers. “I think it’s about time you gave me the benefit of
your own theories, Margot. I’d be grateful to you if you’d give me
something to think about besides Stoner and his damn nerve coming here
and trying to make love to you. Nice picture before me of his kissing
you against your will!”
Margot’s sudden laugh brought an angry light to Gene’s somber eyes.
She leaned toward him and put her hand over his with a little pressure
of her fingers, and a smile that strove to express contrition, and
failed.
“Silly old thing! Where’s your logic, even if you’ve mislaid your
sense of humor. If he’d kissed me _not_ against my will, then you
_would_ have something to groan over. And it’s darn lucky for you,
little one, that you make it _very_ clear that you believe it _was_
against my will, for if you didn’t, you know what would happen, don’t
you, Gene?”
“I believe you,” he said sullenly, “but if Stoner and I had to meet
very often, with you between, something would break sooner or later.”
“Well, don’t worry. I’m through with Stoner, and so are you. Now, as
to my theories. I’ve got something first I want you to do for me. If
you can spare the time I want you to go personally to police
headquarters, and make arrangements for Hart and his crowd to meet
here at five o’clock. Hart hasn’t been here himself for some time. He
scorns the case. But you argue that brilliant sleuth into coming.
Flatter, cajole him. Tell him I want to call his attention to
important new evidence. Make positively sure that he’ll be here
himself!”
“You’ve actually got something up your sleeve?”
“If my powers of deduction haven’t failed me--yes.”
“All right. I’ll have Hart here if I have to blackjack him and hire a
wheelbarrow. And right now, I’m off to look for another job.” He rose
and went toward her, holding out his hands.
“Oh, Gene, listen.” She was on her feet beside him. “Have you enough
to rub along on for a short time?”