The haunting hand
“A motion picture! I thought you hated them, and of all things
to-night, when you’ve got so much on your mind.”
“That might be reason enough, seeing that they usually put me to
sleep. Just what I need right now, to rest my nerves.”
“Oh, all right,” he agreed amiably.
“But,” she said with a laugh, “that _isn’t_ the reason I want to go to
a picture to-night. I want to go to a very _special_ picture. One that
was directed by Stoner.”
“What’s the big idea?” Gene was more mystified than before.
“I’ll tell you later. I missed the first showing of this picture, but
I’ve heard that it contains a curious feature. You know how one idea
gives birth to another, when your mind’s all keyed up? Well, in the
last fifteen minutes, while I’ve been concentrating on what we found
down there in that room, my poor, weak brain’s been literally flooded
with some new and very strange thoughts. Very strange indeed,” she
repeated dreamily.
“You mean--thoughts connected with Stoner?”
“Oh, yes,” she said softly, “very much connected with Stoner. Of
course they’re only _thoughts_--they’re too vague yet to be even
speculations, let alone deductions. Just thoughts, but such very
intriguing ones, Gene.”
“I daresay, when you get ready to, you’ll let me have the benefit of
your precious thoughts.” Gene was just a trifle impatient and she
laughed at him.
“Hold your horses, old darling. All in good time, I’ll share my
thoughts with you, and perhaps other more important things as well.”
She threw him a provocative smile, but evaded his arms, as he plunged
at her, trying to seize her.
“_Perhaps_, I said. In the meantime, as I told you before, my brain’s
fairly reeking with mystery. Come on! Let’s go eat!”
“Just a minute, Margot,” he urged. “Tell me about the picture. What
picture is it? I mean, what’s so curious about it?”
“I can’t tell you now. I want you to see it and get your own fresh
impression from it, without being influenced by any reflection of
mine.”
“What the deuce can a picture directed by that boob have to do with
the mystery of Stella Ball, and your room, and the radium! You’re a
funny kid! Well, come. I’m starved, even if I am madly in love, and
almost insane with curiosity.”
An Italian dinner with red wine served in teacups, made Margot more
irrepressibly tantalizing and irresistibly alluring than usual. The
food was negative, but youth and red wine in a teacup leave the spirit
aloof from such gross material considerations.
They spent only a half hour in the little restaurant, then walked
quickly over to Eighth Avenue, where they found seats in a small
theater for _The Masque of Life_. It was a photoplay of pretentious
melodrama, verging on the grotesque, which had been completed for the
Superfilm Company, some weeks before. It had had a short
run--unhonored and unsung--on Broadway, and was now making the round
of the smaller houses.
Through the tiresome opening reels, Margot sat, sleepily content, her
hand held fast in Gene’s. Then, toward the close of the picture, she
aroused to sudden interest, and gave Gene’s hand a violent squeeze.
She whispered something to him, then she sat very still and intent,
watching the action develop along strange lines.
An inventor was shown at work upon a devilish contraption with which
he planned to destroy New York. Its motive power was to be--_radium_.
The single word was flashed in huge letters across the screen. This
time it was Gene who tightened his clasp on the fingers he held. The
authority of science was acclaimed as the basis for the weird results
obtained by the villain. Certainly there was an uncanny thrill in his
first experiment with his diabolical machine.
It was shown as functioning at night. A mysterious aura glowed about
it. Rays like forked lightning darted from its entrails.
“Good Lord!” Gene’s excited whisper was close to Margot’s ear. “I see
your point!”
“Do you?” she whispered back. “Then work out a theory, but don’t tell
me till later. I want to get a grip on my own ideas first.”
They sat to the end of the picture, and through a Sennett comedy,
because, as Margot explained, she wanted to sit quietly where she was,
until it was time to return to the house. He told her that he’d
probably explode if she didn’t let him tell her something that he was
as sure of as that he held her hand in his. But she whispered, with a
low laugh, that if exploding would relieve his feelings, she’d hate to
stand in his way. As far as comparing notes was concerned--nothing
doing, she said sternly, until later.
At eight o’clock they returned to Margot’s house of mystery. In the
hallway they found Cornelius Hart and Quinlan. Between them stood
Stella Ball. Her eyes were dull and sullen, her mouth bitter. A
handcuff was fastened to her left wrist, while the other end dangled
uselessly.
“You said you wished to speak to this girl, Miss Anstruther,” said
Hart casually. “She’s at your service.” Margot accepted his veiled
remark as a suggestion that she take charge of Stella.
Evidently Hart had been careful to raise no suspicion in Stella’s mind
that she was to be subjected to a test of any kind. Black-browed and
fierce, her glance swept over the faces of the men, then rested on
Margot’s with defiant scorn. Margot, open-minded at all times, and
generous in her estimates, found it quite natural that this young
thing--potentially a criminal perhaps, but certainly not a coward in
spirit or flesh--should regard a girl of Margot’s class with the
disdain that those who dare much feel for those who are sheltered from
all daring.
Stella had grown thinner and paler in jail. Her stubborn will seemed
unbroken. Her thin lips parted as if the impulse moved her to protest
against she knew not what. Then her mouth shut stubbornly, and she
gave Hart an ugly look. She promised to be a difficult subject, that
much was sure. Margot tingled at the prospect of the encounter. It
would be even more thrilling than she had anticipated.
“I’m sure,” she said gently, “that Stella Ball will be able and
willing to help us clear up certain things.” Her tone was
noncommittal, but her penetrating look into the girl’s eyes was
kindly. “I’ll go up ahead,” she said to Hart. “I just want to take a
look around.”
He understood her intent--to make sure that nothing had been
disturbed--and he, together with the girl, Gene and Quinlan, followed
slowly up the stairs.
Margot found Boyle and another man standing solemnly on guard in the
room where so many fateful things had occurred. How many more were
destined to happen there? she wondered vaguely. Mrs. Bellew was
already in the room. Margot smiled, understanding that the inquisitive
and excited creature was determined not to lose a moment of the new
scene soon to be enacted.
Margot took quiet charge of the situation. She cautioned the landlady
not to speak unless addressed, and asked her to sit still in one
corner of the room, not too far away from the center of the
stage--meaning the brass bed and the trapdoor and the gruesome object
on the floor. She told the two policemen to stand on either side of
the trapdoor. Then she called to Hart to bring in Stella Ball.
The girl had been directed to walk a little ahead of the three men,
thus blocking her only way of retreat. It was inevitable that she
would see the bed pushed out from the wall, the hole in the floor, and
the withered arm lying on the bare planking, on reaching the threshold
of the room. Her foot was scarcely on the doorsill when she jerked
back on her heels and stared with distended eyes.
No one spoke. If what she saw could not shake her, words would be
wasted. The moment of hostile silence was calculated to force
confession, but she seemed unconscious of it. All her senses were
concentrated upon the thing on the floor and its significance to her.
Horror and fear were the emotions most clearly expressed on her
hitherto impassive face. Then it hardened, and her lips grew tight.
She paid no attention to anyone but Hart. At him she looked
accusingly.
“Done me dirt, aint you?” she said coolly. “Got the goods on me, then
brought me here to spring it on me, and watch me jump. Well--whacher
goin’ to do about it?”
Margot came quickly nearer to the girl.
“We won’t do anything about it--I mean we won’t do _you_ any harm if
you’ll tell us what you know. Why did you do it?”
“Do what?” she asked sharply, staring at Margot.
“Oh, of course, you don’t know that we found the radium in that hand
on the floor--_your_ hand, Stella. How did you get hold of it?”
“I’ve been a fence for a long time, that’s how,” she said sulkily.
Margot exchanged a glance of surprised understanding with Gene and
with Hart, then she said gently:
“Tell us how you got mixed up with a crook who stole radium, and how
you lost your arm?”
“I lost it all right,” she said with an expression of such acute
distress that Margot said quickly:
“We’re all awfully sorry for you. But you really must help the law in
every way. If you don’t, I’m afraid it may go hard with you.”
“I told ya before, I aint committed a crime. The law can’t do nothin’
to me.”
“See here, my girl!” Hart spoke impatiently. “Maybe you haven’t done
away with anybody, but being a professional receiver of stolen goods
isn’t one of the things the law smiles at. Better come across and give
us all the dope!”
“We know a good deal about you already,” Margot prompted gently. “We
know that you lived in this room and we know why.” (Margot had jumped
to a certain conclusion in the last few seconds.) “That trapdoor leads
to a place that’s fine as a receptacle for stolen radium, or anything
small like that. We know that you took this room for that sole
purpose.”
“How d’you know?” Stella could not be tripped so easily. “Oh, well,”
she added disgustedly, “I guess it don’t take much savvy to know that
much. But I wasn’t the first one to do it. The woman who was here
before gave me the tip.”
Mrs. Bellew gave a low cry, quickly stifled in her handkerchief.
“You had a confederate in this house, didn’t you?” Margot held the
girl’s eyes as she added slowly: “An elderly man by the name of
Murchison, who lived on the top floor?”
“By jove, Margot, you’re wonderful!” It was unprofessional, but Gene
could not restrain his joy at her acumen. It was easy now to follow
her deductions step by step.
“I got to know him after I come here,” Stella said, staring at the
floor. “He worked in some sort of a hospital, he told me.”
“You mean, don’t you, the Fellowe Institute?” Margot corrected her
gently.
“Yeah, guess that was it. He was a pretty slick pickpocket. Used to
bring me watches and things to keep. Then one day he said he’d swiped
a tube of stuff that was worth more’n fifty thousand dollars. I
thought he was lying till I saw the fuss in the papers about the
radium.”
A gentle question or two from Margot, and the girl told her how she
had hidden the radium in the secret chamber, Murchison having promised
her a big commission when he should sell the stuff. He had told her
that it might take a long time to sell it, because only doctors and
professors would want to buy it, and most of them would be leery about
stolen goods.
Suddenly Stella’s voice trailed off and her face grew very white. She
closed her eyes and a long shudder shook her thin shoulders.
“What’s the matter?” The sympathy in Margot’s voice brought a quick
response.
“I was just thinkin’,” Stella mumbled, “of the night when things went
on the blink.”
“You mean--” Margot took her up quickly, “the night you
disappeared--three months ago?”
“Yeah.” The girl gave her head a sudden upward jerk. Fixing her
haggard young eyes on a spot where the light reflected on the footrail
of the brass bed, she finished her astounding narrative. Her words