“He’s found a towel,” Millard put in, an expression of half amusement on his face as he faced the promoter.  “In some way it’s a clue to the identity of the murderer, an infallible clue, he says.  He found it in the washroom by our offices.  Since Werner is dead, that points the finger of suspicion at you or me.”

Manton’s jaw dropped.  His expression became almost ludicrous, as if the thought that he could possibly be suspected himself was new to him.  Millard’s eyes sobered a bit at his superior’s confusion.

“There’s a door from the dressing rooms,” Kennedy suggested.  “Any of the actors or actresses could have used the place.”

“Of course!” Manton grasped at the straw.  “I had forgotten.  There have been complaints to me about the players using that room.”

“I have the towel with me, wrapped up in a paper in this grip,” Kennedy went on.  “It’s so very valuable as a bit of evidence—­I wonder if I could borrow a locker so as to keep it under lock and key until we’re ready to return to the laboratory?”

“Sure!  Of course!” Manton glanced about and saw the little knot of people still gathered in the set.  “Millard!  Go over and tell Kauf to get busy.  He’s losing time.”  Then he turned to us again.  “Come on, Mr. Kennedy, we have some steel lockers out by the property room.”

As we started across the floor I could see that Kennedy was framing a question with great care.

“Do you ever use snakes in films, Mr. Manton?” he asked.

“Why, no!” The promoter stopped in his surprise.  “That is, not if we ever can help it.  The censorship won’t pass anything with snakes.”

“You have used them, though?”

“Yes.  Once we made a short-length special subject, nothing but snakes.”  Manton became enthusiastic.  “It was a wonder, too; a pet film of mine.  We made it with the direct co-operation and supervision of the greatest authority on poisonous snakes in the country, Doctor Nagoya of Castleton Institute.”

XXVI

A CIGARETTE CASE

Kennedy’s face betrayed only a remote interest.  “Have you any copies of that particular film?”

“Just the negative, I believe.”

“Could I have that for a few days?”

“Of course!” Manton seemed to wish to give us every possible amount of co-operation; yet this request puzzled him.  “Would you care to go down to the negative vaults with me?”

Kennedy nodded.

First we stopped in a lengthy corridor in the rear building, where there were no great signs of life.  Through a door I could see a long room filled with ornaments, pictures, furniture, rugs, and all the vast freak collections of a property room.  Along the side of the hallway itself was a line of steel lockers of recent design.

Manton called out to an employee and he appeared after a long wait and unlocked one of them.  At Kennedy’s direction I put the traveling bag in the lower compartment, pocketing the key.  Then we retraced our steps to broad steel stairs leading up and down.  We descended to the basement and found ourselves in a high-ceilinged space immaculately clean and used generally for storage purposes.