Kennedy continued to hold the stub, and as Manton preceded us up the stairs he hung back, comparing it with the few cigarettes left in the case.  Unquestionably they were of the same brand.

On the studio floor Mackay was waiting for us.  Under his arm was a reel of film in a can.  He clutched it almost fondly.

“All ready!” he remarked, to Kennedy.

Kennedy’s face was unrevealing as he faced Manton.  “This bit of film is valuable evidence also.  I think perhaps it would be safer in that locker.”

“Anything at all we can do to help,” stated Manton, promptly.  “Shall I show you the way again?”

I produced the key, handing it to Kennedy as the four of us arrived in the corridor by the property room.  Kennedy slipped the bit of metal into the lock; then simulated surprise very well indeed.

“The lock is broken!” he exclaimed.  “Some one has been here.”

Apparently the traveling bag had been undisturbed as we took it out.  Nevertheless, the paper containing the towel was gone.

“This is no joke, Mr. Kennedy,” protested Manton, in indignation.  “Where can I hire about a dozen good men to hang around and watch—­and—­and help you get to the bottom of this?”

Mackay, without releasing his grasp of the film, had been inspecting the broken lock.

“Look at the way this was done!” he murmured, almost in admiration.  “This wasn’t the work of any roughneck.  It—­it was a dainty job!”

XXVII

THE FILM FIRE

The bag lay open at my feet.  The microscope and other paraphernalia brought by Kennedy were untouched.  Taking the film from Mackay and placing the can in with the other things, Kennedy snapped the catch and turned to me as he straightened.

“I think our evidence is safest in plain sight, Walter.  We’ll carry it about with us.”

Lloyd Manton seemed to be a genuinely unhappy individual.  After some moments he excused himself, nervously anxious about the turn of affairs at the studio.  Immediately I faced Kennedy and Mackay.

“Manton’s the only one who knew just where we put the bag,” I remarked.  “When he left us in the basement he had plenty of time to run up and steal the towel and return.”

“How about the itching salve?”

“In his hurry he might have left the towel in the paper, intending to destroy it later.”

Kennedy frowned.  “That’s possible, Walter.  I had not thought of that.  Still”—­he brightened—­“I’m counting on human nature.  I don’t believe anyone guilty of the crime could have that towel in his possession, after the hints I have thrown out, without examining it so as to see what telltale mark or stain would be apt to betray his identity.”

“You can see that Manton’s the logical man?”

“It would be easy for anyone else to follow and observe us.”

“Then—?”