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 Mackay to set the traveling bag so he could open it and view the contents.  Then Mackay 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—­it is very valuable indeed, so please be careful.”

“You—­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 Tarrytown, the tiny bits he had cut from the towel found by me in the washroom of this studio, and a microscope—­the last, I guessed, for effect.

Around in the semidarkness I could see the faces as necks were craned to watch us.  Kennedy’s deliberateness, his air of certainty, must have struck terror home to some one person in the little audience.  Often Kennedy depended upon hidden 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.