“The man who broke in last night—­”

“Removed the needle, but”—­almost amused—­“not the traces of it.  You see, Walter, after all, the scientific detective cannot be forestalled even by the most scientific criminal.  There is nothing in the world which does not leave its unmistakable mark behind, provided you can read it.  The hole in the cloth serves me quite as well as the needle itself.”

Very suddenly a voice from behind us interrupted.

“Find something?”

I turned, startled, to see Emery Phelps.  There was a distinct eagerness in the banker’s expression.

“Yes!” Kennedy faced him, undisturbed, apparently not surprised.  His scrutiny of Phelps’s face was frank and searching.  “Yes,” he repeated, “bit by bit the guilty man is revealing himself to us.”

XII

EMERY PHELPS

“There—­there is something the matter with the curtains?” Phelps suggested.

Kennedy pointed to the two holes and the spots.  “Miss Lamar met her death from poison introduced into her system through a tiny scratch from a prepared needle.”

“Yes?” Phelps was calm now, and cool.  I wondered if it were pretense on his part.  “What have these little marks to do with that?”

“Don’t you see?” rejoined Kennedy.  “If some one had come here before the scene in the picture was played; had thrust a small needle, perhaps a hollow needle from a hypodermic syringe, through the heavy thickness of this silk—­thrust it in here, the point sticking out here—­well, there would be two holes left where the threads were forced apart, like this!” Kennedy took his stickpin, demonstrating.

“How could that cause Stella’s death?” Phelps, at first quite upset apparently by Kennedy’s discovery, now was lapsing again into his hostile mood.  His question was cynical.

“Try to recall Miss Lamar’s actions,” Kennedy went on, patiently.  “What was she supposed to do in the very first scene?  ’The portieres move and the fingers of a girl are seen on the edge of the silk.  A bare and beautiful arm is thrust through almost to the shoulder and it begins to move the portieres aside, reaching upward to pull the curtains apart at the rings.’”

“Do you mean to tell me—­” Phelps’s eyes were very wide as he paused, grasping the scheme and yet disbelieving—­unless it all were a bit of fine acting—­“do you mean to tell me it is possible to calculate a thing like that?  How would anyone know where her arm would be?”

“It is simpler than it sounds, Mr. Phelps.”  Kennedy was suddenly harsh.  “There is only one natural movement of an arm in that case.  The culprit was undoubtedly familiar with Miss Lamar’s height and with her manner of working.  It is a bit of action which has to be repeated in both the long shot and close-up scenes.  Jameson here can tell you how many times a scene is rehearsed.  There probably were a dozen sure chances of the needle striking the girl’s bare flesh.  You will see from the position of the holes that it was arranged point downward and slightly turned in, and on a particular fold of the curtain, too; showing that some one placed it there only after a nice bit of calculation.  Furthermore, it was high enough so that there was little chance of anyone being pricked except the star, whose death was intended.”