There in a compartment of the drawer I saw a hypodermic needle—­ in fact, two of them—­and a bottle.  On the desk was a fountain pen ink dropper, a new one which had never been used.  I reached over, pressed its little bulb, uncorked the bottle, inserted the glass point, sucked up some of the contents, placed the bulb right side up in my waistcoat pocket, and recorked the bottle.  Next I took and pocketed one of the two needles, both of which were alike as far as I could see.

Then I heard a good-by in the hall.  I closed drawer and desk hastily.  As I caught the click of the receiver of the telephone on its hook I was halfway across the floor.  Before the colored boy could enter again I was back in my chair, my head literally in a whirl.

What a stroke of good fortune!  I had no expectation of proving Werner to be the guilty man by so simple a method as this, however.  If he were the slayer of the star he would be too clever to leave anything so incriminating about.  I have always quarreled with Poe’s theory in The Purloined Letter, believing that the obvious is no place to hide anything outside of fiction.  What I conceived, rather, was that Werner really was a dope fiend.  The nature of the drug Kennedy would tell me very easily, from the sample.  Establishing Werner’s possession of the needles was another point in my chain of presumptions, showing that he was familiar with their use; and added to that was the psychological effect upon him of the habit, a habit responsible in many other cases for murders as skillfully carried out as that of Stella Lamar, often, too, without the slightest shred of real motive.

I recalled Werner’s habitually nervous manner and was sure now that the needles actually were used by him.  Was it due to the high pressure of his profession?  Had that constant high tension forced him to find relief in the most violent relaxation?

Elated, I was tempted at first to crowd my luck.  I wondered if I could not discover another ampulla such as the chauffeur, McGroarty, had picked up in his car.  When Werner’s servant, almost apologetically, explained that the telephone message was from a near-by shop and that he would have to leave me for a matter of ten or fifteen minutes, I assured him that it was all right and that I would occupy myself with a magazine.  The moment he was out the door I sprang to action and began a minute search of every nook and cranny of the rooms.

But gradually a sense of growing fear and trepidation took hold of me.  Suppose, after all, Werner should return home unexpectedly?  The colored boy did not seem surprised that I should wait, a slight indication that it was possible.  Further, I could never tell when the darky might not return himself, breaking in upon me without warning and discovering me.  At the best I was not a skillful investigator.  I did not know just where to look for hidden evidences of poison, nor was I able to work fast, for fear of leaving too tangible marks of my actions behind me.  A great perspiration stood out on my forehead.  Gradually a trembling took hold of my limbs and communicated itself to my fingers.