I was hoping for a display of the remarkable brilliance Craig had shown in so many of the cases brought to his attention.  I half expected to see him rise from the floor with some tiny something in his hand, some object overlooked by everyone else, some tangible evidence which would lead to the immediate apprehension of the perpetrator of the crime.  That Stella Lamar had met her death by foul means I did not doubt for an instant, and so I waited feverishly for the conclusion of Kennedy’s search.

As it happened, this was not destined to be one of his cases cleared up in a brief few hours of intensive effort.  He covered every inch of the floor within the illuminated area; then he turned his attention to the walls and furniture and the rest of the room in somewhat more perfunctory, but no less skillful manner.  Fully fifteen minutes elapsed, but I knew from his expression that he had discovered nothing.  In a wringing perspiration from the heat of the arcs, but nevertheless glad to have had the intense light at his disposal, he motioned to the electrician to turn them off and to leave the room.

“Find anything, Mr. Kennedy?” queried the physician once more.

Kennedy beckoned all of us to the side of the ill-fated actress.  Lifting the right arm, finding the spot which had caused his exclamation before, he handed his pocket lens to Doctor Blake.  After a moment a low whistle escaped the lips of the physician.

Next it was my turn.  As I stooped over I caught, above the faint scent of imported perfume which she affected, a peculiar putrescent odor.  This it was which had caught Kennedy’s nostrils.  Then through the glass I could detect upon her forearm the tiniest possible scratch ending in an almost invisible puncture, such as might have been made by a very sharp needle or the point of an incredibly fine hypodermic syringe.  Drawing back, I glanced again at her face, which I had already noted was blotched and somewhat swollen beneath the make-up.  Again I thought that the muscles were contorted, that the eyes were bulging slightly, that there was a bluish tinge to her skin such as in cyanosis or asphyxiation.  It may have been imagination, but I was now sure that her expression revealed pain or fear or both.

When I looked at her first I had been unable to forget my impression of years.  Before me there had been the once living form of Stella Lamar, whom I had dreamed of meeting and whom I had never viewed in actual life.  I had lacked the penetration to see beneath the glamour.  But to Kennedy there had been signs of the poisoning at once.  Doctor Blake had searched merely for the evidences of the commoner drugs, or the usual diseases such as cause sudden death.  I recalled the cyanides.  I thought of curare, or woorali, the South American arrow poison with which Kennedy once had dealt.  Had Stella received an injection of some new and curious substance?

Mackay glanced up from his inspection of the mark on the arm.