"Labrador Luck"
Kit Shelby's play was a wonderful success. Though a motion picture, it
was one of the finest ever produced, and no expense had been spared to
make it the sensation of the season. It was called "Labrador Luck."
The Crane family attended the opening night, as, indeed, all Shelby's
friends did, and the verdict was unanimous that never had such a
beautiful and finished play been screened. The scenes of ice-bound
Labrador were picturesque and fascinating, while the plot was ingenious
and thrills plentiful. The audience applauded continuously, for so real
was the acting that it seemed as if the performers were actually there.
Benjamin Crane had helped Shelby finance the production, and he realized
at once that he would get his money back with interest.
"It's a gold mine, boy!" he said to Shelby, as they were all at the
Crane home afterward, "and it must be made into a spoken drama. There's
scope for a great play in that plot."
"Marvelous plot," commented Pennington Wise. "All your own, Mr. Shelby?"
"Yes," Kit replied, with frank pride; "it did turn out well, didn't it?"
"And you're going to make a book of it, too, aren't you?" asked Julie.
"Yes, a book, and a serial story and, oh, I'm going to do lots of things
with it!"
"Grand opera, maybe!" chaffed Julie.
"Why not?" said Shelby, seriously. "Slighter plots than that have been
put into grand opera. It may yet come about."
Without undue conceit Shelby was quite conscious of his great success,
and as he walked home with Carlotta from the Crane house, he begged her
to consent to his repeated proposals of marriage.
"This thing will make me rich, dear," he said, "and while that sounds
mercenary, it does make me glad to have a fortune to offer you."
"But I don't love you, Kit," and Carlotta smiled carelessly at him.
"You will, Carly. You'll have to, 'cause I love you so. Oh, sweetheart,
I love you just desperately-- I must have you, my little girl, I must!"
"Now, Kit, you wouldn't want a wife who didn't care for you as a woman
ought to care for the man she marries. Truly, my heart is still Peter's.
I sometimes think I'll never marry, his memory is so vivid and so dear
to me."
"Weren't you beginning to care for Blair?"
"N-no; not that way. Of course I was fond of Gilbert, and I'm fond of
you, but there's always the thought of Peter between us."
"But, Carly, there's no one you care more for than for me, is there?"
"No, I'm sure of that."
"Then say yes, darling. Even though you won't marry me quite yet, let's
be engaged, and truly you'll soon learn to love me. I'll make you!"
But Carlotta wouldn't consent, and Shelby had to be content with her
promise to think about it.
"Kit," she said, suddenly, "are those queer detectives going to find out
who killed Gilbert?"
"Oh, I suppose they'll fasten it on Mac. Poor chap, to think of his
being in jail while we're having all this excitement over my play. But I
don't see any other direction for Wise to look. What a funny little
thing that Zizi is."
"Yes, but I like her a lot. And she's nobody's fool! Her black eyes take
in everything, whether she remarks on it or not. You should have seen
her watch you to-night."
"When?"
"At the Cranes', when you were talking about the play."
"She's dramatic herself. She ought to be in the Moving Pictures!"
"Yes, she'd be a film queen at once."
* * * * *
Zizi must have had something of the same idea in her own mind, for the
next day she went to see Shelby at his office and asked him if he could
give her a chance at film work.
"But you're a detective," Shelby said, amusedly, "what would Mr. Wise do
without you?"
"He'd get along all right," Zizi said earnestly. "He's willing I should
have a try at a screen career, if you'll take me on."
"I'm not sure I could use you," Shelby returned, "at least not at
present. If I do another picture I'll try you out in it."
"Oh, you are going to do another, aren't you?"
"Probably, but not until I've exhausted all the different possibilities
of this one."
Zizi showed her disappointment at the failure of her plan, but, after
some further talk on general subjects, she went back to the Cranes'.
"Well, Ziz," Wise said to her, as they discussed the case alone, "we're
not making our usual rapid headway this time. Rather baffling, isn't
it?"
"Everything seems to point to Thorpe, except that I can't think he had
motive enough. That foolish jealousy of the plans and suspicion of
Blair's stealing his ideas isn't enough to make him commit murder."
"I don't think he did do it, but I can't agree with you that it wasn't a
big enough motive. You don't know how the artistic temperament resents
anything like that. Nor how it imagines and exaggerates the least hint
of it. I think his motive is the strongest point against Thorpe. Who
else had any motive at all?"
"That's what we have to find out. And we're going to do it. And, I say,
Penny, I want to go to see that medium person the Cranes are so fond
of."
"Think she'll help you?"
"Yes, though not by her spiritism. But I suspect she's one big fraud,
and I want to be sure."
"Come along, then. No time like the present. Mr. Crane can arrange a
session for us."
To Madame Parlato's they went, and soon had the pleasure of seeing that
lady in one of her trances.
The room was dimly lighted but not in total darkness. After a silence a
faint, low-pitched voice said, "I am here."
"Are you Peter Crane?" asked Zizi, who chose to be spokesman.
"Yes."
"Will you talk to us?"
"Yes, for a short time only."
"Very well, then tell us who killed Gilbert Blair."
"His friend, McClellan Thorpe. Good-by."
"Wait a minute. I own up to being skeptical, is it too much to ask for
some proof of your identity, Peter Crane? Will you, can you give some
material proof?"
"It is not easy."
"I'm sorry for that, but, oh, I do so want to be convinced. And I
can't, unless I have something tangible to take away with me. Do give me
something."
There was a silence, and then, apparently from nowhere, a handkerchief
fluttered through the air and fell at Zizi's feet.
Amazed, the girl picked it up, and though she could not see it
distinctly, she discovered it was a large one, evidently a man's.
Suddenly the medium sat up straight, came out of her trance, and putting
on the lights, said, eagerly, "Did you get any message?"
"I should say I did!" Zizi returned, "and a material proof, too. Look!"
"Wonderful!" exclaimed Madame Parlato, as she looked at the white square
of linen. "Initialed, too."
"Yes, P. C.," and Zizi scrutinized the embroidery.
Pennington Wise expressed a polite admiration for the medium who could
bring about such marvelous results, and the _seance_ over, the two
departed, Zizi carrying the handkerchief in her bag.
"One of a set of Peter's," Wise said, confidently.
"Of course. Julie or Mrs. Crane will recognize it. Funny, how she
thought a crude performance like that would convince us!"
"Mighty well done though."
"Pooh, in a darkened room one can do anything."
"Well, where did she get the handkerchief?"
"Dunno, yet. Maybe the Cranes left it there by chance."
"Oh, no, that won't do. Guess again."
"I think I could if I tried. But we'll see what the family say about
it."
Both Mrs. Crane and Julie declared the handkerchief to be one of Peter's
own, and, moreover, that it was one of a set Carlotta had embroidered
for him just before he went to Labrador. And he had taken the whole
dozen with him, of that they were both sure. It had been Carly's parting
gift, and Peter had been delighted with it.
"It's too wonderful!" Julie said, amazed. "Now, how do you explain it,
Zizi? We know this to be Peter's own handkerchief. We know he took it to
Labrador with him. How did it get back here? How get into Madame
Parlato's possession? And how appear to you, out of nothingness?"
"Yes," said Benjamin Crane, smiling happily, "answer those questions
satisfactorily, or else admit that it is real materialization!"
Wise looked a little nonplused. Positive though he was of the medium's
trickery, he could not tell Mr. Crane exactly how it had come about.
Materialization was easy enough for a charlatan, but, as had been said,
where could she get the handkerchief to do the trick with?
Convinced of the Cranes' honesty, of course, Wise couldn't doubt that
Peter had taken all the handkerchiefs with him. His luggage had never
been sent home, therefore how did the handkerchief get to New York, and
more especially how did it get to Madame Parlato?
"I can't explain it yet," Wise said, frankly, "but I'll find out all
about it. To you, Mr. Crane, it seems additional proof of your son's
communication through that medium. To me it is additional and very
strong proof of her fraud. Now, we'll leave it at that for the present,
but I promise to explain it to you soon."
"All right, Mr. Wise, you'll not be offended, I trust, if I say I don't
believe you can make good your word. But I'm not surprised at your
attitude. Some minds are almost incapable of belief in the occult, and
will accept the most absurd and far-fetched explanations rather than the
simple and plausible one of spirit communication. I can't understand
such a mental attitude, but I've met so many like you that I'm obliged
to recognize its existence."
"Oh, Mr. Wise," Mrs. Crane said, "it does seem so strange that a
clear-headed, deep-thinking man like yourself prefers to believe that
Madame Parlato could get Peter's handkerchief and could produce it so
mysteriously for you rather than the rational belief that Peter sent it
himself."
Zizi looked at the speaker with kindly eyes.
"Dear Mrs. Crane," she said, "what will hurt me most when we expose that
medium's fraud is the fact of your disappointment."
"Don't worry about that," smiled Benjamin Crane, "you haven't exposed
her yet! Meantime, I shall incorporate this experience of the
handkerchief in my next book."
"Oh, don't!" cried Zizi, involuntarily. "You'll make yourself a
laughing-stock----"
She paused, unwilling to hurt his feelings.
But so assured of his beliefs was Benjamin Crane that he shook his head
and said:
"No fear of that, child. I'll take all risks. Have you any idea how my
book has been received? It's just gone into another big edition, and my
publishers are clamoring for my second book, which is nearly finished.
But to return to the case of McClellan Thorpe. Did Peter tell you----"
"Yes," Wise said, "according to Madame Parlato, the spirit of your son
said that Thorpe is the criminal, and it was as proof of identity that
Zizi received the handkerchief."
"Fine," said Crane, nodding his satisfaction, "I think I'll use that
_seance_ for the finale of my book, and get it in press at once."
"Do, dear," said his wife, "as far as the handkerchief is concerned. But
don't put in the book that Mac killed Gilbert."
"Oh, no, certainly not. In the first place, we're all agreed that though
Peter believes that, it is a mistake on his part; that is, it may be a
mistake. Don't let it influence you too much, Mr. Wise."
Penny Wise laughed outright. He couldn't help it.
"No, sir," he promised, "I won't!"
"But have you any other suspect?"
"I'd rather not answer that question quite yet, Mr. Crane."
"All right, take your own time. I've confidence you'll do all you can,
but my hopes of your success are dwindling."
"Don't feel that way, on the contrary, I'm beginning to see at least a
way to look for another suspect."
"Look hard, then. For I want to get Mac cleared as soon as it can be
brought about."
"We'll hope to do that. I'm going over to the Studios now, and I've a
notion I'll discover something."
Accompanied by Zizi, Wise went to the home that Blair and Thorpe had
occupied, and which was now in charge of the police.
The detective set himself to the task of looking over old letters and
papers in hope of finding out some secret of the dead man's past.
Zizi flitted about the rooms, looking for nothing in particular, and
everything in general.
"I've sized up his medicines," she said, coming from Blair's bedroom
into the studio where Wise sat at the desk.
"His cough syrup hasn't been touched lately. The dried up stickiness of
the cork shows that. And one or two other bottles are in the same
condition. But in the waste basket in his bedroom I found this."
She held up an empty bottle that was labeled soda mints.
"There's a new full bottle in the medicine chest," she went on, "and as
this was in the basket, mayn't it be that he took the last ones,
and----"
"And they were poisoned!"
"One of them was. See, somebody had put a poisoned one in among the
others."
"That leads back to Thorpe, who else could do that?"
"And we don't know that anybody did, only it might have been."
"Can you smell any prussic acid in the vial?"
"No," and Zizi sniffed at it, "I seem to think I do, but I daresay it's
my vivid imagination. Do you suppose a chemist could discern any?"
"Probably not, but we might make a try at it. Pretty slim clue, anyway,
Ziz."
"I know it, but I have a hunch it's the real thing. You see, Blair was
in the habit of taking these things----"
"How do you know?"
"Carlotta Harper told me. I've quizzed her a lot about Mr. Blair's
personal habits, and he always carried soda mints in his pocket, and
took one now and then. So, as there was no soda mint bottle found in his
pockets, and this was in the basket, it's a logical deduction that he
finished this bottle that night that he died. And they all think the
poison was given to him through some simple trick, so why not this?"
"It may be. It very likely is. But where does it get us?"
"Dunno yet. But, say it was done that way, it needn't have been done
here. Maybe the murderer put a poisoned mint in the bottle when they
were somewhere together."
"How could he?"
"Oh, lots of ways. Say Blair had his coat off, playing golf or
billiards, or----"
"He'd carry such a bottle in his waistcoat pocket, I think."
"Well, it's all surmise. The thing to do is to begin from the other end.
Who had a motive?"
"That's what I'm trying to trace. Nothing doing as yet. Hello, here's
that old letter from Joshua, the guide. Look at it! It is in a small,
cramped hand, and you know the one purporting to be from him later was
in a big, sprawly hand. Somebody faked that letter!"
"Well, there's something to work on, then."
"But maybe Thorpe did it."
"Not he. Why should he? He had nothing to do with that Labrador trip."
"What was the letter about, the other Joshua letter?"
"Advising him not to try to bring Peter Crane's body down to New York,
or to postpone the matter, or something like that."
"Queer business, that. Why should anybody want to fake a letter like
that?"
"I don't believe anybody did. More likely some one else wrote for the
guide. They're an ignorant lot, and writing is an unwelcome task to
them."
They were still looking at the guide's letter when Shelby came in.
"I heard you were here," he said, "and thought it would be a good time
to come around. I want to see if there's anything in Blair's papers that
would help to turn suspicion away from Mac Thorpe. I don't believe that
man did it, and I wish we could free him."
"That's what we're after," and Wise made room for Shelby to sit beside
him at Blair's desk.
But though they made systematic search of all letters they found none
other than friendly. There were some from his mother and sister,
pathetic ones, telling of their ill health, for both were invalids.
They had not come East on learning of Blair's death, for they could not
well stand the trip, and, too, there was no real reason for their
coming. After the police investigation was over Blair's effects were to
be sent to them, but for the present everything remained as it was found
at his death.
"Let me help you, if I can," Shelby went on to Wise. "You know Blair and
I were chums. Poor Gilbert, and Peter Boots, too, both gone, and both
by such tragic means. I don't know which death was the worse."
Zizi showed him the small bottle she had found, and asked his opinion of
her theory about it.
"What an ingenious notion," Shelby exclaimed; "yes, it might be the
truth, of course, but a dozen other ways might have been used either."
"Such as what?" asked Wise, "it's always a help to talk these things
over."
"Well, granting that some one administered poison to Blair, secretly,
mightn't he have put it in anything that Blair was about to eat or
drink?"
"Not this poison," objected Wise. "It acts too quickly. Whatever plan
was adopted, it was some scheme by which Blair would take the poison
unknowingly, but naturally. As Zizi says, if it had been put in some one
of his bottles of medicine, he must take it, sooner or later."
"Yes; well, then say it was put in a cigarette, no that's foolish; why,
hang it all, Wise, don't you see there's no plausible theory except that
some one put it in a drink Blair took just before going to bed, or even
after he was in bed."
"Where's the glass, then?"
"That's just the point. What's the answer, except that Thorpe washed it
and put it away? Of course, Blair would take a drink Thorpe offered
him."
"Also, he might have taken a soda mint just as he went to bed or after,"
said Zizi.
"Yes," agreed Shelby, thoughtfully. "He might have done so, but could
one introduce poison into one of those things? They're quite hard, you
know."
"Yes, it could be done," Wise declared. "I've heard of such a thing
before. The little pellet could be soaked in the poison----"
"That would make it taste, and he wouldn't swallow it," Shelby said.
"True. Well, I think, with a hypodermic needle, the poison could be got
into the mint."
"Maybe, but I doubt it. However, I don't know much about such things.
You're doubtless experienced."
"Yes, I've had a lot of poison cases. And, if we give up all thought of
the soda mint, it does come back to a drink of some sort mixed by
Thorpe."
"Or Blair might have mixed his own drink, and Thorpe added the poison,
unnoticed."
"But I want to get away from Thorpe," Zizi said, her eyes anxious and
worried.
"So do we all," returned Shelby gravely. "But where can we look?"
"Where, indeed?" echoed Penny Wise.