Photoplay (Jan - Jun 1939)

THE CASE OF THE HOLLYWOOD SCANDAL Murder will out — and so a thrilling mystery reaches a climax of revenge and romance BY ERLE STANLEY GARDNER author of "The Case of the Shoplifter's Shoe" I WAS plunged into the mysterious case of the Hollywood scandal when the secretary to Lawyer William Foley was injured in a hit-and-run accident. As Mr. Foley's new secretary, my first duty was to execute a secret legal contract between talent promoter Frank G. Padgham and one Carter Wright; my second, to deliver the contract that evening to an address where Foley and Padgham would meet me. I found the house unlocked. There was no answer to my "hello." As I stepped into the hall I became conscious of a thumping noise up-stairs. Investigation proved that it was Bruce Eaton, my favorite movie star, bound and gagged. Quickly, I released him. On the pre f Retting drinks to steady our nerves, he .> pea red. In reaching for my brief case, I found a key which had apparently fallen from Brucc's coat. Pocketing it, I started for the stairs. It was then that I discovered a man sitting at a desk, his head slumped over. He was — dead! Suddenly, without warning, every light in the house went out. I groped for the stairs. A bell shattered the Mr. Foley and Frank Padgham, I it with relief. But it was Padgham — alone I explained what had happened — about the dead man and the lights. I didn't tell him about Bruce Eaton, however. Padgham sug i that I wait in his car while he investi Halfway to the car I remembered the brief ease which I had propped against the wall when I opened the door to Padgham. I ran back and got it. At the corner drugstore I tried to telephone n H<wasn't listed in the phone book, -" I called his agency. I Impressed upon them the Importance "f Bruce Eaton's calling me in the morning at the law office of William Foley. As I was returning to the house, an automobile swung around the corner. It was Mr Foley. Hurriedly, I climbed into the car and told him my experience. He instructed me to go back to the drugstore and ask the clerk to notify police headquarters. When I returned, I handed the brief case to Foley. He opened it, then looked at me with questioning eyes. The brief case was empty. MORNING papers brought the first definite information about what had actually happened. Carter Wright, chauffeur to Charles Temmler, had been found murdered in the Temmler home. I was the subject of an intensive search. When I arrived at the office I discovered that my desk had been rifled and my notebook taken. Before I could tell Mr. Foley, Frank Padgham came in and, while he was closeted with Mr. Foley, Bruce Eaton called. We made a luncheon appointment, at which time I was to return the property I had found. During the morning, a woman in the late forties came sailing into the office and announced herself as Mrs. Charles Temmler. She explained that Carter Wright had stolen a key to a safe-deposit box at Las Almiras in which her husband had legal papers. It was important for her to get the contents of that box. It was registered in such a way that whoever had the key had access to the box. She wanted Foley to get the key from the coroner. He refused, of course, and Mrs. Temmler left in high dudgeon. It was then that I realized the full importance of the key that I had found the previous night. When I met Bruce Eaton, he apologized for his behavior of the previous evening and then asked abruptly, "How about that property of mine? You have it?" I started to hand the key to him and then, in a bantering tone, I told him he would have to identify it. To my amazement, it wasn't the key he asked for, but — his stickpin! During luncheon Bruce told me the whole story of his part in the previous night's affairs. Woodley Page, an old friend of his, was being blackmailed. Charles Temmler had obtained -sion of some incriminating letters; his chauffeur, Carter Wright, had stolen them; Frank Padgham had been delegated to get them back: Bruce had gone to the Temmler house to protect the interests of his friend; there I had ILLUSTRATED BY MARIO COOPER found him, the victim of an unknown assailant. When he had finished, I pushed the key across to him and told him about the lockbox. A shadow fell across the table — it was the detective who had interrogated me in such a suspicious manner during my first day in the office. He reached for the key but Bruce held fast. A scene ensued. I rushed for the phone to tell Mr. Foley of this latest encounter. When I returned, the detective was gone and Bruce suggested that we leave immediately for Las Almiras. There was a lone cashier in the bank and Bruce had no difficulty in getting access to the box. After what seemed an interminable period, 1 heard him slam shut the door of the box. At that moment a car slid to the curb — a police car. I called to Bruce to hurry. The banker became suspicious and I saw hiir. reach for his gun. As Bruce rushed out, the officers were rounding the corner. The cashier pulled the trigger but the jar of the recoil jerked the gun from his hand. As he stopped to pick t>2