Photoplay (Jul - Dec 1938)

JIAASLU THE CASE OF THE HOLLYWOOD § SCANDAL A vivid pattern takes shape as action and suspense reach climax after climax in this year's most thrilling mystery I WAS plunged into the mysterious case of the Hollywood scandal when Mildred Parker, 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 door of the house unlocked. There was no answer to my "hello." Cold terror gripped me as I became conscious of a thumping noise upstairs. Investigation proved that it was Bruce Eaton, my favorite movie star. He was bound and gagged. Quickly, I released him. On the pretext of getting drinks to steady our nerves, he disappeared. In reaching for my brief case, I found a key which had apparently fallen from Bruce'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 silence. Mr. Foley and Frank Padgham, I thought 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 suggested that I wait in his car while he investigated. Halfway to the car I remembered the brief case which I had propped against the wall when I opened the door to Padgham. I ran back and got it. I went to the corner drugstore to telephone Bruce Eaton's home. He wasn't listed, but I remembered the name of his agency. I impressed upon the person who answered the phone that it was imperative for Bruce Eaton to call me at the law office of William Foley and then slammed up the receiver. As I was returning to the house, an automobile swung around the corner. I heard Mr. Foley's voice calling me. Hurriedly, I climbed into the car and told him what had happened. He instructed me to go back to the drugstore and ask the clerk to notify police headquarters that a dead man had been found in the house up the street. 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 in formation about what had actually happened. Carter Wright, chauffeur to Charles Temmler, a wealthy contractor, had been found dead in the Temmler home. There was evidence of others' having been in the house. I was the subject of an intensive search. At the office I discovered that my notebook had been stolen. Frank Padgham arrived and while he was closeted with Mr. Foley, a call came through from Bruce Eaton. We made a luncheon appointment, at which time I was to return the property which 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 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. I told Mr. Foley that I had a luncheon date and he suggested I take the afternoon off. When I met Bruce Eaton I felt that strange sense of unreality which comes in dreams. He was as magnetic and handsome off screen as he was on. He apologized for his behavior of the 30