Photoplay (Jul-Dec 1938)

THE CASE OF THE HOLLYWOOD Within fifty feet of her was the body of a dead man. The dank aura of murder, baffling but compelling, filled the dark house. Then the unbearable silence was broken by the sharp ringing of a bell. Don 7 miss this breathless mystery — BECAUSE Lawyer Foley, a former court reporter, judged all people by their voices, and mine indicated both poise and selfconfidence to him, I was selected to replace his secretary who had been injured in an automobile accident. Thus it was that I plunged into the mysterious case of the Hollywood scandal. In the midst of my first morning's work, I was surprised to find myself facing a detective who was investigating Mildred Parker's accident. That afternoon it was my duty to execute for Mr. Foley a secret legal contract between talent promoter Frank G. Padgham and one Carter Wright. Before leaving for the day, Mr. Foley instructed me to bring the contract to an address where he and Mr. Padgham would meet me that evening. While I was busy transcribing my notes, the detective returned and decided to wait for Mr. Foley, despite the fact that I told him my employer would not be back. To my utter amazement, I found him covertly reading my notes. I slammed the book shut. He left. Having plenty of time on my hands, I took a streetcar to my destination. In a traffic jam I happened to see and recognize Miss Blair, a rejected candidate for my position, and as I walked briskly up the street I pondered over her strangely rigid position as she sat in the car. Suddenly an automobile came swooping down on me. Miraculously, I got back out of the way. Fear gripped me as I started to run. As I dashed onto the porch and rang the bell, I all but screamed. In a panic, I tried the door. It was open. For a moment there was no answer to my "Hello." Then I became conscious of a thumping noise upstairs. I felt goose-pimples of cold terror; but went to investigate. The noise came from a closet and as I opened the door a human bundle fell at my feet. When I had unbound his hands and removed his gag, I recognized him. It was Bruce Eaton, my favorite movie star. We sat there looking at one another. Finally he pulled himself together and suggested getting a drink. I sat there fully five minutes waiting for him to return. Then it dawned on me — he had slipped away. UN picking up my brief case, I found a key which had apparently fallen from Bruce Eaton's coat. Pocketing it, I started for the stairs. It was then I saw the open door at the end of the corridor. A man was sitting at a big desk, his head slumped over on his chest. He was dead. I stood there, my feet rooted to the floor. Suddenly, without warning, every light in the place went out. I had no idea that any place could be so ut Frank Padgham jumped back. The man was absolutely terror-stricken terly and completely dark. It seemed as though someone had pushed a thick strip of black blotting paper into the corridor, and the paper had just sucked up every bit of light in the place. And within fifty feet of me was the body of a dead man. There was not the faintest ray of light which seeped in from the street. The rich, heavy hangings were as efficient in preventing light from getting in as they had been in preventing any from showing on the outside. I'd been frightened enough when I first came running up to the house, seeking refuge from the dangers of the outer night. Now I realized all too keenly the proverb about "out of the frying pan into the fire." I'd been anxious enough to get into the house, but now I was twice as anxious to get out. Whatever dangers the street held would at least be met in the open air, not in this place with the dank aura of death clinging to it. I groped for the stairs, and then, afraid that I'd miss them, dropped to my hands and knees, swinging my right hand out in long, exploring circles as I crawled in the general direction of the stairs, my left hand dragging the brief case along the carpet beside me. I found the staircase and started down, walking on tiptoe, trying to avoid creaking boards. I was halfway down the stairs when a bell shattered the silence. I stopped, motionless, listening. Was it a telephone, or . . . It rang again, and this time I knew it for what it was, the doorbell. Someone was at the front door. I suppose, logically, at that moment I should have become completely panic-stricken. As a matter of fact, the ringing of the doorbell had exactly the opposite effect. I steadied down to fast, cool thinking. It was, I realized, quite possible that Bruce Eaton had decided to return. It was also possible he had notified officers of what they would find in the house, bringing assistance to me in that way, yet keeping out of it himself. Or . . . Suddenly I laughed. A feeling of vast relief surged through me. Of course! It was Mr. Foley and Frank Padgham coming to keep their appointment. I PUT my hand on the bannister and ran down the stairs as rapidly as I could. The doorbell rang once more while I was still fumbling around in the corridor. I propped my brief case against the wall near the door, so I'd have both hands free for groping. Then I found the doorknob, and flung open the door. It was dark as a pocket inside the house, and in contrast to that darkness the street seemed 30