“Can you tell me anything about the poison that was used?”
“I think,” Dr. Perry said, “that the poison was compounded by an expert. In other words, the man who did it was either a doctor or a chemist, a druggist or someone who knew a great deal about drugs, and probably something about animals.”
“I wonder if you can take time to run up to the office for a few minutes?” Selby asked. “I want to get some definite and detailed information. I’m expecting to bring this case to a head within the next couple of hours.”
“You mean you’re going to find out who put the poison there?”
“I think I’m going to go farther than that,” Selby told him, “and find out who murdered Larrabie. But keep that under your hat. I’m telling you because I want you to realize how important your co-operation may be.”
“I’m dropping everything and coming right up,” Perry promised.
“Thanks,” Selby told him.
He hung up the telephone, returned to a study of the strip of negatives, then he rang up the manager of the telephone company and said, “I’m particularly interested in tracing a call which was sent from Madison City some time within the last week or ten days to William Larrabie at Riverbend, California. I wish you’d look back through your records and see what you can find out about that call, and let me know.”
Receiving a promise of assistance, Selby dropped the receiver back into place and turned to meet Sylvia Martin’s anxious eyes.
“Doug,” she pleaded, “is this all a bluff, or do you have a theory?”
“I’ve got a theory,” he said.
“Well, for the love of Mike,” she pleaded, “kick through. I’m in on this, too, you know. And, if things start breaking, I’ve got to know enough so I can keep the story straight.”
He started pacing the floor, talking in the mechanical monotone of one who is thinking out loud. “A hotel,” he said, “is a peculiar place. It furnishes a temporary home for hundreds of people. People are all very much alike. They have their jealousies, their loves, their hatreds, their hopes and ambitions. They practice their little deceptions. Their lives flow on in a regular routine rhythm, all being enacted within a few feet of each other.
“Here in this hotel, on the night of the murder, we had a minister of the Gospel in one room, a young couple who saw fit to register under assumed names in an adjoining room. And, somewhere in the background, was another minister who was in a serious financial predicament. He had to have money and have it at once. It was an amount which was far beyond what he could hope to obtain by any legitimate means. And in that hotel we had a room kept by a prominent motion picture actress. The hotel was operated by her father. No one knew of the relationship. No one knew of certain chapters in the life of this actress.
“We happen to know these things about these few people. There were others about whom we don’t know, but who must have had their own family skeletons, their own fears and hopes. They were all sleeping under the one roof.”
“Brower wasn’t there,” she pointed out.
“No one knows where Brower was,” Selby said. “He might or might not have been there.”
“But he was registered in Los Angeles.”
Selby smiled and said, “If you are going to be technical about it, there wasn’t any reason why Brower couldn’t have registered in the hotel in Los Angeles, left Los Angeles, gone to the Madison Hotel and taken a room under another name.”
Her face showed excitement. “Did he, Doug?” she said. “Did he? Oh, Doug, if we could only get something like that.”
He smiled and said, “Not yet, Sylvia, I’m simply mentioning possibilities.”
“But why point them out in just that way?”
“Because,” he said, “I want you to understand one fundamental thought, because it is of particular importance in the solution of this case.”
“What is it?” she asked. “I don’t see what you are getting at.”
“What I’m trying to establish is that people are, after all, very much alike. They have the same problems, the same complexities of life. Therefore, when we find what these problems and complexities are in the case of some of the people who were in the hotel, we shouldn’t make the mistake of considering that those problems must be interrelated merely because the people were temporarily thrown together in a physical environment.”
There was something ominous in her voice as she said, “Doug, are you starting out to try and prove that no matter what this actress did, she couldn’t have been...”
Amorette Standish opened the door and said, “Dr. Perry’s here, all out of breath. Says he broke every speed record in town and that you wanted to see him at once...”
“Yes,” Selby said. “Show him in.”
“Gee, Doug,” Sylvia remarked, “I sure hope something comes of this. That outline you’ve just given me about the hotel and all of the people in it would make a swell build-up for a smashing newspaper story climaxing the murder mystery.”
“Well,” he told her, “we’ll see if we can’t...”
The door opened and Dr. Perry bustled into the room. He had quite evidently been hurrying, and was breathing through his mouth.
He grinned at Selby and said, “Those damn stairs... Not as young as I used to be... Out of condition.”
“Sit down there,” Selby told him, “and get your breath. I didn’t mean for you to run yourself to death getting here, and you’ll need some breath to answer questions. By the way, Amorette, I want to give you some instructions. And, Sylvia, you can help me, if you’ll step this way for a moment. You’ll pardon us for a minute, Doctor?”
“I’ll say,” Dr. Perry panted. “I could use a breathing spell very nicely.”
Selby stepped into the outer room, drew Amorette Standish and Sylvia Martin close to him.
“Now, listen,” he said, “a call may come in about that camera. I’m anxious to find out...”
“Yes,” Amorette interrupted, “Sheriff Brandon telephoned. He said not to disturb you, but to tell you he’d talked with Mrs. Larrabie. She told him the minister got the camera through a retailer who sent to a dealer in Sacramento for it. The sheriff has a call in for the retailer in Riverbend, and he’s already talked with the wholesaler in Sacramento. They’re looking for the number and are going to call back. The sheriff said both calls would come to this office. He left word for them to call you direct.”
“All right,” Selby said. “If the call comes in while I’m talking with Dr. Perry and you get the numbers, just come to the door and beckon to me. And, Sylvia, I think you’d better be where you can listen in on that telephone call, and be absolutely certain that the numbers are correct.”
“But, when you already have the camera,” Sylvia said, “why be so worried about the numbers?”
He grinned and said, “Perhaps I’m making assurance doubly sure.”
She nodded dubiously. “And perhaps you’re stalling around so I don’t get a chance to hear what you tell Dr. Perry.”
Selby laughed, stepped back into the private office, closed the door and said, “Doctor, you know something of the facts about Larrabie’s death.”
“I’ve read the papers. What about it?” Dr. Perry asked.
“It’s my theory,” Selby said, “that the man who arranged things so Larrabie took that dose of poison was a man who must have known something of medicine and who must, not only have access to morphia but knew how to put it in a five grain tablet.”
Dr. Perry nodded.
“Now, then, you say that the one who poisoned this dog showed a considerable knowledge of medicine. I want to know just what you mean by that?”
“I mean,” Dr. Perry said, “that as nearly as I can find out, the poisoned meat contained not one active ingredient, but two. Moreover, the poisoning had been very skillfully compounded and had been placed in food combinations which would be particularly attractive to a dog.”