“Third, and the thing that clinched it, was the odor that came from each of the victim’s bodies. You remember Crazy George, who used to work here around the mission?”
“Yeah,” Griffin said. “Used to be some kind of chemist.”
“Some kind is right! He was a former professor at Johns Hopkins University. The strain of work snapped his brain, but he still retained enough of his brilliance to follow directions. De Gaul must have got the formula for nitro-nitoxide and George mixed it. I remember that some time ago de Gaul brought George to the clinic with burned hands, the result of a minor explosion.
“The odor which came from those burned hands was the same as the one that came from the bodies I saw, which laid the guilt right in de Gaul’s lap. He knew Mrs. Small. He knew John. He knew Jerry Farrar. As soon as I saw the name ‘Pocoapoco’ on the deed, I had the motivation. The Smalls were Italian.
“Since Small isn’t an Italian name and there is no equivalent to Small in the Italian language, I knew the next nearest thing was ‘little.’ Pocoapoco in Italian means ‘little by little.’ The main reason I had Wisply here was to verify it.”
Griffin took off his battered fedora and scratched his graying hair.
With a slight grin, he extended his big square-shaped paw to the plastic surgeon.
“You sure had me awfully worried for a few minutes back there, but I have to hand it to you. You came through.”
“You might hand a little of it to Tommy, while you’re at it.”
“Heck,” the Sticky-fingered Kid said with a grin, “I never knew being a cop was so much fun. We gotta do more of this stuff.” He paused and looked up at the plastic surgeon wistfully. “We are gonna do more, ain’t we, Doc?”
“We haven’t stopped crime altogether,” replied the Purple Scar gravely. “While criminals exist to prey on innocent people, the Scar must be a scourge of the underworld.”
“I’m right with you, Doc!” cried Tommy in glee.
Detective-Captain Griffin said nothing, but his admiring grin showed his heart was with the gallant pair.
II
The Night of Murder
Chapter I
Voice From the Grave
The moment Doctor Miles Murdock saw the light burning in the office of his Swank Street laboratory he had a hunch that trouble was waiting. When he walked in and saw a girl sitting there, he was positive of it.
Doc Murdock wasn’t in the habit of receiving after-hour patients. He was a plastic surgeon and, except in rare emergencies, his patients came to him during the day.
The girl arose the instant he entered. Doc knew that her hair was blond, even though it was completely hidden beneath a colorful bandanna. She wore dark glasses and kept her chin tucked deep in the turned-up collar of her suit jacket. It was an efficient disguise, but Doc Murdock knew complexion types and facial contours too well to be fooled.
Before he or the girl could speak, a man appeared in the shadowy doorway. A wispy little man with birdlike eyes and sparse hair, he seemed greatly disturbed about something.
“I tried to keep her out, Doc,” complained Tommy Pedlar. “I told her you didn’t see nobody after office hours, but she busted right in, anyway.”
At one time Tommy Pedlar had been known as the notorious “Sticky-fingered Kid,” a slick second-story man. But gratitude for Doc’s saving his daughter’s life had made him reform and become the plastic surgeon’s butler-valet-handyman.
“It’s all right, Tommy,” Doc Murdock said evenly. “I’ll speak with the young lady.”
Tommy shrugged his narrow shoulders and went out, grumbling to himself. Doc smiled politely and indicated a handcarved chair beside the desk.
“Sit down, please,” he said.
She sat on the edge of the seat. Her lower lip trembled. Her fingers kept clasping and unclasping the bulging black handbag she held in her lap.
“You look as if you could stand a drink,” Doc stated.
He crossed to the liquor cabinet that stood at the far side of the room. Her eyes followed him.
He was a striking figure, tall, slender, with an amazing breadth of shoulders. Doctor Miles Murdock was one of the most brilliant plastic surgeons of his time. The miracles he performed both here in his Swank Street laboratories and in his free clinic in the heart of the slums were known the world over. But those broad shoulders were more than merely decorative. They served a purpose in other work he did.
He returned to the girl, placed a tall glass in her hands. Sitting down in the swivel chair behind the desk, he smiled disarmingly.
“And now?”
She took a quick sip, as if to gain courage, then put the glass aside. Her mouth was the color of blood against the deathly pallor of her face.
“Doctor,” she blurted suddenly, “I’ll pay you twenty-five thousand dollars to change my face so that no one will be able to recognize me — and then forget that you ever saw me!”
Murdock put his fingertips precisely together and looked at the girl thoughtfully, measuringly.
“Even if I wanted to do such a thing, I’m afraid I couldn’t,” he said finally.
The girl’s white hand slipped inside her handbag, came out with a pearl-handled .22 revolver. Her vividly red lips drew into a cold line.
“You will operate!” she declared almost hysterically.
Doctor Murdock arose to his full six feet. He reached out his big hand to her, palm upward.
“Let me have that gun, please,” he ordered. “You’re in trouble. Shooting me certainly can’t help you.”
She sprang to her feet, took a step backward, menacing him with the gun.
“Don’t you dare touch me, or—”
A thin, wiry hand snaked out from behind her and snatched the gun from her grasp. She let out a muffled scream, whirled to face Tommy Pedlar.
“I figured you’d try to pull a fast one,” Tommy snarled, “so I slipped back when you weren’t lookin’.”
She broke away from him, made a wild, desperate dash for the door. But Tommy was right after her. He grabbed her arm, spun her back into the chair.
“She won’t try that again,” Doc promised. “Thanks, Tommy. You can go now.” When the man left, Doc faced her squarely, his eyes probing relentlessly into hers through the dark glasses. “Don’t you think it might help if you talked your problem over with me — Miss Draper?”
The girl’s jaw dropped with utter amazement.
“You — you knew all the time?” she gasped.
“Of course. It’s my business to study and remember the contours of people’s faces.”
With a strangled groan, all her false courage left her. Her whole body seemed to wilt and she buried her face in her trembling hands. Then she slowly removed her disguise.
Long, spun-gold curls tumbled to her slim shoulders, framed a lovely face which more than ten million movie fans knew as well as their own.
Carol Draper, besides being Big Four Productions’ ranking feminine star, was also one of the quartette who controlled the motion picture company. Big Four had accepted the mayor’s invitation to switch from expensive Hollywood to the thriving city of Akelton.
It seemed to be a wise move. In record time, at a record low cost, they were completing their initial major picture in their new home. A few days more and it would be ready for nationwide distribution. And early rushes had already stamped it a sure-fire hit.
“How can you leave the company when they can’t possibly finish the picture without you?” asked Doc. “They’ll lose a fortune.”
“They’ll lose a great deal more than that if I stay,” she sobbed. “So will my husband and my two children. You must do what I ask. You’re the only person in the world who can help me!”