The Film of Fear. Kummer Frederic Arnold

through the door leading to the company's executive offices.

      Suddenly Ruth, who had been examining the contents of the package, gave a faint cry, and swayed backward, as though about to fall. Duvall's companion sprang to her assistance, while Duvall himself snatched the object which had so affected her from her hand and hastily examined it.

      It was a photograph of Ruth Morton herself, but Duvall, as he gazed at it, comprehended instantly the effect it had produced upon the girl's over-wrought nerves. Some clever hand had been at work upon the photograph, retouching it, changing its lovely expression, until the portrait, instead of being a thing of beauty, grinned up at him in frightful hideousness. The blank, sightless eyes, the haggard cheeks, the thin wasted lips, the protruding and jagged teeth, all created an impression shocking beyond belief. And yet, the result had been obtained by the addition of but a few simple lines and shadows.

      Along the blank space at the bottom of the picture a line of typewritten characters had been placed. Duvall glanced at them. "As you will look soon," the words read. Below them was fixed the grinning Death's head seal. Unobserved in the confusion, Duvall thrust the photograph into his pocket, and turned to Ruth and the others.

      The girl had recovered herself by now, and was being conducted to her dressing room by a solicitous crowd. So far as Duvall would see, she had said nothing to those about her as to the cause of her sudden indisposition, and with the exception of the man who had been Duvall's guide, none of them had observed the opening of the package containing the photograph, nor its immediate effect upon her.

      The latter, however, whose name was Baker, came over to Duvall and addressed him.

      "What was it about that photograph that upset Miss Morton so?" he asked. "And what has become of it?"

      Duvall drew him to one side.

      "Let us go to your office, Mr. Baker," he said. "I have a most important matter to discuss with you."

      Baker regarded the detective for a moment in surprise, then, seeing that Duvall was very much in earnest, he led the way to his private office.

      "I am not a newspaper writer, Mr. Baker," Duvall said, as soon as they were seated. "As a matter of fact, I am a detective, in the employ of Mrs. Morton, Ruth Morton's mother."

      "A detective?" he questioned. "Why has Miss Morton's mother employed a detective?"

      "Because someone is persecuting the girl, by sending her threatening letters, saying that her beauty is to be destroyed. This photograph" – he drew the hideous picture from his pocket – "is a sample of their work."

      Mr. Baker regarded the photograph for a moment in silence, then rose with a growl of rage and struck his clenched fist upon the desk.

      "This is outrageous – damnable!" he cried. "It cannot go on. No wonder the poor girl looked tired out. We will put the matter in the hands of the police. We will spend any amount of money – "

      "Wait a moment, Mr. Baker," Duvall interrupted, urging the angry man back into his chair. "Nothing is to be gained by giving any publicity to this matter. The scoundrels who are at the bottom of it will at once be warned, and then our chance of catching them will be small indeed. So far, not a soul knows that I am working on this case, outside of Mrs. Morton, and yourself. Even Miss Ruth does not know it. I have already unearthed some very surprising things connected with the case, although I have been occupied with it only since this morning. Within a few days, I have no doubt, I shall be able to place my hands upon the person or persons responsible for the trouble, but I must insist that I be given a free hand."