  Grilled by the detective and the policemen, Ellison stubbornly protested his ignorance of the whereabouts of the former astrologer. He could not establish an “alibi” further than his recent call at Grover’s home which the excited sister of the laboratory head was eager to verify. Roger, finally, decided that there was one sure and final word to be said by chemistry. If, as Ellison insisted, other chemicals than actual burning gas caused the inside of the paraffin moulds to discolor, the special tests for the chemicals he might name would say if Ellison was truthful or not—a sort of chemical “Lie Detector,” Roger confided to Potts as they prepared for the experiments. To their amazement, Ellison was proved honest. The tests gave a reaction for the very chemical he named. The Tibetans, of course, had to be released. They were warned, and departed. With the experiments done, the materials removed and no gain, Tip brought up the curious situation revealed by developing the office camera film and others. “Here is the picture that Roger said he had it take,” Tip displayed, to the group assembled in the screening room, one “frame” of the non-flam film. There were the Three, the Tibetan group, confronting Roger as his hand, on the edge of the desk, disclosed his clever use of the “take” to leave evidence of his capture. “Now—study this out if you can!” Tip called out from behind the projector. He shifted the sprocket-turning handle to bring up the next picture. “That’s the office, what you can see through the smoke,” Tip declared, “and the smoke comes from behind the desk, and so of course the man standing there has got his back to the lens, and all we have got to go on is his coat and his hair.” He readjusted the “framing handle” to bring the picture into even more exact alignment with the aperture plate of his projector, so that on the screen every part showed. “Now, study that! There is old Astrovox, scared looking. He is facing the big smudge of smoke from the pistol. “But what gets me,” Tip finished, “is that the whole big puff of smoke is still hanging in the air, and the man facing it is just hit—or else his face is contractuated——” “Contorted,” cried Roger. “Skip big words and say your say.” “Or else his face is contorted by being awful sure he has been hit.” He focused more sharply. “You can see him clear enough to know Astrovox didn’t fire no gun. The smoke is between him and the guy with his back to us. But—just look. His hands rest both of ’em on the desk edge. That’s how he hit against the button in the desk edge that snapped his picture. “Now—where is any gun?” “He couldn’t have dropped it, and have gotten his hands back onto the desk before the smoke puff would have begun to shift,” exclaimed a policeman. “Look.” He drew out his service weapon, aimed into a corner where his bullet would show little and its mark could be wiped out with putty and paint, and fired. The smoke, with his own movements, revealed disturbances almost as it left the mouth of his weapon; and before he could drop it, the smoke shifted. More! The pistol, falling, cut a swath in the pall. “There’s no gun. And no one is hiding. The smoke is in front of that man and between him and Astrovox,” the detective agreed. “It’s impossible,” Potts exclaimed, “A camera can’t take a picture of a shot and leave out the gun.” “Chemicals,” prompted Grover, “could make the smudge.” “Then how about this?” Potts had another film spliced onto the first one. He reeled it in at regular motion picture speed, and out of the speakers came the strange and abrupt recording of a loud, sharp, detonating sound, as near to the discharge of a pistol as any of them had heard. Taken away by the ventilating system, the smoke of the police shot was out of the way, the screen was clear to all, and they saw that the camera had recorded light from the direction of the office, an abrupt flash. With it, the detonation. “Kangaroos and apes dancin’ on a film where none could be,” Tip summed up, baffled, “and now—a gunshot where the camera shows us there can’t be any gun.” Even Grover, usually calm, looked disconcerted, and yet a little bit excited. “Maybe,” he declared, and turned to Roger, “but here is one more ‘sound’ to add to your list. And I feel sure that out of that list, either as it is, or when you complete it up to date, will come the hint that will enable me to clear up everything.” Over-confidence? Roger hoped not. |
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