The Film of Fear

by Frederic Arnold Kummer

"Yes," came the girl's voice from the opposite side. "All right, thank you."

CHAPTER IX

Grace Duvall said good-by to her husband that morning with very little enthusiasm. She was not jealous of him, she was too sensible a woman, and trusted him too fully for that. But his sudden interest in Ruth Morton, the charming motion picture star, seemed rather incomprehensible to her. Of course she suspected he was working on a case which concerned the girl although Duvall had neither affirmed nor denied it. But she felt lonely, and perhaps a trifle out of sorts, and found her solitary breakfasts, luncheons, dinners, a little trying. So often before, she and Richard had worked together. Why, she wondered, did he so pointedly exclude her from this case? She would have liked to talk it over with him.

She sat rather disconsolately in her room most of the forenoon, and about one o'clock made ready for a lonely luncheon. She was just about to leave the apartment when the telephone bell rang. Grace hastened to it at once, hoping that the call might be from her husband. A woman's voice, low, firm, determined sounded in her ears.

"I want to speak with Mr. Duvall," the voice said.

"Mr. Duvall is out. This is Mrs. Duvall."

"Very well, Mrs. Duvall. If you want to keep your husband from very serious harm, you had better tell him to steer clear of Ruth Morton's affairs in future. A word to the wise, you know. Good day." The speaker suddenly rang off.

Grace turned from the telephone, her brain in a whirl. What danger threatened her husband? Ought she not to tell him of the message as soon as possible, so that he might be on his guard? And what did this mysterious reference to "Ruth Morton's affairs" mean? Did it imply that Richard was in any way involved—but that was preposterous. She put the thought from her mind, and went down in the elevator to a lonely and not very enjoyable meal.

As she left the dining-room, and passed through the lobby, she thought she saw ahead of her a familiar figure. A moment later she realized that it was Richard himself, walking very rapidly toward the main entrance, his satchel in his hand. Was he leaving the hotel? And if so, ought she not to make an attempt to give him the message she had just received, before he did so? She walked quickly after him, but his pace was so rapid that she reached the sidewalk only in time to see him swing himself into a waiting taxi, baggage in hand, and drive quickly off. But what Grace saw, in addition to this, filled her with queer misgivings. Beside her husband in the cab was a woman—very beautiful woman, whom Grace had no difficulty whatever in identifying as Ruth Morton. And she also noticed, in the brief moment that elapsed before the taxi shot toward the Avenue, that the woman seemed to be in tears, and that Richard leaned over with the utmost solicitude and affection and clasped her hand in his. For the first time in her life, Grace Duvall was actually jealous.

Thoughts of possible danger to her husband, however, were paramount in her mind. Without an instant's hesitation she stepped into a second taxi, whose driver was trying to attract her attention, and told him to follow the car containing the man and woman which had just driven off.