The Problem of Dressing Room A | Page 7

The doctor
says she's hypnotized."
"Was the piece of candy taken from her mouth?"
"Sure, a chocolate cream. It hadn't melted."
"I'll come back here in a few minutes and awake her," said The
Thinking Machine. "Come with us now, and get the man."

Wonderingly the detective entered the cab and the three were driven to
a big hotel a dozen blocks away. Before they entered the lobby The
Thinking Machine handed a photograph to Mallory, who studied it
under an electric light.
"That man is upstairs with several others," explained the scientist. "Pick
him out and get behind him when we enter the room. He may attempt
to shoot. Don't touch him until I say so."
In a large room on the fifth floor Manager Stanfeld of the Irene
Wallack Company had assembled the men of her support. This was
done at the 'phoned request of The Thinking Machine. There were no
preliminaries when Professor Van Dusen entered. He squinted
comprehensively about him, then went straight to Langdon Mason.
"Were you on the stage in the third act of your play before Miss
Wallack was to appear--I mean the play last Saturday night?" he asked.
"I was," Mason replied, "for at least three minutes."
"Mr. Stanfeld, is that correct?"
"Yes," replied the manager.
There was a long tense silence broken only by the heavy footsteps of
Mallory as he walked toward a distant corner of the room. A faint flush
crept into Mason's face as he realized that the questions were almost an
accusation. He started to speak, but the steady, impassive voice of The
Thinking Machine stopped him.
"Mr. Mallory, take your prisoner," it said.
Instantly there was a fierce, frantic struggle, and those present turned to
see the detective with his great arms locked about Stanley Wightman,
the melancholy Jaques of "As You Like It." The actor's face was
distorted, madness blazed in the eyes, and he snarled like a beast at bay.
By a sudden movement Mallory threw Wightman and manacled him,
then looked up to find The Thinking Machine peering over his shoulder

at the prostrate man.
"Yes, he's a hypnotist," the scientist remarked in self-satisfied
conclusion. "It always tells in the pupils of the eyes."
This, then, was the beginning and end of the first problem. Miss
Wallack was aroused, and told a story almost identical with that of The
Thinking Machine. Stanley Wightman, whose brooding over a hopeless
love for her made a maniac of him, raves and shrieks the lines of Jaques
in the seclusion of a padded cell.

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