XX
THE BANQUET SCENE
For once I qualified as a prophet. We were hardly in our rooms when thetelephone rang for Kennedy. It was District-Attorney Mackay, calling infrom Tarrytown.
"My men have positive identification of one of the visitors to thePhelps home the night after the murder," he reported.
"Fine!" exclaimed Kennedy. "Who was it? How did you uncover his trail?"
"You remember that my deputy heard the sound of a departing automobile?Well, we have been questioning everyone. A citizen here, who returnedhome late at just about that hour, remembers seeing a taxicab tearingthrough the street at a reckless rate. He came in to see me thismorning. He made a mental note of the license number at the time, andwhile nothing stuck with him but the last three figures, three sixes,he was sure that it was a Maroon taxi. We got busy and have located thedriver who made the trip, from a stand at Thirty-third all the way outand back. On the return he dropped his fare at the man's apartment. Theidentification is positive."
"Who is it?" Kennedy became quite excited.
"Werner, the director."
"Werner!" in surprise. "What are you going to do?"
"Arrest him first--examine him afterward. I've sworn out the warrantalready, and I'm going to start in by car just as soon as we hang up. Ithought I'd phone you first in case you wanted to accompany me to thestudio."
"We'll hurry there," Kennedy replied, "and meet you."
"Outside?"
"No, up on the floor."
"You'll be there fifteen minutes to half an hour ahead of me. I hopethere is no way for anyone to tip him off so he can escape."
"We'll stop him if he attempts it."
"Good!"
The courtyard of the studio of Manton Pictures, Incorporated, was aboutthe same as upon the occasions of our previous visits except that Idetected a larger number of cars parked in the inclosure, including anumber of very fine ones. Also, it seemed to me that there was agreater absence of life than usual, as though something of particularinterest had taken everyone inside the buildings.
The gateman informed us that Werner was working the large studio. Wemade our way up through the structure containing the dressing rooms andfound the proper door without difficulty. When we passed through underthe big glass roof we grasped the reason for the lack of interest inthe other departments about the quadrangle. Here everyone was gatheredto watch the taking of the banquet scene for "The Black Terror." Thehuge set was illuminated brightly, and packed, thronged with people.
It was a marvelous set in many ways. To carry out the illusion of sizeand to aid in the deceptive additional length given by the mirrors atthe farther end, Werner had decided against the usual one large tablearranged horseshoe-like, but had substituted instead a great number ofindividual smaller tables, about which he had grouped the variousguests. The placing of those nearest the mirrors had been so arrangedas to give no double images, thus betraying the trick. The waiters, allthe characters who walked about, were kept near the front toward thecameras for the same reason. It seemed as if the banquet hall was atleast twice its actual size.
I saw that Millard had arrived ahead of us. Either the changing of thescenes in his script to fit Enid had not taken him very long or elsethe photographing of this particular bit of action had provedsufficiently fascinating to draw him away from his work. I wondered atfirst if he had come to the studio to use his office here, aninfrequent happening, from Manton's account. Then I realized that hewas in evening dress. Without doubt he planned to play a minor part inthe banquet. His presence was no accident.
Then I picked out Manton himself from our point of observation in aquiet corner selected by Kennedy for that purpose. It was evident thatthe promoter had cleared up his business at the office rapidly since wehad left him there to go to our quarters on the Heights and haddeparted immediately from the latter place so as to precede theDistrict Attorney here.
Manton as well as Millard was in evening dress. A moment later Irecognized Phelps, and he, too, wore his formal clothes. In an instantI grasped that Werner actually was saving money. Not only were theseofficials of the company present to help fill up the tables, but I wasable now to pick out a number of the guests who were uneasy in theirmake-up and more or less out of place in full-dress attire. Theycertainly were not actors. One girl I definitely placed as thestenographer from Manton's waiting room at the studio; then otherthings caught my attention. I could not help but doubt the stories ofwaste told us by Phelps as I looked over the scene before me. The useof the mirrors to avoid building the full length of the floor did notseem to fit in with the theory that Manton and Werner were making everyeffort to wreck the company deliberately.
I watched the financier for several moments, but did not detectanything from his manner except that he seemed to feel ill at ease andawkward in make-up. I picked out Millard again and this time found himtalking with Enid Faye and Gordon. Immediately I sensed a dramaticconflict, carefully suppressed, but having too many of the outwardindications to fool anyone. In fact, a child would have observed thatLawrence Millard and the leading man needed little urging to engage ina scuffle then and there. Though Stella Lamar was dead, this was theheritage she had left. Her touch had embittered two men beyond thepoint of reconciliation--the husband who had been, and the husband whowas to be. Of the two, Millard had far the better control of himself,however.
After a brief word or so Gordon left them. At once I could see therelief in the expressions of both the others. Again I wondered justwhat might be between these two. It was an easy familiarity which mighthave been as casual as it seemed to be, no more, or which might havebeen a mask for something far deeper and more enduring, the schooledouter cloak of an inner perfect understanding.
Werner was by far the busiest of those waiting in the stifling heatbeneath the glass roof. He was in evening dress, prepared to take hisown place before the camera, and in straight make-up, so that he lookednothing like the slain millionaire, the part he had played in theopening scenes. I saw that he was a master in the art of make-up. I wassure that he was more nervous than usual. It struck me that he neededthe stimulus of the drug he used, although later I knew that he musthave felt, intuitively, the coming of events which followed close uponthe attempt to photograph the action.
As more of the people hurried up from the offices and around from themanuscript and other departments, very conscious of their formalattire, and as the regular players changed and adjusted the make-ups ofthese amateurs, the banquet took on the proportions of a real affair.
The members of the cast were placed at the table in the foreground.Enid, Gordon, Marilyn, and a fourth man were assigned locations; afterwhich Werner proceeded to fill the seats in the rear. With theexception of Millard and Phelps, none of the inexperienced people wereallowed to face the camera. Manton, whose features were familiarthrough published interviews in many publicity campaigns, was placed toone side opposite Phelps. Millard was given charge of a groupcontaining a number of giddy extra girls in somewhat diaphanouscostume, and seemed to be in his element.
The tables themselves were prepared with perfect taste. I could seethat real food was being used, in order to achieve a greater degree ofrealism, for a caterer had set up a buffet some distance out of thescene from which to serve the courses called for in the script. Many ofthe dishes were being kept hot, the steam curling from beneath thecovers in appetizing wisps. The wine, supposed to be champagne, wassparkling apple juice of the best quality, and I don't doubt but thatbefore the days of prohibition Werner would have insisted upon the realfizz water. In details such as these the director was showing noeconomy.
"All ready now?" Werner called, stepping back to a place at a tablewhich he had reserved for himself. "All set? Remember the action of thescript?"
Instantly the buzz of conversation died and everyone turned to him.
"No, no, no!" he exclaimed in vexation. "Don't go dead on your feet.This is a banquet. You are having a good time. It's not a funeral! You
were all in just the right state of mind before, and you don't have tostop and gape to listen to me. Keep right on talking and laughing. Myvoice will carry and you can hear without getting out of your parts."
I turned to Kennedy, to see how the picture-making struck him. I sawthat he was watching the two girls at the forward table closely and soI faced about to follow his glance. Marilyn's face was red with anger,while Enid, calm and rather malicious, was ignoring her to devote allattention to Gordon. The leading man, bored and irritated, made noeffort to conceal a heavy scowl. In the momentary interval followingWerner's instructions, Marilyn lost all control of herself.
"If you will pardon me, MISS Faye," she cried out in a voice whichcarried over to us and with cutting accent upon the "Miss," "I thinkthat in this scene at least we should BOTH be facing the camera. If Iunderstand the scene in the script at all it is intended to show theconflict between the two women over the one man seated between them.Jack Daring is to be swayed first by Stella Remsen, then by Zelda. Atleast this once I think the daughter of old Remsen and his ward areplaying roles of equal importance."
For a moment I smiled, realizing that Marilyn was not going to let Enid"take the picture away" from her as we had seen the new star do in oneof her first scenes with the leading man. Then I sobered, realizingthat it was the outer reflection of the deep-running passion of thesepeople. The cloud of Stella's death was over them still.
Enid responded, but in tones too low for us to hear. A new flush of redin Marilyn's face, however, demonstrated the power in the lash of theother girl's tongue. Werner hurried over to them, not masking his ownirritation any too well. Without a word he began rearranging the table,moving it slightly so that while there was no great difference in itsposition he had yet made a show of satisfying Marilyn. In effect hepleased neither. The two pretty faces closest to the camera were astudy in discontent.
"I don't wonder that moving-picture directors are nervous," Kennedyremarked. "Film manufacture must keep everyone under constant tension."
"What do you make of the feeling between the different people?" Iasked. "Did you notice Millard and Gordon, and now Enid and Marilyn?"
"There's something under cover," he rejoined; "something behind allthis. I get the impression that our suspects are watching one another,like as many hawks. At various times most of them have glanced over atus. They know we are here and are conscious they may be undersuspicion. Therefore I particularly want to see how those two girls actwhen Mackay arrives to arrest Werner."
The director, stepping back to his place, took a megaphone from hisassistant for use in the rehearsal.
"Now you must act just as though this were a real banquet," he shouted."Try to forget that the Black Terror is lurking outside the window,that an attack is coming from him. Remember, when the shot is fired youmust all leap up as though you meant it. Here! You--you--you--"designating certain extra girls, "faint when it happens. That's notuntil after the toast is proposed. I'll propose the toast from my tableand it will be the cue for Shirley, outside. Now don't get ahead of theaction. You amateurs, don't turn around to see if the camera isworking. We'll go through the action up to the moment I propose thetoast." The buzz of conversation rose slightly as though an effort wasbeing put into the gayety. I glanced about at some of the people whowere cast for only this one scene, wishing I could read lips, because Iwas sure many of them talked of matters wholly out of place in thissetting. At the same time I kept an eye on the principals and uponWerner.
Finally the director was satisfied, after a second rehearsal.
"All right," he bellowed, throwing the megaphone from the scene."Shoot!"
At the same instant he dropped to his place and apparently was a guestwith no interest but in the food and wine before him.
At the cameras-there were three of them-the assistant director kept acareful watch of the general action. In actual time by the watch thewhole was very short, a second measuring to sixteen pictures or a footof film as I explained afterward to Kennedy. The entire scene perhapsran one hundred or one hundred and fifty feet.
But on the screen, even to the spectators in the studio, the illusionin a scene of the kind would be the duration of half an hour or evenmore. This would be helped by close-ups of the individual action,especially by the byplay between the principals, taken later andinserted into the long shot by the film cutter.
I know I was carried away by a sense of reality. It seemed to me thatwaiters made endless trips to and fro, that here and there pretty girlsbroke into laughter constantly or that men leaned forward every othermoment to make witty remarks; in fact I felt genuinely sorry I couldnot take part in the festivities. I knew that danger, in the person ofthe Black Terror as played by Shirley, lurked just out the window. Ifelt delicious anticipatory thrills of fear, so thoroughly was I in thespirit of the thing. Then I saw that Werner was about to propose thetoast, about to give the cue for the big action.
"Watch him" whispered Kennedy. "He's an actor. He's taking that drinkjust as though he meant every drop of it."
Werner had raised his delicately stemmed glass as though to join hisneighbor in some pledge when a new idea seemed to strike him. He leapedto his feet.
"Let's drink together! Let's drink to our hero and heroine of theevening!"
Other voices rose in acclamation. The wine had been poured lavishly.Glasses clinked and we could hear laughter.
Suddenly at the window, back of everyone, appeared the evil,black-masked figure of Shirley, eyes glittering menacingly from theirslits, two weapons glistening blue in his hands.
At the same moment there was a terrible groan, followed by a scream ofagony. Werner staggered back, his left hand clutched at his breast.From his right hand the glass which he had drained fell to the canvascovered floor with an ominous dull crash.
This was not in the script! Practically everybody realized the fact,for the scene instantly was in an uproar. In the general consternationno one seemed to know just what to do.
Shirley was the first to act, the first to realize what had happened.Dropping his weapons, reaching the side of the stricken director in oneleap, he supported him as he reeled drunkenly, then eased him to thefloor. Behind us, before I could look to Kennedy to see what he woulddo, there was the gasp of a man out of breath from hurrying upstairs. Iturned, startled. It was Mackay.
"Shall I make the collar?" he wheezed. At the same instant he saw thegathering crowd in the set. "What--what's happened?" he asked.
Kennedy had bounded forward only a few seconds after Shirley. As Ipushed through after him, Mackay following, I discovered him kneelingat the side of Werner.
"Some one send for a doctor, quick," he commanded, taking charge ofthings as a matter of course. "Hurry!" he repeated. "He's gasping forair and it'll be too late in a minute."
Then he saw us. "Walter--Mackay"--he raised Werner's head--"pusheveryone back, please! Give him a chance to breathe!"
A thousand thoughts flashed through my head as politely but firmly Iwidened the space about Kennedy and the director. Was this a case ofsuicide? Had Werner known we were coming for him? Had he thought tobring about his own end in the most spectacular fashion possible? Wasthis the fancy of a drug-weakened brain?
Suddenly I realized that Werner was trying to speak. One of the cameramen had helped Kennedy lift him to the top of a table, swept of itsdishes and linen, so as to make it easier for him to breathe.
"Out in Tarrytown," he muttered, weakly, "that night--Isuspected--and--saw--" His voice trailed off into nothingness. Even themotion of his lips was too feeble to follow.
In an instant I grasped the cruel injustice I had done this man in mymind. It was now that I remembered, in a flash, Kennedy's attitude andwas glad that Kennedy had not suspected him.
"See!" I faced Mackay, speaking in quick, low tones so the others couldnot hear. "I--we--have been totally and absolutely wrong in suspectingWerner. Instead, it was he who has been playing our game--trying toconfirm his own suspicions. I've been entirely wrong in
my deductionsfrom the discovery of his dope and needles."
"What do you mean, Jameson?" The district attorney had been takencompletely off his feet by the unexpected developments. His eyes wererather dazed, his expression baffled. "What do you mean?"
"Why he was out at Tarrytown that night, all right, don't yousee--but--but he was the second man, the man who watched!"
Mackay still seemed unable to comprehend.
"There were two men," I went on, excitedly; covering my own chagrin inmy impatience at the little district attorney. "The one your deputystruggled with was short, rather than tall, and very strong. That'sWerner! Can't you see it? Haven't you noticed how stockily andpowerfully the director is built?"
"Werner must really have had some clue," murmured Mackay, dazed.
It left me wondering whether the stimulation of the dope might not haveheightened Werner's imagination and urged him on in following somethingthat our more sluggish minds had never even dreamed.
Meanwhile I saw that the doctor had arrived and that Kennedy had helpedcarry Werner to a dressing room where first aid could be given moreconveniently. Now Kennedy hurried back into the studio, glancingquickly this way and that, as though to catch signs of confusion orguilt upon the faces of those about us.
I colored. Instead of making explanations to Mackay, explanations whichcould have waited, I might have used what faculties of observation Ipossessed to aid Kennedy while he was giving first consideration to thelife of a man. As it was, I didn't know what had become of any of thevarious people upon our list of possible suspects. As far as I wasconcerned, any or every sign and clue to the attack upon Werner mighthave been removed or destroyed.
A sudden hush caused all of us to turn toward the door leading to thedressing rooms. It was the physician. He raised a hand for attention.His voice was low, but it carried to every corner of the studio:
"Mr. Werner is dead," he announced.