Part 25 (2/2)

The banker's eye fell on the newspaper again. ”I know who this new Wall Street fellow is. I've got my scouts out working for me. It's Leigh--that's who it is. And I'm sore; I have a right to be.”

Phelps was getting more and more heated, by the moment. ”I tell you,”

he almost shouted, ”this fake movie business is the modern gold-brick game, all right. Never again!”

I was amazed at the Machiavellian cleverness of Manton. Here he was, on one hand openly working with, yet secretly ruining, the Manton Pictures, while on the other hand he was covertly building up the competing Fortune Features.

Kennedy paced out into the little hall of our suite and back. He faced our visitor once more.

”Why did you come to see me this morning? At our last encounter, you may recall you said you wished you could throw me down the steps.”

Phelps smiled ruefully. ”That was a mistake. It was the way I felt, but--I'm sorry.”

”Now--?”

Again the black clouds overshadowed the features of the financier. ”Now I want you to bring out and prove the things I've told you.” The malice showed in his voice plainly, for the first time. ”I want it proved in court that Manton is a cheap crook. When you uncover the murderer of Stella Lamar you will find that the moral responsibility for her death traces right back to Lloyd Manton. I want him driven out of the business.”

Kennedy's att.i.tude changed. As he escorted Phelps to the door his tones were self-controlled. ”Anything of the sort is beyond my province. My task is simply to find the person who killed the girl.”

When the financier was gone I turned to Kennedy eagerly. ”What do you think?” I asked.

”I think, more than ever, that we should investigate Fortune Features.

Let's have a look at the telephone book.”

There was no studio of the new corporation in New York, but we did find one listed in New Jersey, just across the river, at Fort Lee. We walked from the university down the hill and over to the ferry. On the other side a ten minutes' street-car ride took us to our destination.

Facing us was a huge barn-like structure set down in the midst of a little park. Inquiry for Manton brought no response whatever; rather, surprise that we should be asking for him here. However, I reflected that that was exactly what we ought to expect if Manton was working under cover. The girl at the telephone switchboard, smiling at Kennedy, had a suggestion.

”They're taking a storm exterior down in the meadow,” she explained.

”Perhaps he's down there, among the visitors--or perhaps there's someone who will be able to give you some information.”

I glanced outdoors at the brightly s.h.i.+ning sun. ”A storm?” I repeated, incredulously.

”Yes,” she smiled. ”It might interest you to see it.”

Following her directions, we started across country, leaving the studio building some distance behind and entering a broad expanse of meadow beyond a thin clump of trees. At the farther end we could see a large group of people and paraphernalia which, at the distance, we could not make out.

However, it was not long after we emerged from the trees that we perceived they were photographing squarely in our direction. Several began waving their arms wildly at us and shouting. Kennedy and I, understanding, turned and advanced, keeping well out of the camera lines, along the edge of the field.

”h.e.l.lo!” a voice greeted us as we approached the group standing back and watching the action.

To my surprise it was Millard, with the spectators. I looked about for Manton but did not see him, nor anyone else we knew.

”It's a storm and cyclone,” said Millard, his attention rather on what was going on than on us.

For the moment we said nothing.

The scene before us was indeed interesting. Half a dozen aeroplane engines and propellers had been set up outside the picture, and anch.o.r.ed securely in place. The wind from them was actually enough to knock a man down. Rain was furnished by hose playing water into the whirling blades, sending it driving into the scene with the fury of a tropical storm. Back of the propellers half a dozen men were frantically at work shoveling into them sand and dirt, creating an amazingly realistic cyclone.

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