Part 27 (2/2)

”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 you must all leap up as though you meant it. Here! You--you--you--”

designating certain extra girls, ”faint when it happens. That's not until after the toast is proposed. I'll propose the toast from my table and it will be the cue for s.h.i.+rley, outside. Now don't get ahead of the action. You amateurs, don't turn around to see if the camera is working. We'll go through the action up to the moment I propose the toast.” The buzz of conversation rose slightly as though an effort was being put into the gayety. I glanced about at some of the people who were cast for only this one scene, wis.h.i.+ng I could read lips, because I was sure many of them talked of matters wholly out of place in this setting. At the same time I kept an eye on the princ.i.p.als and upon Werner.

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 guest with no interest but in the food and wine before him.

At the cameras-there were three of them-the a.s.sistant director kept a careful watch of the general action. In actual time by the watch the whole was very short, a second measuring to sixteen pictures or a foot of film as I explained afterward to Kennedy. The entire scene perhaps ran one hundred or one hundred and fifty feet.

But on the screen, even to the spectators in the studio, the illusion in a scene of the kind would be the duration of half an hour or even more. This would be helped by close-ups of the individual action, especially by the byplay between the princ.i.p.als, taken later and inserted into the long shot by the film cutter.

I know I was carried away by a sense of reality. It seemed to me that waiters made endless trips to and fro, that here and there pretty girls broke into laughter constantly or that men leaned forward every other moment to make witty remarks; in fact I felt genuinely sorry I could not take part in the festivities. I knew that danger, in the person of the Black Terror as played by s.h.i.+rley, lurked just out the window. I felt delicious antic.i.p.atory thrills of fear, so thoroughly was I in the spirit of the thing. Then I saw that Werner was about to propose the toast, about to give the cue for the big action.

”Watch him” whispered Kennedy. ”He's an actor. He's taking that drink just as though he meant every drop of it.”

Werner had raised his delicately stemmed gla.s.s as though to join his neighbor in some pledge when a new idea seemed to strike him. He leaped to his feet.

”Let's drink together! Let's drink to our hero and heroine of the evening!”

Other voices rose in acclamation. The wine had been poured lavishly.

Gla.s.ses clinked and we could hear laughter.

Suddenly at the window, back of everyone, appeared the evil, black-masked figure of s.h.i.+rley, eyes glittering menacingly from their slits, two weapons glistening blue in his hands.

At the same moment there was a terrible groan, followed by a scream of agony. Werner staggered back, his left hand clutched at his breast.

From his right hand the gla.s.s which he had drained fell to the canvas covered 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 consternation no one seemed to know just what to do.

s.h.i.+rley was the first to act, the first to realize what had happened.

Dropping his weapons, reaching the side of the stricken director in one leap, he supported him as he reeled drunkenly, then eased him to the floor. Behind us, before I could look to Kennedy to see what he would do, there was the gasp of a man out of breath from hurrying upstairs. I turned, startled. It was Mackay.

”Shall I make the collar?” he wheezed. At the same instant he saw the gathering crowd in the set. ”What--what's happened?” he asked.

Kennedy had bounded forward only a few seconds after s.h.i.+rley. As I pushed through after him, Mackay following, I discovered him kneeling at the side of Werner.

”Some one send for a doctor, quick,” he commanded, taking charge of things as a matter of course. ”Hurry!” he repeated. ”He's gasping for air and it'll be too late in a minute.”

Then he saw us. ”Walter--Mackay”--he raised Werner's head--”push everyone back, please! Give him a chance to breathe!”

A thousand thoughts flashed through my head as politely but firmly I widened the s.p.a.ce about Kennedy and the director. Was this a case of suicide? Had Werner known we were coming for him? Had he thought to bring about his own end in the most spectacular fas.h.i.+on possible? Was this the fancy of a drug-weakened brain?

Suddenly I realized that Werner was trying to speak. One of the camera men had helped Kennedy lift him to the top of a table, swept of its dishes and linen, so as to make it easier for him to breathe.

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