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Page 101
Kennedy dashed over to the scene where those beneath the shower
of glass lay, dazed and uncertain of the extent of their own
injuries.
"Where are the first-aid kits?" he shouted. "Bring cotton and
bandages, and--and telephone for a doctor, an ambulance!"
It seemed to me that Kennedy had never been so excited. Mackay
and I, at his heels, and some of the others, unhurt, hurriedly
helped the various victims to their feet.
Then we realized that by some miracle, some freak of fate, no one
had been hurt seriously. Already a property boy was at Kennedy's
side with a huge box marked prominently with the red cross.
Inside was everything necessary and Kennedy started to bind up
the wounds with all the skill of a professional physician.
"Mackay," he whispered, "hurry and get me some envelopes, or some
sheets of paper, anything--quick!" And to me, before I could
grasp the reason for that puzzling request: "Don't let anyone
slip away, Walter. No matter what happens, I must bind up these
wounds myself."
A few moments later I understood what Kennedy was up to. As he
finished with each victim he took some bit of cotton or gauze
with which he had wiped their cuts, enough blood to serve him in
chemical analysis, and handed it to Mackay. The district
attorney, very unobtrusively, slipped each sample into a separate
envelope, sealing it, and marking it with a hieroglyph which he
would be able to identify later. In this fashion Kennedy secured
blood smears of Manton and Phelps, Millard and Kauf and Enid,
Gordon, the two camera men, and a scene shifter. I smiled to
myself.
Meanwhile a bitter, acrid odor penetrated through the windows and
to every part of the structure, the odor of burning film, an odor
one never forgets to fear. All those uninjured in the explosions
had rushed out to see the fire, or else to escape from any
further danger, the moment they recovered their wits. Manton,
only cut at the wrist, and impatient as Kennedy cleaned, dusted,
and bound the wound, was the first to receive attention.
"The vaults!" he called, to the men who seemed disposed to linger
about. "For God's sake get busy!" The next instant he was gone
himself.
Enid was cut on the head. Tears streamed from her eyes as she
clung to Kennedy's coat, trembling. "Will it make a scar?" she
sobbed. "Will I be unable to act before the camera any more?"
He reassured her. In the case of Millard, who had several bad
scalp wounds, he advised a trip to a doctor, but the scenario
writer laughed. Phelps was yellow. It seemed to me that he
whimpered a bit. Gordon was disposed to swear cheerfully,
although a point of glass had penetrated deep in his shoulder and
another piece had gashed him across the forehead.
Finally Kennedy was through. He packed the little envelopes in
the bag, still in the possession of Mackay, and added the two
rolls of film from his pocket. Then, for the first time, he
locked it.
As he straightened, his eyes narrowed.
"Now for Shirley," he muttered.
"And Marilyn," I added.
XXVIII
THE PHOSPHORUS BOMB
We rushed out into the courtyard, Kennedy in the lead, Mackay
trailing with the bag. Here there were dense clouds of fine white
suffocating smoke mixed with steam, and signs of the utmost
confusion on every hand. Because Manton, fortunately, had trained
the studio staff through frequent fire drills, there was a
semblance of order among the men actually engaged in fighting the
spread of the blaze. Any attempt to extinguish the conflagration
in the vault itself was hopeless, however, and so the workers
contented themselves with pouring water into the basement on
either side, to keep the building and perhaps the other vaults
cool, and with maintaining a constant stream of chemical mixture
from a special apparatus down the ventilating system into and
upon the smoldering film.
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