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Page 78
The doctor hurried off toward the dressing room, anxious to help
Kennedy, and as excited, I thought, as any of us. Next Kennedy
faced me.
"Did you watch the people at all, Walter?"
"I--I was too upset by the suddenness of it," I stammered.
All seemed to have suspicion of some one else, and there was a
general constraint, as though even the innocent feared to do or
say something that might look or sound incriminating.
I turned. All were now watching every move we made, though just
yet none ventured to follow us. It was as though they felt that
to do so was like crossing a dead line. I wondered which one of
them might be looking at us with inward trepidation--or perhaps
satisfaction, if there had been any chance to remove anything
incriminating.
Kennedy strode over toward the ill-fated set, Mackay and I at his
heels. As we moved across the floor I noticed that everyone
clustered as close as he dared, afraid, seemingly, of any action
which might hinder the investigation, yet unwilling to miss any
detail of Kennedy's method. In contrast with the clamor and
racket of less than a half hour previously there was now a
deathlike stillness beneath the arched ground-glass roof. The
heat was more oppressive than ever before. In the faces and
expressions of the awed witnesses of death's swift hand there was
horror, and a growing fear. No one spoke, except in whispers.
When anybody moved it was on tiptoe, cautiously. Millard's
creation, "The Black Terror," could have inspired no dread
greater than this.
Of the people we wished to study, Phelps caught our eyes the
first. Dejected, crushed, utterly discouraged, he was slouched
down in a chair just at the edge of the supposed banquet hall. I
had no doubt of the nature of his thoughts. There was probably
only the most perfunctory sympathy for the stricken director.
Without question his mind ran to dollars. The dollar-angle to
this tragedy was that the death of Werner was simply another step
in the wrecking of Manton Pictures. Kennedy, I saw, hardly gave
him a passing glance.
Manton we observed near the door. With the possible exception of
Millard he seemed about the least concerned. The two, scenario
writer and producer, had counterfeited the melodrama of life so
often in their productions that even the second sinister chapter
in this film mystery failed to penetrate their sang-froid.
Inwardly they may have felt as deeply as any of the rest, but
both maintained their outward composure.
On Manton's shoulders was the responsibility for the picture. I
could see that he was nervous, irritable; yet, as various
employees approached for their instructions in this emergency he
never lost his grasp of affairs. In the vibrant quiet of this
studio chamber, still under the shadow of tragedy, we witnessed
as cold-blooded a bit of business generalship as has ever come to
my knowledge. We overheard, because Manton's voice carried across
to us in the stillness.
"Kauf!" The name I remembered as that of the technical, or art,
director under Werner, responsible for the sets of "The Black
Terror."
"Yes, Mr. Manton!" Kauf was a slim, stoop-shouldered man, gray,
and a dynamo of energy in a quiet, subservient way. He ran to
Manton's side.
"Remember once telling me you wanted to become a director, that
you wanted to make pictures for me?"
"Yes, sir!"
"You are familiar with the script of 'The Black Terror,' aren't
you? You know the people and how they work and you have sets
lined up. How would you like to finish the direction?"
"But--but--" To the credit of the little man he dabbed at his
eyes. I guess he had been fond of his immediate superior. "Mr.--
Mr. Werner is d-dead--" he stammered.
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