“Wrong?” said Michael, startled.
Knebworth nodded.
“Something radically wrong. There’s a snag somewhere. She’s either going to let me down by vanishing before the picture’s through, or else she’s going to be arrested for driving a car along Regent Street in a highly intoxicated condition!”
Michael laughed.
“I think she’ll do neither,” he said.
“Heard about Mendoza’s new company?” asked old Jack, filling his pipe.
Michael pulled up a chair and sat down.
“No, I haven’t.”
“She’s starting a new production company. There’s never a star I’ve fired that hasn’t! It gets all written out on paper, capital in big type, star in bigger! It’s generally due to the friends of the star, who tell her that a hundred thousand a year is a cruel starvation wage for a woman of her genius, and she ought to get it all. Generally there’s a sucker in the background who puts up the money. As a rule, he puts up all but enough, and then she selects a story where she is never off the screen, and wears a new dress every fifty feet of film. If she can’t find that sort of story, why, she gets somebody to write her one. The only time you ever see the other members of the company is in the long shots. Halfway through the picture the money dries up, the company goes bust, and all the poor little star gets out of it is the Rolls-Royce she bought to take her on location, the new bungalow she built to be nearer the lot, and about twenty-five percent of the capital that she’s taken on account of royalties.”
“Mendoza will not get a good producer in England?”
“She may,” nodded Jack. “There are producers in this country, but unfortunately they’re not the men on top. They’ve been brought down by the craze for greatness. A man who produces with a lot of capital behind him can get easy money. He doesn’t go after the domestic stories, where he’d be found out first time; he says to the moneybags: ‘Let’s produce the Fall of Jerusalem. I’ve got a cute idea for building Ezekiel’s temple that’s never been taken before. It’ll only cost a mere trifle of two hundred thousand dollars, and we’ll have five thousand extras in one scene, and we’ll rebuild the Colosseum and have a hundred real lions in the arena! Story? What do you want a story for? The public love crowds.’ Or maybe he wants to build a new Vesuvius and an eruption at the rate of fifty dollars a foot. There’s many a big reputation been built up on sets and extras. Come in, Mr. Longvale.”
Michael turned. The cheery old man was at the door, hat in hand.
“I am afraid I am rather a nuisance,” he said in his beautiful voice. “But I came in to see my lawyer, and I could not deny myself the satisfaction of calling to see how your picture is progressing.”
“It is going on well, Mr. Longvale, thank you,” said Jack. “You know Mr. Brixan?”
The old man nodded and smiled.
“Yes, I came in to see my lawyer on what to you will seem to be a curious errand. Many years ago I was a medical student and took my final examination, so that I am, to all intents and purposes, a doctor, though I’ve not practised to any extent. It is not generally known that I have a medical degree and I was surprised last night to be called out by—er—a neighbour, who wished me to attend a servant of his. Now, I am so hazy on the subject that I wasn’t quite sure whether or not I’d broken the law by practising without registration.”
“I can relieve your mind there, Mr. Longvale,” said Michael. “Once you are registered, you are always registered, and you acted quite within your rights.”
“So my lawyer informed me,” said Longvale gravely.
“Was it a bad case?” asked Michael, who guessed who the patient was.
“No, it was not a bad case. I thought there was blood poisoning, but I think perhaps I may have been mistaken. Medical science has made such great advance since I was a young man that I almost feared to prescribe. Whilst I am only too happy to render any service that humanity demands, I must confess that it was rather a disturbing experience, and I scarcely slept all night. In fact, it was a very disturbing evening and night. Somebody, for some extraordinary reason, put a motor-bicycle in my garden.”
Michael smiled to himself.
“I cannot understand why. It had gone this morning. And then I saw our friend Foss, who seemed very much perturbed about something.”
“Where did you see him?” asked Michael quickly.
“He was passing my house. I was standing at the gate, smoking my pipe, and bade him good night without knowing who he was. When he turned back, I saw it was Mr. Foss. He told me he had been to make a call, and that he had another appointment in an hour.”
“What time was this?” asked Michael.
“I think it must have been eleven o’clock.” The old man hesitated. “I’m not sure. It was just before I went to bed.”
Michael could easily account for Foss’s conduct. Sir Gregory had hurried him off and told him to come back after the girl had gone.
“My little place used to be remarkable for its quietness,” said Mr. Longvale, and shook his head. “Perhaps,” turning to Knebworth, “when your picture is finished you will be so good as to allow me to see it?”
“Why, surely, Mr. Longvale.”
“I don’t know why I’m taking this tremendous interest,” chuckled the old man. “I must confess that, until a few weeks ago, film-making was a mystery to me. And even today it belongs to the esoteric sciences.”
Dicker thrust his head in the door.
“Will you see Miss Mendoza?” he asked.
Jack Knebworth’s expression was one of utter weariness.
“No,” he said curtly.
“She says—” began Dicker.
Only the presence of the venerable Mr. Longvale prevented Jack from expressing his views
