The haunting hand
that night the impression returned stronger than before. It even made
me hesitate about going back.”
Margot told of being escorted by Sam--together with Lulu--to the stage
where a close-up of some scene was being registered. Margot had seen
interest flash in Stoner’s eyes when he saw the two girls waiting to
be noticed by him. He had chucked Lulu under the chin but had
refrained from a like playful greeting with Margot after one glance
into her eyes.
He had again asked her name, then he had said:
“So you live on Forty-ninth Street, in one of those ramshackle houses
built before the flood? What did you say the number was?”
Margot had told him.
“What floor do you live on?”
“For a second,” said Margot, “I thought he meant to be impudent, but I
decided he meant nothing offensive, so I told him that I lived on the
first floor. Then he asked if my room was front or back. I had another
impulse to glare at him, but instead, I said politely that I had the
large room in the rear, and added that he seemed to know the house. It
was then that I thought I caught that queer glint in his eyes again,
and a slight challenge in his glance. He said indifferently that a
friend of his had lived in this house and that he hadn’t seen it for
years. He remarked that I must find the place uncomfortable and
inconvenient. I told him I didn’t. Then he announced that he would
make a test of Lulu first.”
The two girls had been directed to put on make-up, and when they had
appeared properly mascaraed and powdered, he had indicated a place for
Lulu to stand. He had told her, with a good-natured grin, to think
hard of her “sweetie,” and to imagine she was meeting him by the light
of the moon, and that he was going to take her in his arms and hug
her. Lulu had smiled in full understanding and self-assurance and had
proceeded to spoil her beauty by a forced and absurd expression of
rapturous parted lips. Stoner had groaned.
“Oh, Lord, that won’t do! Think again, not so hard, maybe. Relax! Try
to feel what you’d really feel if the fellow you love stood right in
my boots!” Stoner had laughed boisterously at his little joke.
That time Lulu had done much better. Margot, watching her, had decided
that Lulu had the making of a good movie actress--above the
average--and this impression was followed by the humble assurance that
she would certainly not register as well in this silly test as the
little beauty-contest girl, whose egoism was of so different a
variety. If Stoner had needed two girls, perhaps she could have passed
muster, but not in competition with Lulu.
“Then,” Margot went on with a laugh, “I heard Stoner calling me. I
remembered what I’d been asked when I was a kid:--which would I
prefer, be a greater fool than I looked, or look a greater fool than I
be. I knew I’d explode if he invoked the figure of an absent lover.
But Stoner isn’t a fool. He took me by surprise by telling me to
imagine that I’d just seen--was still looking at--something that froze
my blood with horror. Somebody run over or murdered. Or, better still,
I must register the emotion that would overcome me if I were alone in
the dark, and suddenly saw something that didn’t belong
there--something spooky, with an agonized face, calling for mercy.
Wasn’t it uncanny, his striking that note of fear and horror,
considering what happened so soon afterwards?”
“Yes, it was,” agreed Gene quickly. “You don’t need to tell me how you
registered those faked emotions. The results speak for themselves. He
selected _you_ instead of Lulu.”
Margot leaned forward excitedly, and put her hand on Gene’s arm.
“That’s just the odd part of the whole performance--something I’ve
never told you before, Gene. As to how I registered, I guess I didn’t
do badly. Either Stoner’s surprising eloquence or the memory of a
ghost story heard years ago, that had made my blood run
cold--literally--or whatever it was, my imagination took fire and I
actually saw before me, for that moment, the thing of horror. Funny,
but I never thought of that odd coincidence until to-day. Well, Lulu
told me afterwards that my eyes dilated, and my lips quivered. In
short I ‘registered,’ and Stoner gave an expression of approval. Then
he looked from Lulu to me, and finally he said:
“‘You’re all right!’” He shifted his gaze back to Lulu, and said: “‘So
are you, girlie. Damned if I know which of you is the best. Have to
wait and see the proofs. Come back to-morrow morning or stick around
now for a few hours.’”
“Of course we told him we’d return the next day. Lulu’s rapturous
smile seemed to indicate that she was sure of what the proofs would
show. We started to leave and at the far end of the stage, within a
few feet of the entrance, we heard Stoner’s stentorian call, asking us
to go back a minute. He was whispering to Sam and one of the camera
men. Then he came up to us and said:
“‘I’ve decided not to wait for those pictures. ’Tisn’t necessary. I
can tell just from looking at you two, which one is the best--the
best, anyway, for _my_ purposes.’”
“I felt Lulu tremble with excitement. I thought I saw again that faint
glitter in Stoner’s pale eyes. Then, looking at me he said:
“‘It’s you I want, Miss Anstruther. Come back to-morrow to start work.
The part you’ll get isn’t a small one. It’ll mean work.’”
Margot told Gene of poor little Lulu’s sobbing disappointment, and of
Stoner’s attempt to console her by advising her not to be soft, and
not to mind, as it was all in the game, and it was a hard, hard world
anyway. He had ended by saying that he had chosen Margot because she
suited the part in the picture, better than Lulu. He had been speaking
to Lulu, but Margot had caught his gaze fixed upon herself. Intuition
told her that he had chosen her for personal reasons. She had
registered fairly well, but so had Lulu, and Lulu was decidedly more
the screen type of beauty, with her fine profile and wonderful hair.
“You see, Gene,” Margot summed up eagerly, “my first conclusion was
that I’d made a strong appeal to Stoner. Perhaps I saw that much in
his eyes, but there was something else in his eyes. It eluded and
mocked me, but it was there--something that was neither admiration nor
desire. I felt half inclined to refuse his offer, when I heard him
telling Lulu that since she was so unhappy, he’d fix her up. There was
a girl on the lot who needed a rest. He’d give her a vacation on full
pay and Lulu could have her part in _A Toreador’s Love_. Only the part
of a lady’s maid, but if Lulu wanted it--etc., etc. And then he said
to me--while Lulu was washing her face, that he hoped we’d be friends,
and that he hoped I’d let him call on me some evening soon.”
Margot could not resist a dramatic pause, just to give Gene a chance
to frown in angry indignation. He did not disappoint her.
“Damn nerve! What did you tell him?”
“Well, I was on the point of giving him a sharp retort, when he said,
casually:
“‘What was that number again? 809 East 49th Street?’”
“Once again I was arrested by the look in his eyes--that strange
yellowish shadow covering the blue of the iris, and the dilating of
the pupil. That’s all, Gene, but I’d like to know what you make of
it?”
Gene looked puzzled and uncertain. “You mean--why he chose you instead
of Lulu Leinster?”
“Yes, of course, that’s what I mean.”
“Search _me_, Margot. You make it all sound very mysterious, and you
draw a picture of old fat Stoner that’s far more interesting and
thrilling than anything he can ever hope to be in the flesh.”
“Perhaps you think my imagination’s gone wild along with my brain. No,
old dear. Just think hard, a minute. Don’t you honestly think it
rather strange--in all the circumstances--that he should have chosen
me? And remember all I’ve told you about his eyes, especially in
connection with my living in this house!”
Gene threw back his head with a jerk of sudden astonishment.
“You think Stoner’s connected in some way--in the past--with this
house--with what’s happened here?” Gene’s blue eyes were troubled and
mystified.
“Well,” said Margot slowly, “I’m not _sure_ of anything, and it’s too
soon to draw any definite conclusions about Stoner or anything else,
but I do feel that in some way that I can’t fathom, Stoner has a
personal reason for wanting me to drop the investigation of my little
mystery.”
Gene pondered that a moment, then he said abruptly:
“Can’t get it at all, Margot. I’m convinced that all those weird
expressions you’ve been seeing in Stoner’s eyes, can be boiled down to
just one thing--his mad admiration for you, my dear girl.”
Margot jumped to her feet, and seized Gene’s hand with a laugh.
“That’s about enough from you for one night, old silly. I’m tired out
anyway, and poor Quinlan’s half hour has stretched out till I dare say
he’s ready to kill me. So off with you, Gene! See you to-morrow, and
here’s hoping you’ll have done some heavy thinking in the meantime!”
She let him kiss her good-night, then she ran down stairs to tell
Quinlan that he could return to his official duties.
CHAPTER VI.
THE MIDNIGHT PROWLER
Margot was to sleep on a cot in Mrs. Bellew’s basement. She made a
rite of brushing her thick reddish hair, and invariably let her mind
wander while she did it. Mrs. Bellew’s chatter had the effect of
dripping water. It made her sleepy, and she was horribly tired. Some
sixth sense told her that sleep was not for her that night; that the
mystery would soon take a new and fantastic turn.
With bored disgust she discovered that she had forgotten to bring down
her pyjamas. She started for the stairs, then turned back into the
basement room. She told Mrs. Bellew that she didn’t want to go up to
her room alone. No reason whatever, Quinlan being so decent, but she
felt nervous, and would Mrs. Bellew mind going up with her? Mrs.
Bellew cheerfully assured her that she didn’t mind at all.
They climbed the stairs and knocked lightly on the door. Quinlan let
them in and they stood for a moment with him in the dark. Margot, her
voice instinctively pitched very low, explained her errand. Then she
whispered to Quinlan:
“Seen or heard anything?”
“No, Miss.” Quinlan’s was a veritable stage whisper.
Suddenly he stiffened and threw his arm out to bar Margot’s way, as
she started in the direction of her closet.
“Shh!” he admonished tensely.
Margot stood stock still, as she heard Mrs. Bellew’s stifled cry of
fear. They heard a faint scraping sound. It seemed to come from the
roof-garden, the door leading to which was open a few inches. Quinlan
had left it so. Then, the shadow of a human being fell slantwise on
the curtain over the door, and loomed large against the rift of light
from the street lamp. Faint creaking of the door pushing inward; a
figure, indistinct, crouching uncertainly; then upright, stepping more
boldly into the room, and moving slowly toward them.
Mrs. Bellew’s terror broke in a shriek. Quinlan lunged forward and
seized the intruder. Margot dashed for the switch-button in the wall,
and flooded the room with light.
A girl stood there, her shoulders pinioned from behind by Quinlan’s
big hands; a girl with white, drawn face; a black-browed, sullen young
creature, who uttered no sound of fear or pain. Too astonished to move
or speak, Margot stared. Then another shriek resounded in the room.
“It’s Stella--Stella Ball!” Mrs. Bellew managed to gasp the words.
Margot trembled with excitement. Her breath came short.
“The girl who lived in this room?”
“Herself--oh, my God!” The landlady was on the verge of frenzied
hysteria.
Margot swung fiercely about to the girl.
“Tell us what it all means!” she commanded sternly.
“I’ll tell you nothing!” The retort was almost vicious in its quick
intensity.