After a period of concentrated thought Helen looked at Ruth oddly.
“Do you know, Ruth Fielding,” she said, “I have been thinking a lot lately about our old friend, Charlie Reid.”
Ruth’s glance tacitly requested her to go on.
“I have a feeling that we were right when we suspected Charlie of following us. Or perhaps he wasn’t really following us, but was coming out here to join Bloomberg at The Big Chance. He probably found out all he wanted to know in New York about you and your new agreement with Mr. Hammond.”
“But we haven’t even caught a glimpse of him here,” protested Ruth. “Aren’t you rather jumping at conclusions, Helen?”
“Perhaps,” replied Helen, with a shrug of her shoulders. “But you mark my words, Ruth. I’ll wager about anything I own that Charlie Reid will flash into the picture sometime before we leave Knockout Point for good.”
“Maybe you’re right,” said Ruth, with a troubled frown. “Bloomberg would almost certainly stay at a safe distance and make use of a tool, and Charlie Reid certainly seems to have the bad-penny habit of always turning up just when you want him least!”
Ruth worked hard in the days that followed, and in her haste there was a suggestion of panic. Every scene that was shot without the interference of Bloomberg she counted that much gained. Every morning when she awoke her heart sank with the thought that perhaps this was the day Bloomberg had chosen to strike. For that he intended to strike she had not the slightest doubt.
Several unexplained accidents occurred, slight in themselves but serving to annoy and irritate actors and directors alike and to cause considerable delay and money loss.
There was the time, for instance, when the make-up man found his pet jar of yellow grease paint missing just as he was making up the extras for a big outdoor scene.