The Film of Fear

by Frederic Arnold Kummer

The first impression Duvall got was that of utter confusion. People were darting here and there, in ordinary clothes, or in all sorts of makeups. Stage carpenters were creating a terrific racket, building a new scene. A tangle of electric light cables, a blinding glare from the arcs, a confusion of voices, a wilderness of scenery and "props" all combined to create an impression quite the reverse of what he had expected. Here, he felt, was something very different from the theater, something bigger, yet more elemental, in which vast sums were expended daily to amuse a vaster indeed, a world-wide, audience. He sat down upon a box, and inspected the scene before him.

"Miss Morton will be on in a few moments," his guide said.

Duvall nodded. His attention was fixed upon the little drama going on before him. He knew nothing of the plot of the play, but the mechanical features of the operation held his interest keenly. The brilliant electric lights, the setting of the little room, the actors in their ghastly greenish makeups, the camera man, grinding stolidly away at his machine, the director, hovering about like a hawk, watching every movement, every gesture, with a superlatively critical eye, all spoke to him of a new world, and one with which he was not in the least familiar.

Suddenly he saw the lovely face of Ruth Morton, as the girl appeared from an open doorway. She did not take part in the picture at once, but stood chatting with the director, awaiting the moment when she would make her entrance. Duvall watched her intently. Her face, he thought, was drawn, nervous, her expression one of fear. She seemed suspicious of every one who came near her, as though she suspected that every stage hand, every electrician or helper, had in his possession a bottle of vitriol, which he only awaited the moment to hurl in her face. That the girl's nervous manner, her strained and tense expression, was evident to others as well as to himself, he realized from a remark his companion made to him.

"Miss Morton doesn't seem herself to-day," he said. "She must have something on her mind. I shouldn't be surprised if she has been working too hard lately."

Duvall made no reply. He was watching, not only Ruth, but those about her. In particular he observed the other women in the cast. It seemed not improbable that among them he would find the one whose envy had led to the sending of the threats Ruth had been receiving.

Presently the scene was finished, and Ruth, in response to a call from Duvall's companion, came toward them.

"Miss Morton," the latter said, "let me present Mr. Richards." This was the name Duvall had given. "He is anxious to meet you, and write you up for one of the newspapers."

Ruth gave him her hand with a smile which Duvall saw clearly enough was forced. The girl was palpably worn, distrait.

"I'm not going to interview you now, Miss Morton," he said. "I can understand that you must be tired, after posing all the morning. Let me come and see you sometime when you are more at leisure."