Nor was this all: shafts and floods of light of normal hue were likewise trained upon the scene from a dozen different points, until the blended rays lent almost lifelike colouring to the faces of the actors, whose make-up had theretofore seemed ghastly and unnatural to uninitiate eyes.
Stationed just beyond the edge of the area of most intense illumination, the audience sat in a sort of violet penumbra whose effect was hideously unflattering. In it every face assumed a deathly glow, resembling the phosphorescence of corruption, the red of cheeks and lips became purple, and every hint of facial defect stood out, a purple smudge. So that Lucinda, reviewing the libelled countenances of her companions, breathed silent thanks to whatever gods there were for their gift of a complexion transparent and immaculate.
"Camera!"
The command came from King Laughlin. Lucinda could just hear a muffled clicking, and seeking its source discovered a youngish man, with a keen face and intelligent eyes, standing behind the tripod and turning in measured tempo a crank attached to the black box.
Coached by Mr. Laughlin, who danced nervously upon the side lines, the scene was enacted.
"Now, Tommy, come on—slowly—hold the door—look around, make sure the room is empty—hold it—now shut the door—up to the table—don't forget where to put your hat—'sright, splendid! Now you look at the other door—listen—show me that you don't hear anything—good! Open the drawer—easy now, remember you're trying not to make a noise—look for the papers—show me you can't find them. My God! where can they be! That's it. Now you hear a noise off—(Ready, Alma!)—shut the drawer—start to pick up your hat—too late—! Come on, Alma—come on! You don't see him, you look out of the window and sigh—let's see you sigh, Alma—beautiful! beautiful! Now, Tommy, you move—she sees you—see him, Alma. Slowly—hold it—wonderful! Now call to him, Alma—Egbert! Egbert!!"
The little man's voice cracked with the heart-rending pathos he infused into that cry; but he did not pause, he continued to dance and bark directions at star and leading-man till the door closed behind Miss Daley's frantic exit; when all at once he went out of action and, drawing a silk bandanna from his cuff to mop the sweat of genius on his brows, turned mild, enquiring eyes to the cameraman.
"Got it," that one uttered laconically.
"Think we want to take it over, Eddie?" The cameraman shook his head. "Good! Now we'll shoot the close-up. No, Tommy, not you—the only close-up I want for this scene is Alma where she gets up. We must get those tears in, she cries so pretty."
There was some delay. The camera had to be brought forward and trained at short range on the spot where Miss Daley had fallen; several stands of banked lights likewise needed to be advanced and adjusted. And then Miss Daley had to be given time to go to her dressing-room and repair the ravages her complexion had suffered in Egbert's embrace. But all these matters were at length adjusted to the satisfaction of director; the actress lay in a broken heap with her face buried on her arms, the camera once more began to click, Mr. King Laughlin squatting by its side, prepared to pull the young woman through the scene by sheer force of his inspired art.