XXI
When she and Judge Walbrough--the Walbroughs sent their car for her atnine-thirty--arrived in the offices of Zenda Films, they were usheredinto an inner office by the same overdressed youth who had shown Clancyin there yesterday.
The meeting that loomed ahead of her was fraught, she believed, withtremendous dramatic possibilities. Of course, none of the people whowould take part in it knew that she had visited the office of MorrisBeiner, yet she might be called again by the name "Florine" in thepresence of some one who knew.
Zenda was already there, seated at the large table. At the far end of itwere Weber and Grannis. There were no introductions. Zenda greeted thenew arrivals, and merely stated:
"Judge Walbrough will act as my attorney. If you want a lawyer, Grannis,you, of course, are entitled to one."
Grannis grunted unintelligibly. Zenda drummed a moment on the table withhis slender fingers. Then he spoke.
"I won't go over everything again, Grannis. I've the goods on you. I'veplenty on Weber, too. Judge Walbrough is prepared to offer you, onbehalf of a client, seventy-five for your stock."
Here the judge nodded acquiescently. He opened an important-seemingwallet and withdrew a check.
"I went to the bank first thing this morning, Zenda," he said. "It'scertified. Three hundred and seventy-five thousand dollars for half thestock--five thousand shares."
"That's correct," said Zenda. "It doesn't take account of my pokerlosses, but"--he leaned toward Weber--"I'm not going to slug you, Ike.I'm not going to sue you. I'm not going to do anything. Not now. But, sosurely as you stay in this town, so surely as you mix into the filmbusiness _anywhere_, I'm going to land you in jail." He turned to hiserstwhile partner. "I haven't much to say to you, Grannis. The judge isoffering you a price that's fair, considering that he's deducted aboutwhat you and Ike trimmed me of from his offer. That's O.K. I'm willingto let his client in, sort of at my expense, in order to get rid of you.Now, do you accept?"
Clancy held her breath. But Zenda and Grannis must have held someearlier conversation this morning or last night. For Grannis produced asheaf of engraved documents. He put them on the table. Zenda reached forthem and handed them to the judge. The latter examined them carefully,then nodded in acceptance.
"The certificates are properly endorsed in blank, Zenda. It's allright." He pushed across the table his certified check. Grannis took it.He rose and looked uncertainly at Zenda.
The film-director met his glance fairly.
"You're a pretty wise bird, Grannis," he said slowly. "But it isn't_really_ wise to double-cross your friend and partner."
That was all that was said. Grannis and Weber had left the room whenClancy suddenly remembered something.
"The ten thousand dollars they gave me!" she cried. "Have you returnedit?"
She had given it, for safe-keeping, into Walbrough's hands last night.
Zenda laughed.
"My dear Miss Deane," he said, "I've lost scores of thousands at stud toGrannis and Weber. That ten thousand dollars is my money. That is, it_was_ my money."
Clancy stared at him. The judge chuckled.
"Considering that your evidence saved Zenda from a nasty lawsuit, thatit ridded him of a crooked partner, that it gave him a chance tocontinue his business with a partner who will not interfere with him,both he and myself agree that you are entitled to that ten thousanddollars."
Clancy had been pale as wax. But now the color surged into her cheeks.
"For simply doing what I ought to do? No, indeed!" she cried.
Nor could their united protests move her. Zenda finally ceased. An ideastruck him. He beamed upon her.
"You said, last night, that you had film ambitions. Well, Miss Deane,here's my chance to repay you."
Her eyes lighted.
"Oh, I don't want you to feel that----"
Zenda scribbled upon a card.
"Take this to the studio. Johansen will make a test of you. He'll do itright away. On Monday, you telephone----"
"And then begins the big career!" cried the judge. "Well, well, MissDeane; I shall expect to see Zenda Films advertising the newest starall over the city. Eh, Zenda?"
Zenda smiled.
"I can always use a pretty girl with intelligence," he said. "Miss Deaneis certainly pretty and just as certainly intelligent. If she screens aswell as I hope----"
His unuttered promise seemed to open the gates of Fortune to Clancy. Shehardly knew afterward what she said by way of thanks. She only knew thatJudge Walbrough insisted that she use his limousine--stating that hehimself was going to take the subway down-town--and that Zenda wrung herhand warmly, and that, a moment later, she had descended in the elevatorand was in the big motor, on her way to the East-Side studio of ZendaFilms, Incorporated.
In the car, she managed to collect herself. Once again she saw herselfthe peer of the famous women of the screen; she saw herself famous,rich. Oddly enough, she thought of David Randall. She wondered how hewould feel if he knew that she was on the threshold of internationalfame. For she never doubted it. She knew that all she needed wasopportunity.
Johansen, a thin, bald, worried-seeming Swede, eyed her keenly withdeep-set blue eyes. He was in his shirt-sleeves, superintending theerection of a "set." But he ceased that work and summoned a camera-man.The Zenda command caused all to put themselves at her service. Johanseneven superintended her making-up process, of which she was abysmallyignorant. Also, he rearranged her hair. Then he conducted her to the"set" which he was erecting.
There was a table in the middle of the scene. Johansen instructed her.He put a letter on the table.
"Now, Miss Deane, you enter from the left there, you're kinda blue,downhearted--see? Then you spy this letter. You pick it up. It's foryou, and you recognize the handwriting. It's from your sweetie--get me?You smile. You open the letter. Then your smile fades away and you weep.Get me? Try it. Now, mind, it don't really matter if you can act or not.Zenda wouldn't care about that. He could teach a wooden image to act.It's just your registering--that's all. Ready? Camera!"
In Zenith, when she had played in the high-school shows, Clancy had beenself-conscious, she knew. And here, with only a bored assistant directorand an equally bored camera-man to observe her, she was even moreself-conscious. So she was agreeably surprised when Johansencomplimented her after the scene had been taken.
"You done fine!" he said. "Now let's try another. This time, you come infrom the right, happy-like. You see the letter and get blue. You read itand get happy. Got it? Shoot!"
She went through the little scene, this time with lessself-consciousness. Johansen smiled kindly upon her.
"I think you got something," he told her. "Can't tell, of course, yet.The screen is funny. Prettiest girl in the world may be a lemon on thescreen. Same goes both ways. But we'll hope."
But he couldn't dash her sense of success. She rode on air to SallyHenderson's office. Her employer was not there, Clancy had telephonedbefore meeting Walbrough, asking permission to be late, and alsoapologizing for not having returned to the office the afternoon before.
"Miss Henderson's gone out of town for the week-end," young Guernsey,the too foppishly-dressed office-manager, told her. "She left this foryou."
"This" was an envelope which Clancy quickly opened. It contained, nother discharge, which she had vaguely expected--why should her employerwrite to her otherwise?--but twenty-five dollars, half a week's salary.And Clancy was down to her last dollar!
"We close at one on Saturdays," Guernsey informed her. He himself wasbeating the closing-time by three-quarters of an hour, but Clancy waiteduntil one o'clock. Then she left. She called upon Miss Conover, but theplump, merry little dressmaker had nothing ready to try on her newestcustomer.
It didn't matter. Nothing mattered. Zenda had caused a test to be madeof her--and Clancy Deane would be upon the screen.
She wondered just what sort of parts Zenda would give her. Of course,she'd have to begin with little "bits," as Fanchon had
called them. Butsoon--oh, very soon!--she'd work up to great roles. She wanted emotionalparts; she felt that she could bring to the screen something new in theway of interpretation. All the Clancys of the world, whether it isacting or writing or singing that they wish to do, feel the same.
She took in a matinee in the afternoon. She supped, in lonely splendor,at the Trevor. And, equipped with a novel, she went to bed early. Butshe could not concentrate. Her mind wandered; and it didn't wander tothe mystery of Morris Beiner's death, or to the possibility that someone in Vandervent's office would definitely decide that she _was_Florine Ladue, nearly so often as it wandered to the Zenda studios.
She had fooled Philip Vandervent yesterday. Grannis and Weber hadpassed, so she believed, out of her life. Why should she worry? She haddone no wrong. Resolutely, she refused to fret. Instead, she went off tosleep, prepared for roseate dreams. She had them, but the awakening wasnot so roseate.
Mrs. Gerand, who, by request, roused all her lodgers on week-days,permitted them to slumber as late as they chose on Sundays. Thelodging-house, usually from seven o'clock until nine a noisy place,filled with the bustle of departing men and women, was silent as thetomb on Sunday morning. And Clancy slept until eleven o'clock, to beawakened by the landlady.
"I hate to do it, Miss Deane," she apologized, "but when letters come byspecial messenger, they're important as telegrams, I think. So I broughtthis up."
Clancy, sitting up in bed, took the note from Mrs. Gerand's hand. Afterthe landlady had gone, she opened it. And then she put her head upon thepillow and wept. For Zenda had written:
DEAR MISS DEANE:
I am at the studio, where I had them run off your test of yesterday morning. You see, I didn't waste any time. And I'm sorry to tell you that you won't do for the screen. One cannot explain it. Your skin, your features, your hair--everything about you is beautiful. And you have brains. But the camera is a tricky and unreasonable thing. All of that beauty and charm which is yours fails to register upon the screen. I cannot tell you how sorry I am, and I shall be only too glad to let you see the test yourself, so that you will not possibly doubt my good faith. If, in any other way, I can be of service to you, please command.
Yours faithfully, ZENDA.
All her illusions were shattered. She didn't wish to see the test. Shebelieved Zenda.
Slowly her sobs ceased. She had no lack of courage. Also, she was young,and youth turns from defeat to future victory in a moment's time.
Carefully, as she bathed, she removed the traces of tears. Dressed, shebreakfasted at the Trevor. Then, feeling more lonely than she had everfelt in her life, she went out upon Fifth Avenue. Groups of people wereentering a church a block away. She was not a particularly devout youngperson, but she had been a regular churchgoer at Zenith. She walked upthe avenue and into the church. She expected no consolation there; agirl or boy of twenty who can acquire consolation from religion is notexactly normal. Age turns to religion; youth away from it. But she didmanage to forget herself in the solemn service, the mellow music.
Emerging, she envied the groups that paused to chat with each other. InZenith, she knew everybody, would have also stopped to exchange commentand gossip. But here--she had failed in her great ambition. The rest wasmakeshift, a stop-gap until--until what? She didn't know. Vaguely shewondered where Randall was. Probably hundreds of miles beyond Chicagonow.
And then, as she crossed the square, her heart leaped. For she saw himreluctantly descending the steps of her lodging house. She quickened herpace. He saw her. His reluctant tread also quickened. Unmindful of thedrifts, Randall plowed across the street and joined her. She wonderedwhy he had not started on his Western trip.
And then Clancy's heart, which had been beating joyously with a gladnessthat she did not quite understand, seemed to drop to some region inchesbelow where it belonged. For, coming round the corner of ThompsonStreet--no, not coming, but stopping as he perceived her--was Spofford,the dyed-mustached detective of Vandervent's office. And with him was ashorter slighter person. Fear aided recognition. He was the elevator-manof the Heberworth Building, who had taken her up to Beiner's office lastTuesday afternoon.
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