Bob sat down a little hurriedly.
“I’d like it very much,” he replied. “But why this sudden idea?”
His brother lit a cigarette and leaned back in his chair.
“Do you remember Elmer Myers?” he counter-questioned.
Bob wrinkled his forehead in thought.
“Elmer Myers?” he repeated. “I seem to have heard the name, but I can’t place it for the moment.”
“Elmer Myers came over here for a holiday two years ago, and got into the hands of Harvey, the con-man and his gang. They relieved him of fifty thousand pounds for a dud British picture company they said they were floating.”
“And you got it back,” his brother nodded quickly. “Yes, I remember now. Rather a nice fellow, scared stiff that the business would get in the papers and everybody would laugh at him.”
“That’s the man,” said Paul Rivington, drawing steadily at his cigarette, and blowing a wreath of smoke towards the ceiling. “He came to me instead of going to the police so as to avoid publicity.” He paused, and Bob, impatient to hear the reason for the proposed trip, prompted him.
“Well,” he said, “what has Elmer Myers got to do with this trip to Hollywood?”
“Everything,” answered Paul. “He has inspired it.” He swung half round in his chair, so that he was completely facing the other. “Just after you went out,” he went on, “I had a transatlantic telephone call from Myers. He’s in a frantic state, and wants me to go out at once.”
Bob’s eyes sparkled.
“What’s wrong?” he asked.
“Apparently he’s just finished a super-picture — a sort of super-picture to end super-picture idea. He was full of superlatives about it — it cost a million dollars — never been anything like it in the history of the film industry, and all that. Well, the negative of this colossal masterpiece has been stolen, and Myers’ film-editor and cutter, a fellow called Perry Lamont, murdered.”
Bob whistled.
“Sounds interesting,” he remarked.
“I thought so, too,” agreed his brother. “That’s why I booked a suite on the Ile de France, which leaves Southampton tomorrow morning.”
“Why didn’t Myers get on to the Californian police? It would have saved time,” said Bob.
“I suggested that,” replied Paul, “and his reason is that the theft of this film has got to be kept a secret. Mammoth Pictures haven’t been doing so well lately, and this picture was to be their magnum opus and put them on their feet. Myers has borrowed money from the banks to make it, and he daren’t apparently let them know that the thing’s been stolen, or they’ll all come down on him for the immediate return of their money, with the result that he’ll have to go bankrupt.”
“I see,” said his brother. “He wants you to get it back before anyone knows that it’s been stolen?”
“That’s the idea in a nutshell,” agreed Paul.
“It’s going to be a pretty difficult job,” said Bob; “by the time we get there the trail will be cold.”
“Icy,” said his brother with a shrug of his shoulders. “I told Myers, but he begged me to come all the same; and anyway we can do our best”
He rose to his feet and began to pace up and down.
“I must confess I’m terribly interested, because I think this is the first thing of its kind that’s ever happened. It’s entirely without precedent. A good many things have been stolen but never the negative of a super-picture before.”
“It sounds quite unique,” agreed Bob. “Of course, without the negative they’re helpless.”
“Oh, completely,” said his brother. “The film might just as well never have been made. Unless it can be found, the only thing they could do would be to take the picture all over again, and that, from the expense point of view, is impossible.”
“Has Myers any suspicion who the people are that pinched it?” asked Bob.
Paul stopped in his walk, and nodded.
“I believe he has,” he replied. “He hinted as much, but he wouldn’t mention any names on the telephone.”
“If he’s right, that’s going to make the job a little easier,” said his brother.
Paul pursed his lips.
“There’s a tremendous gulf between suspicion and certainty,” he said, “and a larger one between certainty and proof. However, at the present moment I’ve only the vaguest details of the affair, so I think we will leave all speculation and discussion until after we have reached Hollywood and have seen Myers.”
Chapter 6
THE DOUBLE-CROSS
Mr Oscar Levenstein sat at his big desk, a scowl on his face and the end of a gold toothpick leaping up and down between his over-red lips. The presence of the toothpick was a sure sign that Mr Levenstein was worried. The hour was very late; in fact, with the exception of Mr Levenstein, the entire household had been in bed for over two hours. From time to time as he sat staring at the white blotting-pad in front of him the film magnate shifted his gaze from the face of the little desk-clock, and on these occasions his frown would deepen. He would raise his eyes from the clock to the open French windows, as though he were expecting somebody. He was in truth expecting Mr Lefty Guinan and his satellite Spike Munro, and both these enterprising gentlemen were an hour late. Mr Levenstein’s anger was slowly rising. He was not accustomed to people being late when he commanded their presence, for in his own sphere he was treated like a tin god, and the experience had rather spoiled him. The only evidence of his anger, however, lay in the erratic movement of the toothpick, for Mr Levenstein had schooled himself never to show his emotion.
For another half-hour he sat there, and then a sound outside made him look towards the open windows, his head slightly on one side in a listening attitude. It was only a slight sound — the soft crunch of a foot on gravel, but it was the sound for which Mr Levenstein had been waiting. He watched the blue oblong of the window, and presently a man’s figure appeared against the moonlight and stepped into the room.
“You’re late,” grunted Mr Levenstein, and waved towards a chair.
Lefty Guinan came farther into the room, and behind him appeared the smaller figure of Spike Munro.
“Sure I’m late,” said Guinan, sitting down. “Couldn’t get here before.”
It was significant that he made no form of apology. Mr Levenstein noticed this and his eyes narrowed, but he made no comment. All he said was:
“What about this film? Have you brought it?”
Lefty Guinan leaned back in his chair and crossed his legs and shook his head.
“No,” he replied slowly. “I guess I want to talk to you about that.”
Mr Levenstein leaned forward and applied the end of his cigar to a desk-lighter.
“What is there to talk about?” he said. “You’ve done your job, and I’m only waiting for you to hand over the picture before giving you the balance of the money.”
“That’s what I want to talk about,” said Lefty Guinan smoothly.
“Well?” A harsh note had come into Mr Levenstein’s voice. “It’s waiting for you — twenty-five thousand dollars — in cash.”
“I’ve been kinder talkin’ things over with Spike — ” Lefty jerked his head towards his silent companion “ — and we’ve decided that twenty-five thousand bucks ain’t enough.”
Mr Munro, chewing steadily, bowed his head in confirmation. The man behind the desk looked from one to the other. Whatever he may have been thinking was impossible to judge from his expression.
“I see,” he said after a slight pause. “You’ve decided it’s not enough, eh?”
“Sure I have,” answered Guinan. “The job was more difficult than I expected, and it’s become much more dangerous — for us. The bumpin’ off of that fellow Lamont would probably mean the chair for us if we were caught. I guess it wouldn’t be any good us swearin’ we had nothin’ to do with it; nobody ’ud believe us.”
“I don’t suppose they would,” said Mr Levenstein dryly. “I’m n
ot sure that I believe you myself.”
“That don’t worry me any,” retorted Guinan, “I’ve told you the truth; the fellow was dead when we got there — ”
“Never mind about that,” broke in Levenstein impatiently. “I’m not the least interested in Perry Lamont, alive or dead. You’re not satisfied with the amount that we agreed on? How much more do you want?”
“Two hundred thousand dollars,” said Lefty Guinan briefly.
“That,” said Mr Levenstein, “is absurd. Talk sense!”
“Sure, I am talkin’ sense,” said Guinan. “There’s a lot of sense in two hundred thousand dollars.”
“Supposing I refuse to pay that amount,” said Oscar Levenstein, “what happens then?”
Lefty uncrossed his legs and sat forward.
“Well, then,” he said, “I guess we don’t part with that film.”
There was a short silence. Mr Munro’s jaws continued to move up and down rhythmically. Mr Levenstein steadily drew on his cigar, blowing a series of smoke rings towards the ceiling.
“If you keep the film,” he said, at last, “you get nothing more from me. The film is of no value to you at all — ”
“Sure it isn’t, but it’s of value to Mammoth Pictures,” interrupted Lefty Guinan. “Maybe if you won’t pay up they’ll be only too glad to hand over what I’ve asked to get it back.”
For a second Mr Levenstein’s face was distorted by a spasm of rage, and it looked so threatening that Lefty Guinan’s hand went to his hip pocket. Before he could pull the gun, however, the mask had dropped again and the film magnate’s face was expressionless.
“So that’s the idea, is it?” he said smoothly. “A little double-crossing, eh? My friend, let me tell you that Mammoth Pictures hasn’t got two hundred thousand cents, let alone dollars.”
“I guess they’d find them quick enough,” said Guinan. “They’ve got to have that film back to save themselves from ruin. Yes, sir, they’d sure find the cash quick enough, and gladly.”
There was another pause while Mr, Levenstein thoughtfully examined the glowing end of his cigar.
“Supposing,” he said presently, “I agree to your terms. When do I get the film?”
“Tomorrow mornin’,” answered Lefty promptly. “Make a date and I’ll hand over the film in exchange for the cash.”
“Very well,” Mr Levenstein nodded. “I agree. Meet me at the disused studio at ten-thirty, bring the film, and I’ll bring the cash.”
“Sure that’s a deal.” Lefty rose to his feet. “I’ll be there sharp on time.”
He held out his hand, but Mr Levenstein suddenly became short-sighted.
“Good night,” he said briefly, and nodded towards the French windows.
On the way back to their lodgings Lefty became voluble concerning his cleverness.
“Didn’t I tell you it would work all right?” he chuckled delightedly. “Two hundred thousand bucks as easy as kiss your hand! And if I hadn’t been smart we might have put up with a mouldy twenty-five thousand.”
“Sure you’re a swell guy,” said sycophantic Mr Munro.
“It was easier than I thought it would be,” said Lefty. “I guess he saw that I meant what I said, and that it was no use arguin’. Spike, we’ll open that bottle of hooch and celebrate.”
They reached their sitting room at Macks in high spirits, and as the rye whisky which Guinan produced from his suitcase fell lower in the bottle so their spirits rose correspondingly.
“Here’s to the million dollar film,” said Lefty a little thickly, raising his fifth glass and gulping the contents at a draught. “Let’s bring it out and have a look at it.”
He got up, took a key from his pocket and unlocked his big cabin trunk. From it he took a large circular steel box and carried it back to the table.
“Might as well look at it for the last time,” he said, jerking back the lid and displaying the rolls of celluloid. “Take a look at that, Spike; that’s the thing that’s put two hundred thousand bucks in our pockets!”
He pulled out a big roll of film and held it up to the light.
“Sure, it’s fine — ” began Spike, but his words were drowned in a howl of rage which burst from Lefty Guinan’s lips.
“This ain’t the film!” he cried. “Look at this, Spike!”
He flung the reel across the room at his companion, half sobbing with disappointment and fury.
“That old devil’s done us! He’s done us! But I’ll get even with him, the old…! I’ll kill him for this!” He stopped, panting, and Mr Munro picked up the roll of film and looked at it.
It was a very worn copy of one of Charlie Chaplin’s earlier comedies!
Chapter 7
THE CONFERENCE
Mr Elmer Myers paced up and down the big study of his house at Beverley Hills. It was a comfortable room — the room of a worker. There were people who said that Mr Myers’ study was more like an office than a room in a private house, and to these the managing director of Mammoth Pictures would invariably reply:
“Well, I guess I do the greater part of my work here, so why shouldn’t it be like an office?”
Neither Mr Myers nor Frank Leyland, who stood staring out through the tall French windows on to the neatly shaven lawn, was working at that moment. The young film director looked harassed and worried; there were dark rings under his eyes and signs of strain round his mouth. Even in the middle of making a film, when he sometimes worked for sixteen hours at a stretch, he had never looked like this. As for Elmer Myers, no one would have recognised him as the big genial man of a fortnight ago. His clothes hung on him loosely, as though his body had wasted, and the skin of his face was flabby and unhealthy-looking. Great puffy pouches of leaden-coloured flesh underlined his eyes, and two deep creases had appeared between his brows, and his lips, once so firm, had become loose and moved constantly as though he were speaking to himself.
He came over to the chair behind the littered table, hesitated uncertainly, and dropped into it heavily.
“What are we going to do, Frank?” he said hopelessly.
Frank Leyland turned from his aimless and unprofitable contemplation of the garden and walked slowly to the desk. He wondered how many times Elmer Myers had made the same remark since the loss of the super-film and the murder of Lamont.
“What can we do,” he asked, perching himself on the edge of the big oak table, “except wait for this fellow Rivington to arrive?”
“Nothing, I suppose.” Elmer Myers passed a hand that shook over his eyes. “We can’t afford delay, Frank; only this morning the renters rang up, asking when they could have a copy of the film so that they could arrange the trade show. I had to stall ’em, but I can’t keep on stallin’ ’em. Sooner or later, unless we can get the picture back, I’ll have to tell ’em the truth, and then — ” He made an expressive gesture. “The banks’ll go up in the air and so shall I!”
“You’ve got a pretty good excuse at the moment,” said Leyland, “in the fact that Lamont was killed. You can stick to your story that he and I were in the middle of cutting the picture. That’s a good excuse for not having it ready.”
“I guess that’s all right as far as it goes, Frank,” agreed Elmer Myers, “but how far has it got to go? I can’t keep it up forever. And there’s no reason why we shouldn’t get hold of another cutter.”
“The only thing we can do is to wait for Rivington and hope for the best,” said Frank Leyland. He reached over and patted the older man on the shoulder. “Cheer up, Elmer, perhaps something will happen to straighten things out.”
“You’re a good guy, Frank,” said Mr Myers, and there was a little catch in his voice. “I don’t know what I should have done without you. Gone clean crazy, I reckon. You’re the only fellow I’ve been able to open up to and it’s helped.”
“What are the police doing about Lamont’s death?” asked the young director.
“That’s one of the things that’s worrying me,” confessed Elmer Myers. �
��I saw Captain Willing this morning, and apparently they’ve got some idea that young Dick Rennit had something to do with it.”
“Rennit?” Leyland frowned for a second, and then his face cleared. “You mean the stunt man?”
“That’s the guy,” he answered. “Apparently he had a quarrel with Lamont and knocked him down or something on Sunset Boulevard. Anyway, somebody has come forward and given information to that effect.”
“But it’s a lot of rubbish!” exclaimed Leyland. “It’s obvious that the people who got into the studio that night were experts, and that there were two of them. What about the watchman’s story and the way the doors were opened? They used a blow-pipe. It’s absurd to suspect Rennit.”
“Sure, that’s what I said,” answered Myers, “but I don’t think the argument cut any ice with Willing. His idea is that Rennit was in with this bunch of crooks. He got them to break into the studios, and finding Lamont there, took the opportunity to pay off a little private score of his own.”
“What was the cause of the quarrel between Lamont and Rennit?” asked Leyland.
“It was over some girl or other,” said Myers. “You know what Lamont was like. I guess he was a good cutter, but his goodness finished there! The thing is, Frank, that if they arrest Rennit I’m going to be in a pretty bad position.”
“How?” said the other.
“Why, don’t you see I shall have to let out about the picture,” answered Myers. “At the present moment they don’t know anything about that. I’ve kept it under my hat. When they asked me I told them nothing had been stolen, and if they arrest this guy I shall have to speak.”
Frank Leyland nodded slowly, and the worried look on his good-looking face deepened.
“I suppose you will,” he said softly. “Yes, of course you will.”
There was a moment’s silence.
“Rennit couldn’t have had anything to do with the stealing of the film, could he?” he asked presently.
Elmer Myers pursed up his lips.
“I shouldn’t think so,” he said, shaking his head. “I guess the only man who had anything to do with that is Levenstein,”
The Con Man Page 4