STONER’S SHARE
Margot made an early start for Astoria. Her impatience to talk with
Corinne Delamar would have brought her to the studio still earlier if
there had been any hope of finding the star on the lot before eleven
o’clock. Very different, this voluntary call upon Corinne, to Margot’s
last visit, solicited by the star and made by Margot with bored
distaste. She laughed softly to herself, remembering her eavesdropping
and the advantage it had given her over Stoner. It might be true that
listeners never hear good of themselves, but at least it would appear
that sometimes what they heard in this unapproved manner gave them the
whip-handle in dealing with crooks, or, to be more charitable, those
who followed crooked ways.
She went straight to Corinne’s dressing-room. The colored maid said
that her mistress was doing a scene a short distance from the studio,
but would return in a half hour, she thought. Margot waited an hour,
amusing herself with a movie periodical she found in the
dressing-room. Among other diverting matter it contained an interview
with Miss Delamar, which gave a word picture of the actress as a
person of high ideals, strict views on love and marriage, and a belief
that the moving picture industry was the greatest symbol of art for
art’s sake, and morality for the world, that had so far been
discovered. Very clever of Corinne! And clever of the interviewer, who
had carefully avoided the slightest suggestion of irony. That was the
sort of thing the movie fans ate up, and what the moving-picture
industry hoped that they would digest and thrive on. There was also a
“still” of Corinne, which indicated a beauty as ravishing as it was
pure and noble. Well, well! Margot wondered if she would ever have
such a chance to laugh at a description of herself.
Corinne stood in the small doorway looking at Margot with curious but
not antagonistic eyes. Margot rose quickly and asked her pardon for
having taken the liberty of waiting for her in her dressing-room. She
particularly did not wish to see anyone else, she carefully explained.
Corinne, dressed as the heroine in _A Toreador’s Love_, and looking
prettier than usual--a purely fleshly prettiness--was gracious in a
stilted way (the only way possible to her, when she felt socially
inferior to another woman), told Margot please to sit down, and
offered her a cigarette. Margot, remembering that her father had once
told her that in any interview the first advantage lies with the one
who speaks last, deliberately waited for Corinne to begin the
conversation. Margot could be silent, with a beaming smile, and gentle
repose of manner, most misleading to strangers.
“What can I do for you, Miss Anstruther?” That wasn’t so stupid of
Corinne, Margot thought, smiling sweetly, for it put her at once in
the position of one dispensing patronage. Margot’s smile became still
more friendly and confidential.
“That’s awfully nice of you, Miss Delamar, but you see, I’ve come to
do something for _you_!”
Corinne’s cigarette hung loosely from her painted lips, as she stared
at Margot.
“I don’t quite see what _you_ can do for _me_, Miss Anstruther--in the
circumstances.” Nasty dig that, thought Margot, still smiling.
“Nevertheless,” she said gently, “I’m going to try to. And one of my
reasons for doing so, Miss Delamar, is that I have always liked you.”
Naughty Margot! What more subtle way of patronizing than to assure an
acquaintance that you’ve always liked them? Yet the genuine ring of
friendliness in her voice made Corinne say quickly:
“And, as a matter of fact, I’ve liked you, although there seemed to be
plenty of reason why I shouldn’t.”
“You’re mistaken. There hasn’t been any such reason--not for a
moment.” This time there was no doubt of Margot’s sincerity.
“You mean--what you said the last time you were here--about having no
particular use for Fred Stoner, in a personal way, I mean?”
“Yes, that, and all that stuff he filled your head with about my
working publicity in order to get an advantage over you. What I told
you that day--just the other day, but it seems ages ago--I’ve come
here to-day to prove to you, Miss Delamar.”
Corinne frowned, looking from Margot to the floor, out into space and
back at Margot as if trying to piece together disconnected facts. Then
she said:
“I don’t know what you have to tell me, but I suppose it has something
to do with your mystery story. Although I can’t imagine how _that_ can
concern Stoner or me, now that you’re no longer in the cast, Miss
Anstruther.”
“Did you read what the papers published last night and this morning?”
Margot asked quickly.
“I read this morning’s story. How much of it is true?”
“All of it! I got hold of some newspaper men last night, and made them
agree to write it up for to-day’s papers with some idea of sticking to
facts. But of course there’s a lot they didn’t print because they know
nothing about it. And it’s _that_ I’ve come here to tell you. You
remember the reference to the fat man whom Stella Ball said had come
to her room that night, with Murchison, offering to pay a certain sum
for the rental for a week of the radium stolen by Murchison?”
“Yes. The one who is supposed to have paid the girl’s hospital bill?”
Corinne seemed to make no connection yet, in her mystified brain.
“Well, that fat man--as the girl described him--was--is--a would-be
famous film director, by name Frederick Stoner!”
Corinne stared at her without speaking. The ashes from her cigarette
fell over her breast, and she threw the cigarette into a corner of the
room. Finally she said slowly:
“I suppose--Miss Anstruther--you wouldn’t dare--make such a
statement--without being able--to give proof?”
“Hardly!” Margot gave a short laugh, a hard little laugh, recalling
Stoner’s contemptible treatment of her and of Gene.
“What _is_ your proof?”
“The ‘proof’ will speak for himself.”
“You mean the man Murchison, but he’s refused, the police say, to
squeal on his customer, as he calls him. You mean you know that
Murchison will give it away in court?”
“No, I don’t mean that at all. I mean that the man himself--the one
who was there _with_ Murchison, will be the living proof, and to
_you_, Miss Delamar.”
Corinne studied her with narrowed, suspicious eyes. She seemed trying
to take the measure of the quiet, self-contained girl who sat in front
of her, throwing out vague hints, that perhaps weren’t so vague after
all. An expression flashed suddenly in her green eyes, which told
Margot that Corinne’s intelligence had risen to the occasion.
“I suppose you’re insinuating, Miss Anstruther, that you’ve got enough
on Fred Stoner to force his confession?”
“Precisely! And his confession to you in my presence, if you’ll be so
kind as to send for him. And just one thing more, before he comes. I
don’t believe that Stoner is always aboveboard in his affairs with
women. I want to confess something myself. The other day, when you
sent for me, I started to go to my dressing-room before seeing you. As
I reached the foot of the stairs, I heard your voice talking about me.
I felt no hesitancy in listening, after hearing my own name, in view
of your sending for me and of the attitude Stoner had taken about my
investigating the mystery of my room.”
“Do you mean to say you heard the whole conversation?” Corinne’s red
lips trembled and her eyes darkened with anger.
“Hardly that, for I’ve no idea how long it was going on before I
arrived. Also I ran off after I’d heard enough to prove what I’d
already suspected, that he was trying his best to start something
between you and me.”
“You didn’t hear anything--anything of a more--personal nature?”
“Personal, you mean, Miss Delamar, as between you and Stoner? I’m
afraid I did. I heard enough to understand that you thought--as you
implied to me in our _first_ short interview--that I was flirting with
him, and that he was interested in me. I heard also enough to know
that he has either lied to you or lied to me or--as is quite as
likely--lied to both of us. I heard him assure you of his loyal
devotion, or something like that, and of his utter indifference to me.
And I want to tell you, because I really like you, that his advances
toward me, whatever his motives may have been, took the form of forced
love-making in my room, when he had come unbidden, with the excuse of
having a theory to give me about my mystery. And not only did he force
his physical attentions, but he begged me to marry him, took away my
job because I refused--incidentally I struck him across the
face--because I lost my temper--and told me he’d give the job back to
me any time I might decide to marry him.”
Corinne had not interrupted by a word or a gesture, merely watching
with eyes that glinted like a cat’s. Then she said:
“I believe what you say, for if your statement about his being the man
who wanted to rent the radium is true, then you can punish him enough
in that direction without revenging yourself by lying about his asking
you to marry him.”
Margot, rather amazed by Corinne’s ability to reason so logically,
said eagerly:
“That’s absolutely right. My only reason for telling you that part of
the story which concerns Stoner and myself in a personal way, is
because it concerns you also, in so much as I have reason to believe
that you’ve felt an interest in Stoner which I’m afraid he doesn’t
appreciate. As one woman to another, I want to warn you.”
In spite of the makeup on cheeks and lips, Corinne had turned very
white. Margot felt a chill disgust, tempered by pity, that so pretty,
and, she believed, decent a girl as Corinne, should have fallen for a
man like Stoner. Corinne moistened her dry lips and called to her
maid. She told her to find the director and tell him that Miss Delamar
must see him at once on an urgent matter. Then she cautioned the maid,
in no circumstances to let Stoner suspect that she had a caller in her
dressing-room.
Corinne turned to her dressing-table, studied her face in the mirror,
and carefully rubbed in some cold cream, rubbed it off, added a soft
liquid powder, then a cream rouge on lips and cheeks, then a soft
dusting of powder. Also she put some drops in her eyes. Then she
forced a smile and told Margot that she was ready to receive the
“would-be famous film director.” Strange, Margot thought, that
although Corinne had been loath to believe ill of Stoner when it
concerned crooked outside dealings, she seemed to have accepted
Margot’s arraignment of him regarding their personal relations,
without question!
Margot would never forget Stoner’s expression when he stood just
inside the small dressing-room, and met her amused and calmly accusing
eyes. Corinne, watching him with her green eyes, did not miss the
quick batting of his eyelids, the drawing in of his thick lips, and
the yellowish film that covered, for an instant, the iris of his pale
blue eyes, when his first glance discovered Margot sitting at ease in
the star’s dressing-room.
Again Margot conferred the disadvantage on her antagonist, by giving
him the first chance to speak, and Corinne intuitively did the same.
Stoner, his eyes half covered by his heavy lids, looked with surly
assurance from one woman to the other. Instinctively he seemed to feel
their alignment, and antagonism to him.
“What do you want?” he said with gruff abruptness, his expressionless
eyes fixed on the star.
Before Corinne could answer him, Margot said quietly:
“_She_ doesn’t really want anything of you, Mr. Stoner. _I’m_ the one
who wants to see you.” She held his eyes with a gaze so keen and
masterful that his glance wavered and fell.
“I just wanted to tell you, Mr. Stoner, in the presence of Miss
Delamar, that I know, beyond any possibility of doubt or denial on
your part, that you were the man who went to the room of Stella Ball
and who wanted to rent that radium!”
As if against his will, his eyes once more met Margot’s. There was no
mistaking that look of fear, followed swiftly by a gleam of anger.
“Hell of a lot you know about me!”
His language, though inelegant, made Margot smile in his face, which
enraged him still further. He glared at her venomously.
“I was a fool to choose _you_ that day, instead of Lulu Leinster.”
Margot’s irritating smile broadened.
“I believe I’ve heard you express those sentiments before, Mr. Stoner.
In view of what I know about you, your reason for choosing me that
day, for the picture, is quite obvious. I repeat my accusation about
Stella Ball and the radium.”
Stoner’s face grew purple. “What the devil do you mean by telling such
lies? Don’t you know you can be sued for libel--defamation of
character?” His threat held so much bluster that it made Margot smile
again.
“Not by you, Mr. Stoner, for what I accuse you of isn’t libel or
defamation of character. It’s God’s truth. Quite apart from the way
you aroused my suspicions by all that rot about publicity, and your
evident eagerness to make me drop the matter of my mystery--not to
mention a very strange expression I caught in your eyes several times,
notably when I first gave you my address; your behavior the night you
called on me (your call was merely a ruse to examine that room), your
extraordinary antics in the room where the policeman was keeping
guard, and your still more extraordinary and utterly unconvincing
theory about the lights and the hand putting them out--merely an
attempt to choke off my theories, or an excuse for your call; all this
set the stage beautifully for the final curtain.” She stopped,
watching him with amusement overlaying her serious intent to corner
him.
“What do you mean?” Sheer curiosity forced the quick question.
“I mean, Mr. Stoner, the remarkable kick I got out of your picture
_The Masque of Life_, with its weird and absurd portrayal of the magic
properties of radium!”
She saw his lips twitch and his pale eyes grow darker as the pupils
dilated. She knew that what she saw, Corinne must also see, but she
would not shift her glance from Stoner’s self-accusing face.
“I’m a damn fool to stand here talking to you,” he said, wetting his
lips. “But since you’ve started things, you might as well finish. What
in all creation has that picture got to do with that girl Stella and
the man Murchison?”
“Everything in creation,” Margot said, smiling. “I’m not accusing you
of having a thing to do with the _theft_ of the radium, Mr. Stoner,
but I do assert that when you wanted to get more realism into your
picture, you thought it would be a fine idea to get hold of some
radium. I haven’t _yet_ mastered all the details of your acquaintance
with Murchison, but I know beyond all doubt, that you tried your best
to get the radium _he’d_ stolen, _knowing_ he’d stolen it, which of
course, makes you an accessory after the crime, Mr. Stoner.”
He worked his mouth into a twisted, scornful smile, as he said
threateningly:
“You just try, young lady, making any public charge like the one
you’ve just made.”
“She won’t have to! _I’ll_ do the charging--to our board of
directors!” Corinne stood up and glared into his astonished eyes.
Surprise changed to insensate rage as he stared back at his star.
“You will, will you! Well, you just try it, and see where _you_ get
off!”
“Oh,” she said calmly, “I expect to get off very well, thank you. I
expect to get a new director for our company who won’t have to consort
with crooks in order to put on pictures and make himself famous.”
“You’re crazy!” He looked a little that way himself, as his lips and
hands worked convulsively. “What do you think you can prove of this
girl’s wild story? Nothing--absolutely nothing!”
“Oh, yes she can, Mr. Stoner.” Margot’s voice had velvet in it, and
her smile was sweeter than ever. “You seem to have forgotten that the
girl Stella Ball, although deprived of one arm, thanks to the quarrel
between you and Murchison, still has the perfect use of her eyes--both
of them. She says she could pick you out anywhere, at a single glance.
She’ll never forget you, she says.”
Lie, little Margot, lie in a good cause! Why not! It was a good and a
safe card to play, for without doubt Stella _would_ recognize Stoner
at a glance, even if she failed to describe him accurately. And the
wild shot went straight home. Stoner seemed to crumble, morally, right
before their eyes. Margot, quick to follow up an advantage, went on
with quiet assurance.
“You see, Mr. Stoner, you can do one of three things. You’re really
lucky to have so much to choose from, and you really owe that to me.
You can make a break for the open; get out while the getting’s still
good, prove--to our satisfaction--your guilt beyond question, but
escape, perhaps, its penalty. Or you can face your board of directors
and deny my accusations, which will enable _me_ to prove them to
_every_one’s satisfaction. Or--and permit me to suggest that this last
would be your wisest course--you can admit the facts to your board of
directors, plead clemency, which Miss Delamar and I will also plead
for you, take what’s coming to you, so far as getting out of this
company is concerned, and escape the penalty of the law, also the
ignominy of having other film companies hear the truth about you. I’m
sure that if you make it easy for everyone concerned, your board of
directors will agree to keep the story from spreading.”
Corinne’s large and expressive eyes stared at Margot with an
admiration as sincere as it was obvious. Then the star turned a
haughty glance of dismissal at Stoner.
“That’s about all, Fred Stoner, except that I’d like to tell you that
I’m fully aware of all the lies you’ve told me, first and last, and if
I do agree to do what Miss Anstruther suggests, and ask the Board to
give you clemency, I want you to understand that it will be because
I’d be afraid that otherwise, your vast and ridiculous conceit would
imagine I was trying to wreak vengeance on you for personal reasons.
And now, please go!”
He went--without another word--and Margot returned in full measure,
the admiration Corinne had given her.
“That was very, very clever of you,” she said earnestly. “That last
remark, I mean. I think that between us, Miss Delamar, we’ve been just
a little too much for the gentleman.”
“Gentleman!” Corinne’s scorn lay too deep for humor or irony.
“Just a form of speech, my dear. And now let me tell you how very glad
I am that you and I are going to be friends, as of course we shall be
after this. And, by the way, could you fix it up so that I can be
present at the meeting of the board of directors?”
“Certainly,” Corinne said warmly. “I wouldn’t miss having you there.
In fact, it’s quite necessary that you should be. And I am glad too
that we can be friends. And I’m grateful to you for showing me what an
awful fool I’ve been for taking any stock in that man, or anything
that he’s ever said to me.”
“Oh, I didn’t mean it that way,” Margot said hastily. “I don’t think
you’ve been a fool at all, but I didn’t want to see you in danger of
being put in a false position.”
“Very nice of you to put it that way. Well, good-by!” And she took
Margot’s outstretched hand in a friendly clasp of good-fellowship and
trust.
And that was that, as Margot said to herself, with her ironic and
characteristic manner of disposing of a situation or a problem.