Just what happened within a day or two to determine Tish’s later
course, I cannot say. We know that she had a long talk with Mr.
Macmanus himself, and that he maintained that his intentions were of
the most honorable--namely, to earn a small salary--and that his idea
was that the final embrace could be limited to his kissing her hand.
“I have ventured so to suggest, madam,” Hannah reported him as saying,
“but they care nothing for art here. Nothing. They reduce everything to
its physical plane, absolutely.”
That our dear Tish was in a trap evidently became increasingly clear
to her as the next few days passed. Nothing else would have forced
her to the immediate course she pursued, and which resulted in such
ignominious failure.
It was, I believe, a week after the interview with Mr. Stein, and with
the picture drawing rapidly to a close, that Tish retired early one
night and was inaccessible to us.
We were entirely unsuspicious, as the day had been a hard one, Tish
having been washed from her horse while crossing a stream and having
sunk twice before they stopped shooting the picture to rescue her.
Aggie, I remember, was remarking that after all Macmanus was a handsome
man, and that some people wouldn’t object to being embraced by him at a
thousand dollars a week, when Hannah came bolting in.
“She’s gone!” she cried.
“Gone? Who’s gone?”
“Miss Tish. Her room’s empty and I can’t find her valise.”
Only partially attired we rushed along the corridor. Hannah had been
only too right. Our dear Tish had flown.
I did not then, nor do I now, admit that this flight, and the other
which followed it, indicate any weakness in Letitia Carberry. The
strongest characters must now and then face situations too strong for
them and depart, as the poet says, “to fight another day.”
I do, however, question the wisdom of her course, for it put her
enemies on guard and involved us finally in most unhappy circumstances.
Be that as it may, we had closed Tish’s door on its emptiness and were
about to depart, when on turning she herself stood before us!
She said nothing. She simply passed on and into the room, traveling bag
in hand, and closed and locked the door between us.
We believe now that her flight was not unexpected, and that her door
and windows had been under surveillance. Certainly she was met at the
station by Mr. Stein and his attorney and was forced to turn back,
under threat of such legal penalties as we know not of. Certainly, too,
she had closed that avenue of escape to further attempts, and knew it.
But from Tish herself we have until now had no confidences.
Some slight revenge she had, we know, the following day. As this
portion of the picture has received very good notices, it may interest
the reader to know under what circumstances it was taken.
I have mentioned the scene in the studio where the smugglers were
banqueting, and Tish, followed by revenue officers, was to appear and,
after a shot or two, force them to subjection. Aggie and I had been
permitted to watch this, the crowning scene of the picture, and stood
behind the camera. The musicians were playing For He’s a Jolly Good
Fellow, and the rum runners were drinking cold tea in champagne glasses
and getting very drunk over it, when Tish entered.
Aggie took one look at her and clutched my arm.
“I don’t like her expression, Lizzie,” she whispered. “She----”
At that moment Tish fired, and the bandit who’d been standing gave a
loud bellow. She had shot his wine glass out of his hand.
“Stop the camera!” the chief smuggler called in a loud voice. “She’s
crazy! She’s got that gun loaded!”
The director, however, seemed delighted, and called to the camera men
to keep on grinding.
“Great stuff, Miss Carberry!” he yelled. “I didn’t think anybody could
put life in these wooden soldiers, but you have. Keep it up, only
don’t kill anyone. Hold it, everybody! Camera! Camera! Now shoot out
the lights, Miss Carberry, and I’ll think up something to follow while
you’re doing it.”
I believe now that he referred to the candles on the table, but Tish
either did not or would not understand. A second later there were two
crashes of broken glass, and wild howls from the men with the arc lamps
above, which lighted the scene. The stage was in semidarkness, and
pieces of glass and metal and the most frightful language continued to
drop from above. In the confusion all I could hear was the director
muttering something about five hundred dollars gone to perdition, and
the rush of the entire company from the stage.
It has been no surprise to me that this scene has made the great hit of
the picture, the critics describing it as a classical study in fear. It
was, indeed.
This small explosion of indignation had one good effect, however. Tish
was almost her own self that night, recalling with a certain humor that
a piece of one arc lamp had fallen down and had hit Mr. Macmanus on the
head.