A SUSPICIOUS MOVE
The rest of the company were waiting for Ruth and the Camerons and the
two stars, in accordance with the agreement. Ruth received them in her
sitting room that evening, gave to each one a copy of the new script and
requested that all read it thoroughly before they arrived at Montana.
“It will save time for rehearsals,” she told them, smiling. “And I have
an idea that when we reach Golden Pass we shall want to start shooting
scenes fast and furious. Now, let’s see! Are we all here?”
She counted them and found them all on hand from Dave Sentner, the
comedian of the pictures, who was really the soberest and quietest of
men, to the old character man who was to play the part of the aged, deaf
trapper in her picture and who was as talkative and as quick-eared as
anybody.
There were two cameramen and two assistant directors, experienced and
capable men, all. They were glad to see Ruth and eager to start for the
scene of the new picture.
Ruth sketched out briefly her scenario for them, pointing out what part
theirs would be in the filming and directing of it. While she was
speaking the other members of her company gathered around her, listening
with interest and now and then nodding approbation.
“Sounds great to me,” said Shepley, the tall, thin director who was
really Ruth’s right hand man, her help and guide in many details of
picture making. “Gives a chance for fine scenes and powerful acting.”
“The landslide now,” said one of the cameramen, eyes gleaming with
anticipation. “Zowie, that ought to be a knockout!”
The general enthusiasm of her company would have delighted Ruth more if
she had not been so persistently troubled by the subject of the large
payroll. Her company numbered a round twenty in all just as they stood
in the sitting room of the Chicago hotel. And there would be more when
they reached Montana, extras to be picked up on the spot for the purpose
of providing local color. But even the humblest extra must be paid.
Ruth sighed, but, seeing that Tom was regarding her questioningly,
changed the sigh to a smile. There was no use in borrowing trouble and,
for to-night at least, they might be gay!
Having rounded up all her company there was little left to do save to
book reservations to Montana. This was Tom’s task, and he went out to
attend to it, leaving Helen and Ruth alone for the first time since they
had left Cheslow.
“I declare, I’d like to have something to eat here, if it was only a
chicken sandwich and a glass of milk,” said Helen, looking around the
cozy sitting room of Ruth’s suite. “It’s going to take just about all
the courage I possess to get all dressed up and face that mob in the
dining room.”
Ruth laughed.
“I don’t see why we can’t eat here if we want to,” she agreed. “It would
be rather nice--and I have one or two changes I ought to make in the
script.”
She picked up the telephone and called the dining room, giving an order
for dinner to be served promptly at seven o’clock.
“I suppose Tommy’s invited?” suggested Helen, and Ruth looked at her,
flushing a little.
“Tom--of course!” she said briefly, and went back to her work.
There was a long silence while Helen idly turned the pages of a
magazine, watching Ruth while she pretended not to do so.
Then, casually, as though the subject had just occurred to her, she
said:
“About this awfully good-looking fellow, Boardman, Ruth. You don’t share
Tom’s suspicions of him, do you?”
Ruth deliberately finished the changes she was making in the script,
then gathered her papers together and put them away.
“I haven’t the slightest reason to suspect Layton Boardman,” she said,
meeting Helen’s glance calmly. “And I’m quite sure Tom hasn’t either.
Has he been saying things to you about him?”
“Not especially,” Helen admitted. “Only hinted that there might be
trouble from Sol Bloomberg--a sort of battle for possession, as it
were.”
“There is a chance we may have trouble with Bloomberg,” Ruth returned,
the shadow of worry again crossing her face. “But whatever trouble we
have I’m quite sure won’t come from Layton Boardman.”
Helen opened her mouth as though to speak, thought better of it, and
closed it again.
Ruth skillfully turned the subject to lighter things and no more was
said concerning Bloomberg that evening. Dinner was served promptly at
seven and Tom returned in plenty of time for his share of it.
“Now, children,” said Helen, as Tom entered the door of the apartment
followed immediately by the waiter bearing the dinner, “I refuse to
allow you to talk shop this evening. You may talk sense or nonsense and
we will eat. But no moving pictures shall be mixed with the dinner.”
“Aren’t you going to let Tom report as to the time of leaving?” asked
Ruth.
“No, not before eating. Um-um!” she went on. “Chicken-a-la-king! The
crispest of lettuce! And these rolls----”
“Merely chicken hash, if you ask me,” put in Tom.
“Come, Tommy-boy, cheer up,” observed his twin.
Tom did cheer up, and the meal went on merrily, all worry, all thoughts
of business, pushed into the background.
“It _is_ a comfort to get away from that mob downstairs,” remarked Tom,
as he threw himself into an easy chair to sip his after-dinner coffee.
“Yes,” agreed Ruth. “Still, I do love the work and the excitement of it
all. But now, Tom, what were the fortunes of the afternoon?” But with
her question all her cheerfulness left her, and once more a look of
worry came into her eyes.
Tom declared that fortune had been with him and that he had been able to
secure reservations for the entire company on the train leaving Chicago
for Montana at ten o’clock the following morning.
Her enthusiasm once more alight at the prospect of starting so soon,
Ruth forgot about Sol Bloomberg and the possibility of trouble from that
quarter.
She was forcibly reminded of it, however, the following morning and in a
way which she could least have expected.
She and Helen had run out early to do a bit of shopping before the train
started--Helen simply had to have a new hat!--when they met Viola
Callahan. The latter was evidently bound on the same mission as
themselves and offered to take them around to her favorite hat shop.
Always willing to be shown where millinery was concerned, the two girls
accompanied her readily enough. What struck them as suspicious was the
abrupt manner in which the girl took her departure after introducing
them to the shop. Uttering something entirely unintelligible, she
suddenly darted off into the crowd, leaving Ruth and Helen to stare
after her, amazed and questioning.
“I bet she saw some one she wanted to talk to in a hurry,” said Helen
excitedly. “Come on, Ruthie, let’s see for ourselves.”
Ruth allowed herself to be hurried along through the crowd. Several
times they thought they had missed Viola entirely and were tempted to
give up the absurd chase.
Then Ruth suddenly caught Helen’s arm and drew her to a standstill.
“Over there!” she whispered. “Near the corner! And she’s talking to--oh,
Helen--it can’t be!”
But it was! Ruth’s second glance told her that beyond all shadow of a
doubt the man with whom Viola Callahan was engaged in earnest
conversation was none other than an agent of Sol Bloomberg’s.
Ruth knew the man only slightly, but she was well aware that his
reputation for shady dealing and shrewd ruthlessness was only second to
that of his employer. A worthy servant of a worthy master.
“Who is it? Who is that man talking to Viola?” Helen was whispering
excitedly at her elbow.
“Sh-h! Don’t let them see we’ve caught them.” Ruth grasped Helen’s hand
excitedly. “Let’s get out of this!”
It was not until their faces were once more turned toward the hotel,
their search for a hat temporarily forgotten, that Ruth would explain
the curious incident.
“It probably doesn’t mean a thing,” she said then, trying to speak
naturally. “But that man is an agent for Sol Bloomberg. I know him
slightly and his reputation much better,” she added grimly.
Helen thought this over for a moment.
“What do you gather from it?” she asked.
“Nothing in particular,” Ruth answered slowly. “As I said, I may be
borrowing trouble. Viola may have met Charlie Reid by accident. It may
have been simply a chance encounter. Then again----”
“She may have met him by appointment! It seemed curious the way she left
us and dashed off into the crowd----”
“As though she wanted to get rid of us and was rather afraid she might
be followed,” Ruth finished, meeting her chum’s excited gaze. “Yes, it
does seem strange. And then, her talking to that man at this time----”
“What do you think he--or rather, Sol Bloomberg--wants of her?” asked
Helen, her mind turning over this new development. She loved intrigue of
any kind. “Do you think he wants to sign her up for himself?”
“Stranger things have happened,” Ruth answered dryly.
“But she has a contract with you,” said Helen. “Duly signed and
witnessed.”
“Actresses,” Ruth returned in the same tone, “have been known to jump
their contracts.”
“Isn’t there some way of making them stick to their word?” asked Helen.
“Surely, a contract must mean something.”
“Oh, of course, there are the law courts,” said Ruth as they reached the
hotel. “But it is an expensive and tiresome business and a star forced
to work against her will can make endless trouble for her concern. It’s
cheaper to let her go and get some one else.”
“But if Viola walks off at the last moment whom will you get?” Helen was
persistent and Ruth raised a protesting hand.
“I don’t know and I’m not going to think about it, either--not until
I’ve had more proof of Viola’s perfidy than we had this morning. I can’t
afford to borrow trouble.”
“If she stops to talk with that fellow much longer she will certainly
miss her train,” said Helen with a glance at her wrist watch.