Motion Picture Magazine (Feb-Jul 1919)

The Crimson Iris By H. H. VAN LOAN SYNOPSIS OF PREVIOUS CHAPTERS OF "THE CRIMSON IRIS." Arthur Gebhardt, president of the American Cinema Company, disappears strangely from his London hotel. His only intimate in the city, Brenon Hodges, man of fashion, notifies the police. It transpires that Gebhardt was not an American as supposed, but a German, born in Laupheim, and that he had been traveling with a false passport. Harry Letherdale, star man of the "Chronicle" and expert criminologist, becomes interested in the case. He goes to Scotland Yard and discloses the fact that he has found Gebhardt's opera hat and wallet containing his card on the parapet of Hungerford Bridge. Brenon Hodges is suspected of implication. At this juncture word is received by 'phone that Arthur Gebhardt has been found in the Victoria Studios — murdered! CHAPTER III (Continued from February) The car journeyed at a snail's pace until it reached Aidgate. Then, with a long, wide stretch before it, it speeded towards the East End. A few minutes later it turned off Aldgate; swung into the Shoreditch Road and started in the direction of South Hackney. As it reached the end of the Hackney Road, the greenish glow of the calciums in the Victoria Studio could be seen by the occupants of the car. The studio was situated opposite Victoria Park, which was reserved as a public playground for the poor children in that section of the city. The property, consisting of several acres, was completely surrounded by a high brick wall, and the only glimpse the public obtained of the inside was when the two huge gates in the center occasionally opened for someone to pass in or out. It stood in an isolated spot and had formerly been used as an orphanage. There was a gloominess about the place which impressed Inspector Henry as he stepped from the car. "By jove, the setting is certainly appropriate," he remarked to Leatherdale as the latter jumped out after him. "It would make a graveyard seem like a week-end festival at Margate, wouldn't it?" said the reporter as his gaze roamed over the desolate country. A deep blackness had now fallen over everything, which the faint, glimmering lights in the low, flat houses a half a mile away, endeavored to penetrate, with but little success. The sky had become overcast with a thick, heavy fog which had drawn its „• mantle between the heavens and the earth and dampened the atmosphere. But, . it did not hide the weird, uncanny glow of the calciums, reflected, thru the glass-covered roof of the studio, which loomed high above the blackened wail-.It* stood out like an ominous sentinel ; an ill-f orebodihg sp'ectte of the night, and was surrounded by'"a grim silence which was startling, almost terrifying. ■ The two men crossed the road and stepped up to the big gates. With the aid of a flash-light, the inspector found a little brass knob, which he pulled strenuously a couple of times and then waited. Presently they heard someone fumbling on the inside after which one of the gates was opened and the old gate-keeper thrust his head out. "Hits me's awskin' yer, 'ho" d'ye want, sir?" he inquired, as he raised his lantern until its rays spread across the faces of the two men. "This is Inspector Henry of Scotland Yard," replied that individual, with a slight show of irritation as he pushed the gate open and started making his way thru the entrance, at the same time beckoning to Letherdale to follow. "-:•■■ "Ho, I beg y'pardon, sir," humbly remarked the watchman as he stepped back and permitted them to enter. The inspector ignored his apology as he started briskly across the court with Letherdale. It was difficult for them to get an impression of their strange surroundings, in the semi-blackness which enveloped everything. Several cars were parked under a long shed on the left of the entrance, and they were able to make out two or three little groups of buildings, the outlines of which were silhouetted against the green-tinted studio, standing in the center of the "lot." They were dark and deserted and as the inspector approached them he saw they were but the fronts of houses, which assisted in forming a moving picture street. A long, low wooden building, with innumerable little doors and frosted windows, which reflected the light within, was doubtless the dressing-rooms of the actors and actresses. Beyond this was the big open-air stage, with its scenery and properties stacked against the rear wall. As the inspector made his way towards the big interior studio, he concluded if there were any activities about the place at that moment, they must be centered behind the gruesomely green panels just ahead of them. For the court-yard was absolutely deserted and the only sound which broke the oppressing silence was the beating of their own footsteps on the hard, dry ground. They had reached the door of the main studio, when they suddenly heard someone approaching. The inspector turned and distinguished a short, heavy-set man walking rapidly towards them. "Is this Inspector Henry?" he inquired as he came up. "Yes," responded the inspector abruptly. _ "Thank God," said the other in trembling tones. "A terrible thing has happened, inspector," he continued. Altho the inspector could not make out his features in the dark shadows,_ he knew the man was undergoing a severe mental strain. "Who are you?" he asked. "I'm Mr. Gluckstein," replied the other. "Oh, yes," said the inspector. The name of Samuel Gluckstein, president of the Victoria Producing Company, was familiar to him. Then, as the head of the studio stepped up to the door, the official of Scotland Yard added: "Where is Sergeant Claverly?" "He's inside, sir," replied Gluckstein as he fumbled with a bunch of keys he had taken from his pocket. "And the rest?" "They're in there, too," said the other as he unlocked the door and threw it open. "You see, your instructions have been obeyed," he added as the inspector entered, with Letherdale behind, him. A strange scene greeted them' as they stepped inside. The building was nothing more than a great big room, with glass walls and ceiling. A number of arc lights dangled from the steel beams, near the top, and were surrounded wjith pulleys, ropes andi various other trappings. Great piles of scenery leaned against the walls, and tables, chairs and other pieces of furniture werepiled high in one corner, with various objects and properties. Almost half the studio was occupied by a big "set," which, as they approached, the inspector noticed was a huge foyer, ^evidently the home_ of some rich man. It was smothered in luxury. The highly varnished linoleum, supposed to represent the polished oak floor, was a superb bit of camouflage. But, the big skins, spread about the floor; the full-length French mirror, which stood against the wall, and the handsome upholstered chairs and other bits of furniture, placed along the edges of the room, were of a rare period and doubtless very costly. The small guest table, in the center, with its delicately hand WW 77 "\ PA'S