Motion Picture Magazine (Aug 1924-Jan 1925)

A thin hand reached out and extinguished the match se Hand? The hrst instalment of a six-part serial in which romance stalks hand in hand with mystery, and strange and frightening things happen to a motion-picture heroine B5 W. ADOLPHE ROBERTS PART I Illustrations by Edward Ryan M ARGOT ANSTRUTHER lolled among the vivid orange and green cushions of her only divan, and mused that it was a funny thing about parties. They either went with a rush, or they flivved miserably. That was why one felt it to be such a gamble with boredom to accept the average invitation, and hesitated doubly over giving a party of one's own. Outdated was the tranquil in-between affair, where it had been sure to be a pleasure to meet friends and an interesting stranger or two. Girls and men, when they got together, depended on the inspiration of the moment for gaiety. They were as fickle and temperamental as the jazz age in which they lived. This party of hers, now — it was one of the good ones. Margot was glad she had given it, to celebrate her promotion from the ranks of the extras to a really decent role in A Toreador's Love, the Spanish production upon which Superfilm intended' to spend half a million dollars that fall. Everybody had been so sweet to her. She had wanted to do some little thing to show she appreciated it. And here they were, all having a good time, herself included. Nice to have had a triumph that called for a jamboree. . . . To have broken thru. . . . Nice party! Frederick Stoner, her burly director, was standing beside a table, compounding bright-colored cocktails with a great deal of orange juice and very little gin. He had insisted on taking over this phase of her duties. Causing the ice to make an unnecessary racket as he swung the big shaker, he jested in his boisterous way about the innocuous nature of the cocktails, the craftiness of Margot in guarding thereby against a rough-house, her talents as a hostess generally. "And what's the matter with this room? Why did you think you had to apologize for it when you asked us, Margot ? Swell room for a party, I'll say." he shouted. Margot's wide but beautiful mouth parted in a smile. "It's a bedroom," she declared emphatically. "It's not even camouflaged. I cant pretend it's a parlor, not with the walnut bureau in one corner and that big brass bed in the other. But it's all I've got." "And it's all right," persisted Stoner. "Say, you're not the only actress in the Roaring Forties who lives in one room. I've sat on more beds than I could count, when there weren't enough chairs to go around." "Beds dont scare us in the movies," chirped May Cheshire, a blonde, bobbed member of the cast. "Ain't they among our best little props? Ain't we jumpin' in and out of them in half the scenes?" Margot felt slightly bored at the obviousness of this comment. She turned to the young man who shared the divan with her. He had said nothing for fifteen minutes, but she had known without looking at him that his eyes had not strayed for an instant from the curve of her cheek and neck and shoulder. A likable fellow, she thought. Good-looking, too, with his straightforward, boyish smile, his cleft chin and his curly black hair. It was a pity he was so absurdly in love with her. "The reason I really do prefer this place to a flat," she said, "is because the house has atmosphere. It was built in the Sixties. Picturescjue old moldings, high ceilings, and all that sort of thing. Dont you like these brownstone left-overs in New York, Mr. Valery?" "Mr. Valery!" he repeated in a low, reproachful voice. "I thought you promised to call me by my first name." Adorable little crinkles appeared at the corners of 1 eyes, as she half-closed them and stared quizzical! him. "Very well, Eugene. Now we've got that se ^ perhaps you'll find my remark about brownstone hou in New York worth answering." "Aw, it's not fair to kid Gene !" boomed Stoner. "When he's asked to shoot a brownstone house, he shoots it. He's one of our brightest young Cameramen. What he dont know about lenses and fillum ! But the inside dope on architecture and periods is the art director's bluff, not his." Valery 's wrathful look, but inability to snap back with the proper repartee, made every one laugh. Margot's merriment, however, was not whole-hearted. She knew that a situation existed between these men, on her account. Stoner, also, had tried to make love to her, and Yalery 4.7 PAG i