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PRODUCTS OF THE HOUSE OF WESTMORE
“Yesterday you wore a black string tie. Now we resume the scene, to find you in an ascot. Surely somebody would ask how you changed ties while dodging bullets?”
I changed ties. Riegleman did not customarily say anything about detail. He left that to others. We took up the scene at a point shortly before the break of yesterday. I galloped back and forth, and when I turned to record passion for Carla on celluloid, I thought of Paul. My expression couldn’t have been burning.
Riegleman blew his whistle. He walked over to me. “One does not ordinarily slit his eyes at his beloved,” he chided.
We tried the scene again. Same result.
“That’s all today,” Riegleman said in disgust. “Drop in on me later, George?”
Sammy and McGuire were a mildly arguing duo when I went into Sammy’s office trailer.
“I’ll stop in your room and pick the guns up,” McGuire said.
I broke in. “I doubt if you’ll be in your room today, Sammy. We’ve got to have a sandstorm and I want to work out the scene with Vou.”
“Oh, yes,” Sammy answered, as if he knew what he was talking about. “Look, Mac, I’ll try to remember to get those guns to you tomorrow, sure.”
McGuire went away. Sammy asked, “What sandstorm?”
I explained my idea. He was enthusiastic.
“I’ll sell Riegleman on the idea,” I promised. “I’m to see him this afternoon.”
I stopped at the hotel to see Riegleman, and had Wallingford in my hair before I got out of the car.
“Wanda is getting in the papers again. Somebody told the L.A. press she was questioned in jail! Call that friend you call an editor and tell him for me — ”
“Why didn’t you tell him?” I asked.
“I told him. But he hung up.”
I called “Smith.” “Those pictures are just a gag to get Wanda in the public eye. You’ll be a laughing stock — to Wanda.”
“How do you know?”
“I helped her work it out,” I improvised. I could tell that discouraged him.
Wallingford was pleased. “George,” he said, “I want to buy you a present for the end of the picture. Even if it costs a lot.”
I paused and grinned at him.
“Name it, George,” he said again.
“All right,” I said very casually. “I want a transit. A twenty-two-inch achromatic.”
He took out a notebook. “I’ll see that you get it, George.”
“Now,” I said, “will you go up to Riegleman’s room and tell him I’m on my way? I “want to get some information first.”
He padded away.
I found Wanda in her room.
Wanda was in her quilted robe.
“Just what,” I demanded, “did you take from Severance Flynne’s room?”
She looked at me coldly. “Nothing.”
“You didn’t take anything from Peggy Whittier’s room, either?”
She shook her head.
“But you left something there,” I said. “Fingerprints — on purpose, too.”
Her eyes widened. “George — !”
“Wanda, you’re messing around in a dangerous situation. Why did you send out those phony stories?” I demanded.
“They were true,” she said quietly.
“The implications were false. And why this siren act, each time observers were present?”
She was quiet for a long time. Then she got to her feet and took off her robe. She
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