Picture Play Magazine (Mar-Jul 1929)

70 A Girl Comes to Hollywood There are many hotels in Pasadena ; new hotels, middle-aged and old hotels, all with gardens attached. "What if we take" my own tip, and try a few gardens ?" Madeleine sugge-jled to Pauline. "What do you mean?" Miss Fordham questioned. "Well, the photograph may not be enough like the woman now, for the hotel people to be sure. And if she does go prowling in a garden at night, why shouldn't we find her there without any fuss? It's hardly dark enough yet, though, to begin. Let's stop at some soda fountain and get coffee and sandwiches. By that time we can begin a garden tour." They parked the car and had the food. Then they visited five hotel gardens within the radius of a mile. In the sixth they saw, sitting under a tree, a white, ethereal figure. "There's room on that seat for three. Let us be two of them," whispered Madeleine. "If it's the right woman, she'll jump up and rush away the instant we intrude," said Pauline. "Why? She can't know us from twin Eves — and she can't get up before I've seen her. My eyes are trained !" Chatting and laughing, their arms linked together, two well-dressed, pretty women paused before a rustic seat under an olive tree wreathed with wistaria. The seat had one occupant, a woman in white, with a Spanish scarf pulled over her shadowy dark hair ; the eyes that glanced up at the approaching pair were dark with shadow, too. The white face was as dim as that of a beautiful ghost, yet the figure moved, hesitated, and made as if to go away. "Oh, I hope we don't disturb you ! If we do, we won't sit down!" exclaimed Pauline, feeling instinctively that it would be wiser for Madeleine not to speak. Later she might need a new voice, never heard by these ears, to match a new face. "Not at all. You do not disturb me !" replied low contralto tones, suppressing annoyance. As the woman in white stirred, a perfume of roses floated out from her veiL The two availed themselves of the grudging permission, but in a few moments removed their hated presence. Madeleine had learned what she wanted to know. "She hasn't changed so terribly since the photograph was taken," the girl whispered, when they were out of earshot from the seat under the olive tree. "Now my way is clear." In three more days Mary Smith's role in "Red Velvet" would be finished, though odds and ends of work would keep the director, the man star and leading woman at work with some of the extras at the studio, completing this super quickie. Meanwhile, by Barrett's orders, the Pasadena Park Hotel was watched. Rose Rosenkrantz could not leave without being followed and traced. Marco Lopez could not visit her, even in a dark garden, without being under observation. But on the fourth day Mary Smith was free, except for the inconvenient attentions of Oscar Sonnenberg. He had now been driven by his love and the girl's dignity to propose marriage, using — rather pathetically for a millionaire — the classic bribe of a new film with a star part in it. She would give him an answer soon, she said, but meanwhile she absolutely must go away and think things over. He mustn't try to follow her. John Barrett got in touch with the management of the Pasadena Park Hotel, and obtained a place as maid for Madeleine Standish, under her Ambassador name of Mary Sinnett, to take care of a room on the ground floor occupied by the invalid lady, Mrs. Richard Rendel. Barrett offered the maid who attended the room a bribe of one hundred dollars to take a holiday of a week. A girl with dark hair, dusky skin, and dull-pink lips took the place of the departed one, and laid herself out to please Mrs. Rendel. The shock of seeing the fatal face whose beauty had destroyed her home, reduced her to poverty, and might bring Malcolm Allen to death, struck Madeleine to the heart. With Mrs. Rendel's breakfast tray in her hands, she controlled herself with an effort. The window curtains were drawn, but they were green, not rose color, and the woman propped up in bed looked pale as a drowned creature under the sea. Yet even deadly pallor could not destroy, nor greatly dim, her strange, exotic beauty. "You're a new maid, aren't you?" asked Mrs. Rendel, with a slight show of interest. "Yes, madam," Madeleine answered, putting forth all the natural charm that was hers. "The girl you've had has been sent for from home, I believe, but I do hope I shall be able to please you. I've not been in service very long, but I'll do my best. I'd love to make you comfortable, for if you'll excuse the liberty, madam, I think you're the most beautiful lady I ever set eyes on." Rose Rosenkrantz had always been susceptible to compliments, and during her association with Marco Lopez had kept him busy paying them. She had hated the necessity for covering her glorious face from clients. But she was not hiding in Marco's bungalow now. She had no clients. She intended never to have any again. Marco was free ; and in a few days she hoped they would be in a ship together, on their way to love and safety and riches. There seemed no possible danger in letting herself be admired by this humble girl. Compliments — such sincere ones ! — even from a chambermaid were better than nothing, to one who starved for honeyed words after living on them all her life. CHAPTER XXXI. THE FATEFUL LETTER. Never had Madeleine Standish worked so hard to win the liking and confidence of a woman as she worked now to win both from her bitterest enemy. If this humble adorer, this servant who asked only to be a slave to her charms, had been a strikingly pretty, fresh young girl, Rose Rosenkrantz would have been subconsciously stirred to jealous dislike. As it was, in the loneliness and suffering which her physical cowardice exaggerated, she turned to the abjectly devoted maid. She had loved the pleasures and gayeties of life. She had sinned to make them hers. Marco's worship, though meat and drink to her, hadn't in all moods consoled Rose for the adoration of many. She had begun to starve for the flattery of crowds ; and then — while she likened herself to a woman entombed while life was still in her ■ — had come the shock of Marco Lopez's confessed intention to marry Lady Gates. He had explained. He had sworn that, having a wife in Buenos Aires who had prevented marriage with Rose, a wedding would mean nothing but a means to get hold of Lady Gates' money. Rose had believed at first, aiding Marco with her crystal and card reading. But jealousy had whispered, "How can you be sure Marco isn't tired of being your doctor and nurse, as well as lover? How do you know he doesn't mean to get rid of you and your complainings and calmly travel to Europe as the husband of Lady Gates ? He'd believe you'd not dare give the secret of his former marriage away, because of your own guiltier secrets." With no one to help or advise her, she had done a thing which, it seemed, must bind Marco to her while she lived. But when his card castle crashed, he had forced a confession from her. [Continued on page 94]