closed. Nothing has been disturbed."

He started to lead the way without further word from Kennedy,
proud to have been able once more to demonstrate his foresight.

As we left the library, entering the living room, there was an
appreciable hush. Here were grouped the others of the party
brought out by the picture company, a constrained gathering of
folk who had little in common beyond the highly specialized needs
of the new art of the screen, an assembly of souls who had been
forced to wait during all the time required for the trip of
Kennedy and myself out from New York, who were compelled to wait
now until he should be ready to examine them.

I picked out the electrician in the semi-gloom and with him his
fellow members of the technical staff needed in the taking of the
scenes in the library. The camera men I guessed, and a property
boy, and an assistant director. The last, at any event, of all
those in the huge room, had summoned up sufficient nonchalance to
bend his mind to details of his work. I saw that he was thumbing
a copy of the scenario, or detailed working manuscript of the
story, making notations in some kind of little book, and it was
that which enabled me to establish his identity at a glance.

In a different corner were the principals, two men and a girl
still in make-up, and with them the director, and Manton and
Phelps. Apart from everyone else, in a sort of social ostracism
common to the studios, the two five-dollar-a-day extras waited, a
butler and a maid, also in make-up. Oddly enough the total number
of these material witnesses to the tragedy was just thirteen, and