Upon arrival at the studio we detected this time all the signs of a complete demoralization.  The death of Werner, the fact that he had been stricken down during the taking of a scene and on the very stage, had served to bring the tragedy home to the people.  More, it was a second murder in four days, apparently by the same hand as the first.  A sense of dread, a nameless, intangible fear, had taken form and found its way under the big blackened glass roofs and around and through the corridors, into the dressing rooms, and back even to the manufacturing and purely technical departments.  The gateman eyed us with undisguised uneasiness as we drove through the archway into the yard.  In that inclosure there were only two cars—­Manton’s, and one we later learned belonged to Phelps.  The sole human being to enter our range of vision was an office boy.  He skirted the side of the building as though the menace of death were in the air, or likely to strike out of the very heavens without warning.

We found Kauf in the large studio, obviously unhappy in the shoes of the unfortunate Werner.  Probably from half-reasoned-out motives of efficiency in psychology the new director had made no attempt to resume work at once in the ill-fated banquet set, but had turned to the companion ballroom setting, since both had been prepared and made ready at the same time.

Kennedy explained our presence so early in the morning very neatly, I thought.

“I would appreciate it,” he began, “if you could place a cutter at the disposal of Mr. Mackay.  He has the scenes taken from the camera and sealed at the time of Miss Lamar’s death.  I would like to have any other film taken out there delivered to him and the whole joined in proper sequence.  Then, Mr. Kauf, if you could arrange to have the same cutter take the film exposed yesterday when Mr. Werner—­”

“You think you might be able to see something, to discover something on the screen?”

“Exactly!”

Kauf beamed.  “Mr. Manton gave me orders to assist you in every way I could, or to put any of my people at your disposal.  More than that, Mr. Kennedy, he anticipated you.  He thought you might want to look at the scenes taken yesterday and he rushed the laboratory and the printing room.  We’ll be able to fix you up very quickly.”

“Good!” Kennedy nodded to Mackay and the district attorney hurried off with Kauf.  “Now, Walter!” he exclaimed, sobering.

I picked up the traveling bag and together we strolled toward the ballroom set.  There most of the players were gathered already—­in make-up and evening clothes of a fancier sort even than those demanded for the banquet.  I saw that Kennedy singled out Marilyn.

“Good morning,” she said, cheerfully, but with effort.  It was obvious she had spent a nervous night.  There were circles under her eyes ill concealed by the small quantity of cosmetic she used.  Her hands, shifting constantly, displayed the loss of her usual poise.  “You are out bright and early,” she added.