“It might prove very valuable, McGroarty.”  Kennedy wanted to encourage him.

“Well, I’ve been sitting here for an hour, I guess.  One of the other directors is going out to-day and his people are late and so here I am.  Well, I don’t like the way the heavy man Mr. Werner had—­”

“Shirley?  Merle Shirley?” I spoke up.

“That’s him!  Well, he’s been, hanging and snooping around that building over there, where you just saw him, for twenty minutes or more.  I guess he’s gone in and out of that basement a dozen times.  I says to myself, maybe he’s up to something.  You know how it is?”

Kennedy glanced at me significantly.  Then he extended his hand to the chauffeur.  “Again I thank you, McGroarty.  As I said before, I won’t forget you.”

“Now what?” I asked, as we drew away.

“Shirley’s dressing room, and the studio floor and Mackay.”

As we rather expected, the heavy man’s quarters were deserted.  I thought that Kennedy would stop now to make a careful search, but he seemed anxious to compare notes with the district attorney.

“Nothing here,” reported Mackay.

“Shirley?”

“Hasn’t been a sign of him.”

I looked about the moment we arrived under the big glass roof.  “Marilyn Loring?” I inquired.

“She’s been missing, too!” All at once Mackay grinned broadly.  “You know, either there’s no efficiency in making moving pictures at all, or these people have all gone more or less out of their heads as the result of the two tragedies.  Look!” He pointed.  “When you left me Phelps and Manton were stepping on each other’s toes, trying to help that new director and about half driving him crazy; and now Millard seems to have figured out some new way of handling the action and he’s over in the thick of it.  It’s worse than Bedlam, and better than a Chaplin comedy.”

I was compelled to smile, although I knew that this was not uncommon in picture studios.  Manton, Phelps, Millard, and Kauf were in the center of the group, all talking at once.  Clustered about I saw Enid and Gordon, both camera men, and a miniature mob of extra people.  But as I looked little Kauf seemed to come to the end of his patience.  In an instant or two he demonstrated real generalship.  Shutting up Manton and the banker and Millard with a grin, but with sharp words and a quick gesture which showed that he meant it, he called to the others gathered about, clearing the set of all but Enid and Gordon.  He sent the camera men to their places; then confronted Phelps and Manton and the scenario writer once more.  We could not hear his words, but could see that he was asserting himself, was forcing a decision so that he could proceed with his work.

This seemed uninteresting to me.  I remembered my success in my visit to Werner’s apartment, when I had essayed the role of detective.

“Listen, Kennedy!” I suggested.  “Suppose I go out by myself and see if I can locate Shirley or Marilyn.  Everyone else is right here where you can—­”