of the scenes in which Stella had appeared.  The effect of the whole upon a strange beholder was weird.  It was as though a cyclone had swept through a town and had gathered up and deposited slices and corners and sections of rooms and hallways and upper chambers, each complete with furniture and ornaments, curtains, rugs, and hangings.  Except for the artistic harmony of things within the narrow lines of the camera’s view, nothing in this great armory-like place had any apparent relation to anything else.  Some of the sets were lighted, with actors and technical crews at work.  Others were dark, standing ready for use.  Still others were in varying states of construction or demolition.  Rising above every other impression was the noise.  It was pandemonium.

We saw Werner at work in a distant corner and strolled over.  The director was bustling about feverishly.  I do not doubt that the grim necessity of preparing the picture for a release date which was already announced had resulted in this haste, without even a day of idleness in respect for the memory of the dead star, yet it seemed cold-blooded and mercenary to me.  I thought that success was not deserved by an enterprise so callous of human life, so unappreciative of human effort.

Most of the cast were standing about, waiting.  The scenes were being taken in a small room, fitted as an office or private den, but furnished luxuriously.  Later I learned it was in the home of the millionaire, Remsen, close off the library for which the actual room in Phelps’s home was photographed.

Shirley and Gordon, I noticed, kept as far apart as possible.  It was quite intentional and I again caught belligerent glances between them.  On the other hand, both Enid and Marilyn Loring were calm and self-possessed.  Yet between these two I caught a coolness, a sort of armed truce, in which each felt it would be a sign of weakness to admit consciously even the near presence of the other.

Werner was irascible, swearing roundly at the slightest provocation, raging up and down at every little error.

“Come now,” he shouted, as we approached, “let’s get this scene now—­number one twenty-six.  Loring—­Gordon!  Shake a leg—­here, I’ll read it again.  ’Daring enters.  He is scarcely seated at the desk, examining papers, when Zelda enters in a filmy negligee.  Daring looks up amazed and Zelda pretends great agitation.  Daring is not unkind to her.  He tells her he has not discovered the will as yet.  Spoken title:  “I am sure that I can find a will and that you are provided for.”  Continuing scene, Daring speaks the above.  Zelda thanks him and undulates toward the door with the well-known swaying walk of the vampire.  Daring turns to his papers and does not watch her further.  She looks over her shoulder, then exits, registering that she will get him yet.’” Werner dropped his copy of the script.  “Understand?” he barked.  “Make it fast now.  We shouldn’t do this over, but you were lousy before, both of you!”