«No, but frankly, Joe,» said I uneasily, «who do you think he is?»

«It's not my business, old chap, to think who people are. That would never do. My job is to sell a client»

«You've sold me, Joe. Damned if you haven't! Damned anyway! Hell!»

«Look here, old boy. You don't want to get temperamental. After all, it's pictures. Think of the people I've sold you to in the past»

«Yes, Joe. But these damned options. You didn't really give him options on me for all eternity?»

«Well, it's just a phrase.»

«A phrase! Oh, boy!»

«After all, he's a wonderful organizer. I bet he'll get some amazing effects, too. You work well with him, Rythym, and you've got a blazing future.»

«Joe, this contract's got to be bust. I'm out»

«Sorry, old chap, it's cast-iron. Besides, think of the money. Think of me. An agent needs his percentage, Charles. Anyway, he may not be what you suppose. You're a writer, a dreamer; you've got to remember this is the twentieth century. Maybe he's just some old guy who found out monkey-glands in the Crusades or somewhere.»

«With those ears?»

«Maybe he was a money lender in those days. Maybe he got 'em clipped a bit.»

«Those nails?»

«Look, Rythym, you don't want to start being satirical. I know what producers are. I'm a man of taste, same as yourself. All the same, this is the industry, you know. I do a lot of business with these fellows. I can't go picking 'em to pieces just for a laugh.»

«Joe, I think I'm going to walk about the streets a bit»

«That's the stuff. I knew you'd shape up to it. God! I'd give the world to undo it, Charles. I just made a fool mistake.»

I went out, passing Miss Belinda Windhover on the way. She looked like an angel. What was that to me? That evening I called again at the Beverly-Ritz, and this time I was shown up to Mr. Mahound's suite. His dressing jacket was stupendous.

«Mr. Mahound, were you by any chance at the Crusades?»

«Mr. Rythym, that was a very interesting assignment»

«It makes you rather old, doesn't it?»

«Well, one's as old as one feels. I feel devilish young today, my dear Rythym. To be in the Beverly-Ritz Hotel, signing up talent, about to re-create the American Film Industry!»

«Avaunt!»

«My dear fellow! This is the twentieth century.»

«Well then, clear off!»

«Have a cigar.»

«Listen. I'm a tough customer.»

«So am I. Which reminds me: I thought we might do a new version of Jekyll and Hyde. I could play the lead. Watch!»

«Phew!»

«Queen! Everyone hates seeing me like that. There was a saint I once looked in on. She said she'd rather spend the rest of her life on red-hot needles than see me like that for one second. Flattering, in a way. But don't you worry, Rythym, you and I are going to get along like blazes.»

«Yes! Yes, indeed! Stay as you are now, that's all I see that I'm in for it. I'll do anything you like.»

«That's what I like about writers. Well, now, what are we going to do about making films?»

«Take a friendly word of advice. You don't want to make pictures. It's nothing but worry. Besides, you'll get mixed up with a lot of actors.»

«I have always found the players very congenial.»

«I guess you've been rather out of things recently. You haven't seen some of our stars.»

«My dear Rythym, forgive me, but I'm supposed to have rather a good way with people. As for the worry — pooh! I've been a top executive in one of the biggest organizations in existence. Nothing but grumbling and complaints! Now I've retired, and I mean to enjoy myself.»

«Well, why not sit back?» said I. «Sit back and take it easy?»

«You should see my throne! No, my dear fellow, I'm crazy to start in making pictures. You concentrate on finding a story. I'll stay here to interview the press. And, by the way, there's someone coming here to see me soon. Your excellent agent found her for me. A clean English girl. Fresh! Unspoiled!»

«I know that sort»

«I think not, Rythym. She's a mere child! I'm going to groom her for stardom. In fact, she may be here already.» He rang a bell. «Has a Miss Windhover arrived?»

«Yes, sir. She's waiting.»

«Show her in.»

In a moment Miss Windhover had entered, again like a patch of sunshine, outdoing the costly electric glare.

«Oh, Mr. Mahound. I … I … I …»

He patted her hand reassuringly. «Now, now, my dear! Not nervous, surely? Always remember that you have talent, the thing that money can't buy. Remember that. It will give you poise. Miss Marlene Dietrich has poise. I want you to have poise, too.»

«If you knew what it's been like, Mr. Mahound. The struggle for small parts. The cheap boarding-houses. And Daddy's been so cross. And Mummy cries. Why are one's people always such snobs? They're dears, of course, old-fashioned dears. Why are one's people always so old-fashioned?»

«There, there, my dear. It's all over now. Think of the big lights. Wealth! Fame! Parties in Beverly Hills!»

«And my art!»

«Yes. Yes. Your art.»

«It comes first. And, of course, doggies.»

«Yes, indeed. My dear Rythym, Miss Windhover loves dogs. Could you, possibly… ?»

Not too pleased, I took the telephone and called Room Service.

«Some dogs. For Miss Belinda Windhover.»

«Sorry, sir. Pet-shops all shut by now.»

«Do you call this service? Are there none in the hotel?»

«Only Myra de Falla's.»

«She's slipping. Send 'em up.»

The page soon arrived with two Borzois, four Scotties, and a pug. Belinda Windhover was delighted. «Oh, doggies!»

«See how she kisses them, my dear Rythym. You think she will make a star?»

«Listen, Mahound, I can see you're going to spoil that girl.»

«Nonsense. I flatter myself I have a way with people. I want you to take her out, study her psychology, write her a big part.»

«Let her study the part. To hell with her psychology!»

«Oh, come, my dear Rythym!»

«I won't,» said I. «That's flat.»

«Well! Well! I say, just look at this parquet floor. One of the blocks is loose.»

As I looked, he dislodged a block with his toe. The effect was extraordinary. I seemed to be looking down to an infinite depth, at a vast number of highly animated figures in a flame-coloured setting. Mr. Mahound edged the block into place again, and the vision was gone.

«Phew!»

«What did you say, my dear Rythym?»

«I said, 'yes.'»

«You will spend the evening with Miss Windhover?»

«Yes.»

«And explore her psychology?»

«Yes.»

«Ah, here are the reporters! Come in, gentlemen! Come to. I want you all to meet Miss Belinda Windhover. She gave up a refined home for her art. Write it down.»

«OK. We know it. Old-fashioned parents.»

«Well, take a photograph. Here she is, being groomed for stardom in Mahound Pictures Incorporated. Here are her beloved dogs.»

«O.K. We know them. Hallo, Mirza! Hallo, Bobbles! Remember when Nancy North had 'em, boys?»

«She's slipped.»

«And Lucille Lacey. She was always took with the pug.»

«She's slipped, too.»

«Maybe they ain't house-trained. O.K. Frame up. What about this gent?»

«I'm a writer.»

«Fine! You can hold the leg of my tripod. O.K. Shoot Miss Belinda Windhover. And you're Mr. Mahound?»

«I will tell you my intentions with regard to the renascence of the American Film Industry.»

«Sure. Let's get Belinda with the big white dogs. They're class. Where's your sables, Miss Windhover?»

«Sables for Miss Windhover, my dear Rythym.»

«Yes.» Annoyed, I took up the telephone again.

«Sables.»

«Sorry, sir. Can't buy sables at this hour.»

«What sort of joint is this? Are there none in the hotel?»