The Thief

Greed was Reuter’s middle name. Suddenly he was brave. “But for the name you ask I will have to pay someone else.”

He was lying, bless him, Curtis thought. Reuter was high enough up in Krieg to know the name himself. Curtis said, “O.K. If I must, I will pay your ‘someone else,’ too.” Maybe Reuter was lying. But maybe he wasn’t. Hopefully, he was so grasping he would take a big risk.

On his way back to the office, Art Curtis stopped at the all-night telegraph in a railroad station to cable Isaac Bell.

WIRE AUTHORIZED FUNDS.

NAME POSSIBLE TWO DAYS.

Andrew Rubenoff reported back to Isaac Bell that he was very impressed by Irina Viorets.

“I’m surprised,” Bell admitted. “I thought there was something fishy about how fast she got the job ru

“The woman displays a keen understanding of the moving picture business. Not only the taking of the pictures, but the distribution and exhibition — which are absolutely vital to making a profit. Equally important, she understands that more must be done than introducing a couple of new shows with each change. The customers won’t stand much longer for furbishing up of the exhibition with a few new features. The exhibitors must be able to declare that the entire show is new. ‘Keep your show fresh and up-to-the-minute,’ she told me, ‘and you will draw full houses.’”

“Sounds like she was selling you.”

“I pretended to be an exhibitor with a string of picture show shops in Indiana.”

“That was a nice touch,” Bell said admiringly.

“Not really,” Rubenoff replied with a modest smile. “I control houses in Detroit, Toledo, Battle Creek, and Indianapolis.”

“So you think she passes muster?”

“There are poseurs in this line who like to say that anyone can make a moving picture. That is not true, as Mr. Thomas Edison is slowly begi

“You didn’t fall for her, Uncle Andy, did you?”

“It is in my makeup,” Rubenoff replied, enigmatically, “to be capable of admiring a beautiful woman without desiring her.”

“How did Irina learn so much about the future of the business?”

“Apparently she made one-reelers in Russia. Much as your bride does when she is not shooting her Picture World newsreels for the ghastly Whiteway.”

“But how did a Russian moving picture director learn about distribution and exhibition?”

Rubenoff smiled. “You’re your father’s son, young Isaac. Always to the core.” Then he turned very serious, and Isaac Bell was reminded that Rubenoff had earned several fortunes since landing as an immigrant and appeared to be on the road to another. “It seems to me that Irina Viorets learned about distribution and exhibition by listening carefully to someone who has manipulated a modern corporation to control the entire chain of production and marketing from top to bottom.”

“Like who?”

“Andrew Carnegie pretty much invented modern vertical integration.”

“Assuming the young lady did not sit on the old philanthropist’s knee, who else? Any Germans?”

“Germans? Krupp has pretty much written the book on German vertical integration.”

“What about Krieg Rüstungswerk?”

“If not quite so large as Krupp, Krieg is better co

“Sounds like you’re working at vertical integration, too, Uncle Andy.”

“From your lips to God’s ear, young Isaac. But don’t go blabbing it about.”

“Will you keep digging into who’s behind her?”

“I’ve already begun inquiries,” Rubenoff replied.

“Quiet as a church,” the Van Dorn Protective Services operatives reported whenever Bell dropped by the Imperial Building laboratory where Clyde Lynds was hard at work. “He’s at it from breakfast to supper, and sometimes half the night. The man works hard as a nailer.”

“Have you seen anyone hanging around?”

“No. It’s just him and us and Clyde’s helpers — and you know we looked at them real close.”

“No shadows on the way home?”

“No, sir, Mr. Bell. None coming in either. And the boys watching the house haven’t seen a soul who looked like trouble. Do you think maybe they just gave up and packed it in?”

“I would be very surprised,” said Bell. “Keep on your toes. And remember, the hardest part of guarding a fellow is that the attack can come anytime, night or day.”

Privately, however, Bell had to wonder. Had Krieg given up? Or were they laying back, reasoning that once he was set up in a laboratory, Clyde Lynds wasn’t going anywhere until he had finished the machine, in which event they had him just where they wanted him?

28

Joseph Van Dorn arrived on the train, unexpectedly.

Isaac Bell saw by his expression that the boss doubted that his chief investigator was on the right course, although Van Dorn’s opening salvo was uncharacteristically mild and somewhat oblique.

“Our friends at Dagget, Staples and Hitchcock are alarmed by inquiries from disreputable types.”

“What sort of disreputable types?”

“Some furrier and his cousin in the glove trade marched in big as day demanding to borrow money to build a plant for the manufacture of motion pictures. Thanks to your bankrolling masquerade, word’s getting around the film folk that Dagget has money to lend.”

“Are you sure they weren’t Krieg agents onto us?”

“I looked into them, of course. But they appear legitimate.”

“Legitimately disreputable?” Bell asked with a smile.

“That’s what I just said: a furrier and a glover. How’s Clyde making out with the machine?”

“He’s making progress. Seems excited by a scheme to photograph the sound directly onto the movie film.”

“I hope he makes progress faster. Guarding a man night and day does not come cheap.”

“How did you make out with the German ambassador?” Bell asked.

“We danced around each other, me pretending I was merely curious about Army officers serving as consular attachés, the ambassador pretending not to wonder why I was pretending mere curiosity. I left the Cosmos Club with the distinct impression that he hasn’t a clue what his consuls are up to, much less the German Army. Nor does he want to.”

“In other words, the consuls do the dirty work.”

“As I told you in Washington.”

“So nothing new from the ambassador.”

Van Dorn sighed. “Look here, Isaac, is it possible Krieg and company have thrown in the towel?”

“No. They’re biding their time.”

“Until when?”

“Until Clyde gets closer to finishing.”

“That could be years!” Van Dorn exploded. “‘Several years.’ Clyde’s own words.”

“I doubt they’ll hold off that long. For now, he’s working on the machine and they can wait until he’s made enough progress so they’ll know it really works.”

“How will they know? You’ve forted him up. He’s surrounded with costly detectives, night and day, in the laboratory, home in bed, and the quick-march in between.”

“All they need is one spy in the Imperial Building, watching and reporting back. There are scores of employees within range of Clyde’s laboratory. It would only take one to keep an eye on him — an otherwise legitimate technical fellow or a mechanician.”

“If that’s the case, then Clyde Lynds is safe while he works on his machine.”