"Walter,"  he  had  exclaimed,  as  I  burst  into  the
laboratory  in  response  to  a  hurried  message,  "here's
where  I  need  your  help.  You  know  all  about


THE    FILM   MYSTERY

moving  pictures,  so — if  you'll  phone  your  city
editor  and  ask  him  to  let  you  cover  a  case  for  the
Star  we'll  just  about  catch  a  tram  at  One  Hundred
and  Twenty-fifth  Street."

Because  the' film  world  had  fascinated  me  always
I  had  made  a  point  of  being  posted  on  its  people
and  their  activities.  I  remembered  the  very  first
appearance  of  Stella  Lamar  back  in  the  days  of
General  Film,  when  pictures  were  either  Licensed
or  Independent,  when  only  two  companies  manu-
factured worth-while  screen  dramas,  when  any  sub-
ject longer  than  a  reel  had  to  be  of  rare  excellence,
such  as  the  art  films  imported  from  France  for  the
Licensed  program.  In  those  days,  Stella  rose
rapidly  to  prominence.  Her  large  wistful  eyes  had
set  the  hearts  of  many  of  us  to  beating  at  staccato
rate.
Then  came  Lloyd  Manton,  her  present  manager,
and  the  first  of  a  new  type  of  business  man  to  enter
the  picture  field.  Manton  was  essentially  a  pro-
moter. His  predecessors  had  been  men  carried  to
success  by  the  growth  of  the  new  art.  Old  Pop
Belman,  for  instance,  had  been  a  fifth-rate  oculist
who  rented  and  sold  stereopticons  as  a  side  line.
With  blind  luck  he  had  grasped  the  possibilities  of
Edison's  new  invention.  Just  before  the  break-up
of  General  Film  he  had  become  many  times  a
millionaire  and  it  was  then  that  he  had  sent  a

4


THE   FILM   MYSTERY

wave  of  laughter  over  the  entire  country  by  an
actual  cable  to  William  Shakespeare,  address
London,  asking  for  all  screen  rights  to  the  plays
written  by  that  gentleman.
