Page:Oriental Stories Volume 02 Number 01 (Winter 1932).djvu/44

Rh picture. I'll have to find a substitute for Mr. Li"

"Well, come, come, who was it ye do be suspectin' also?"

O'Conner sighed. "Now that I've started, I suppose I must finish. It's the woman who plays opposite Mr. Li. Miss Laura Sun, a Chinese girl, our other star. They hated each other like blazes."

Hated—like—blazes, mechanically repeated the voice of the sergeant, evidently adding this to the blotter. "Why?"

"Why!" The director snorted. "Each thought he should be the only star. The usual thing. Li was the main offender. Rutherford, my camera man, used to get so angry that he swore he'd bash Li's head in, if the man didn't stop hogging the footage"

"What's that?' The sergeant's voice was crisp. "Did ye say that one of yer employees, name of Rutherford, thrreatened to bash the said Li's head in?"

O'Conner gave an embarrassed laugh. "Oh, that was just a manner of speaking. It's proverbial that a camera man should dislike a star actor. One wants the composition of the picture to be right; the other simply aches to get his face in the middle of things."

"Did either Miss Sun or Mr. Rutherford openly thrreaten the life of said Li—other than Rutherford's statement about bashin' in heads?"

"Now, see here, Sergeant, I've told you all that I know!"

"Very well. I'll send one of our operatives down at once. He's a Chinese, name of Tsang Ah-bou. He'll strraighten things out in amazin' quick time."

The director frowned into the mouthpiece of the telephone. "Good Lord, do we have to have a Chinese detective? Right at this moment, I'm a little fed up with Orientals. This is my first experience producing in the Orient and, so help me, it's going to be my last!"

The desk sergeant gave a discreet chuckle. "I know how you feel, sir. The Chinese do bedevil me, sometimes, until I fairr' want to break a few heads—but I beg yer parrdon! I forgot for a moment that the case before us was of a brroken head. I need yer co-operation in this, so I'll humor you by comin' down, myself. I think fer once the Scotch and the Irish can get together, Muster O'Conner."

"I'm not Irish," the director answered swiftly. "I'm an American. Born and raised in Hollywood. Terence O'Conner is the stage name I took when I went into directing. My name is, actually, Smith, as I can show you on my passport."

Again a pause. Then the sergeant's voice, ponderous, inexorable: "Terence O'Conner—alias—Smith."

"What!—oh, see here, Sergeant! You don't suspect me, do you? I just came down to the office five minutes ago and found Mr. Li's body. Why, I'm the last person in the world who—oh, it's ridiculous! Do you think I'd throw a monkey wrench into the machinery, right in the middle of a film? I was so anxious that nothing should go wrong that I had Li's life insured, only last week"

"In yer own favor, Muster O'Conner?"

The director's voice grated. "No, not in my own favor! In the company's. The amount was only for ten thousand; and since the film will cost more than a hundred thousand, I'd hardly be murdering"

"Now, now, sir, don't you be gettin' heated up! I must get all the facts. I do not suspect you. I suspect no one until the investigatin' is done. But, just for the sake of gettin' things all strraight, would ye mind tellin' me if you ever quarreled with said Li?"

O'Conner at once calmed down. "I'm