at the end of each
episode, or chapter, must not be interpreted as meaning that a mere
thrilling _situation_ is all that is required. In the boys'
story-papers of a few years ago, referred to in our discussion of the
cut-back, the hero was frequently left hanging over the edge of the
cliff, or tied to the railroad track, or waiting for the timed fuse to
reach the keg of powder. These situations in themselves were
sufficient to make juvenile readers wait anxiously for seven whole
days in order to find out what would happen "in our next." It has been
demonstrated, however, that what holds the attention of the photoplay
spectator, young or old, is the mystery connected with the story, and
it is the solving of this mystery that must constantly be kept in
mind. "Who is the masked stranger?" "Who is the owner of the
mysterious clutching hand," "Who is the mysterious and ominous
personage who inevitably sends a telephone message of warning when
about to strike down a new victim?" These are the questions that keep
them guessing from week to week and draw them back to witness every
episode. Your climax may be a thrilling situation--should be, in
fact--but it must also be a definite way-station on the journey to the
point of discovery.

While there is still a great deal of absolute nonsense--viewed from
any standpoint of common sense and logic--in most photoplay serials,
and while the long-drawn-out mystery is often made possible only by
the introduction of weird and unnatural happenings not even possible
in real life, there is now a tendency toward serials more true to life
and more dependent for their success upon plots that will stand the
acid test of logical reasoning. The very fact that each separate
episode, with its various situations in the working out of the
mystery, had to be depended upon to draw the crowds back again to see
the next episode, was taken as sufficient excuse for the introduction
of situations that would make the wildest exploits of "Diamond Dick"
or "Old King Brady" read like the Sunday-school stories of a
generation ago.

The Wharton serial, "The Eagle's Eye," already referred to, was the
first in which historical facts were reproduced in their logical
order, held together and made more interesting by a veneer of fiction.
The fictional head of the Criminology Club and the daring woman Secret
Service operative seemed almost to be secondary characters compared to
the much-talked-about agents of the Im