y feeling as he spoke to
someone he could not see and yet whom he know was close at hand.

"Miss Carrillo is on the set--was she expecting you?" the voice asked.

"She told me to be here and to mention that she was expecting me," he
said.

"This way, then, please."

He turned in the direction from which the voice came and walked slowly,
cautiously, until his feet encountered steps. He mounted the steps with
a strange feeling that he was about to fall on his face.

Reaching the top step he felt himself on a level floor. Shafts of
light, escaping from between tall objects before him, invaded the
darkness. A stringed orchestra was playing something soft, plaintively
sweet. He recognized the music as Schubert's "Serenade." He stumbled
over a sawhorse and his guide turned upon him with a quick admonition to
be more careful. Except for the music there was not a sound.

Turning past one of the tall dark objects, which he afterward discovered
were painted canvas scenery, he halted at a signal from the man who was
leading him and who continued to go forward on tiptoes, a muffled curse
escaping him as a board squeaked under foot. John named his guide "Mr.
John J. Silence" in his mind.

Before him two arc lamps threw a bluish white light on a set
representing the interior of a finely furnished room. Between the lamps
were two cameras which were being cranked by two tall young men in khaki
trousers and leather puttees who wore the peaks of their caps turned
backward like children playing "fireman." Near the cameras a man with
horn-rim spectacles sat in a canvas chair, a manuscript in his hand.
Scattered about were a dozen men and women, poised tensely, as if they
were afraid to move a muscle. To the left was the orchestra, a violin,
'cello and bass viol. Why, thought John, do bass viol players always
have that far-away, woebegone look on their faces as they saw at their
instruments?

From where he stood it was impossible for John to see what was before
the cameras. He strained his eyes in a vain attempt to identify
Consuello as among those standing behind the lamps. He saw his guide
speak to one of the figures--a man--and then turn to signal to him
violently and silently to approach, pressing his forefinger to his lips
as a final admonition to be quiet.

"Mr. John J. Silence bids me approach," John said to himself.

He tiptoed forward. A board creaked under his foot. It could not have
had more effect if it had been a pi