The Cutthroat (Isaac Bell 10)

41

“Immortality, Mr. Bell?”

Barrett and Buchanan eyed Isaac Bell skeptically over their coffee cups. Their train had just crossed the Missouri–Kansas line and was passing through oil fields littered with abandoned derricks.

“Next, you’ll sell us the Brooklyn Bridge.”

“On top of Treasure Island.”

The tall detective found no humor in their banter. Not when he knew that these men were two of his three suspects. The odds were, one of them had slaughtered Anna Waterbury and Lillian Lent and Mary Beth Winthrop and how many more girls who had died in terror.

“A movie will make your performances live forever.”

“We weren’t aware you were involved with motion pictures, Mr. Bell.”

“My wife is a filmmaker. Marion Morgan Bell.”

Both actors’ eyebrows shot upward. Buchanan said, “You are married to Marion Morgan? She made The Iron Horse. You saw it, Jackson, about the western railroads.”

Barrett was studying Bell closely. “So you are not a complete stranger to show business, Mr. Bell.”

“I believe I can persuade her to immortalize your production of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde in a big film. Three full reels. Maybe four.”

John Buchanan shook his head. “Absolutely not. If the

audience can watch a movie, why would they come to our show?”

“They can read Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde. But they still come to your show.”

“Interesting,” Barrett said. “It is something to consider.”

“Someday in the future,” Buchanan added vaguely.

Bell said, “You would have to do it immediately after your last performance in San Francisco. It can be made fast and inexpensively only while your company is still together, your scenery and costumes intact.”

“Who will pay for it?” asked Buchanan. “You’re talking about carrying the entire company during the process, not to mention what cameras and that sort of thing cost.”

“My syndicate will put up the money in exchange for half the profits. Your movie rights to your play will keep the other half.”

“This will take some pondering.”

“Why?” asked Bell. “It was your idea.”

“Our idea? What are you talking about?”

“Mr. Barrett, you said you wished your play would not disappear. And, Mr. Buchanan, you wished you could sell tickets to a production that cost nothing to make. Didn’t you?”

“Wishes.”

“I’m offering you your wishes. If you must ponder, ponder two unique facts about movies. One, a movie preserves your play—and, particularly, your performances—for the ages.”

Barrett nodded.

Buchanan said, “Yes, yes, immortality. There’s where you started. What is the other unique fact?”

“An all-new kind of ‘magic wand’ profit never seen before in the history of the theater. Speaking in round numbers, let’s say your play wraps eight thousand a week, provided you crowd the theater. But your play costs you seven thousand a week in salaries and expenses. Each and every week, whether or not you crowd the theater.”

Bell watched Barrett and Buchanan exchange raised eyebrows, again. The Hartford insurance man had learned a thing or two.