The Double Act

Auckland Star, Volume LX, Issue 138, 13 June 1929, Page 26

The Double Act

SYNOPSIS OF PREVIOUS CHAPTERS.

ROSEMARY MARTIN, a young actress playing the part of a Cockney boy in a second rate theatre, has her. wig knocked off one night during her act, disclosing her unusually 'beautiful masses of long golden hair. The effect of this, combined with the boy's " costume "is ridiculous, and the audience laughed her off the stage. LIONEL GRENOBLE, a producer, of West End revues, however, is in-the audience,, and engages her for the sake of that spectacular hair. He establishes her in a charming house in a locked- garden, where she assumes the name. of Madame Marigold," and is allowed to see .no one.but her friend and companion, NEILL FORREST. Finding that Rosemary's beauty makes the perfect centre for his famous stage settings, Grenoble ..displaces his former star, DOLORES M.O.NCLAIR, and Rosemary becomes her' bitterest enemy. Walking in her garden one day Rosemary is seen by ANTONY CARSON, a young playwright who falls .in. love with her, and - writes a play about her. This play; "BERENICE," through Rosemary's influence, is bought by Grenoble. During a visit by Antony" to"'-New York:' Grenoble produces the play, .but, in Antony's opinion, spoils it. He decides to leave for London immediately.

CHAPTER XV. ,■". ■' A Shock for Grenoble. When Antony arrived in London from New York he found "his. play, "Berenice," running to packed houses in its second week. His train had come in late, and on his way to his hotel he bought all the evening papers and studied them over his hasty dinner. In several were pictures of. "Marigold," proclaiming her as the new Grenoble star who had taken ail London'by storm. "Antony dressed and went forth to the theatre. Above it, in letters of running fire, was the name "Marigold," and underneath a placard announcing "House i Full." But the presentation of his card assured Antony a seat in a box. "Does Mr. Grenoble know that you are here?" asked the manager respectfully. "Shall I send him word as soon as he comes in?"

"No thanks," returned Antony briefly. "I will look him up later." In the lobby were many photographs and several paintings of Marigold. She smiled down at-him in gold tissue, in blue, in rose, in mauve. Antony's heart missed a beat at the sight of them, yet he looked in vain for any representation pf lii« garden crirl in spring green organdie. However, he should see her he hoped, though he was full of misgivings

~" A Romance of the Theatre. j

By MARION TOMLINSON j (Author of "THE BELOVED SINNER," etc.) j

as he took his seat in the stage box and watched the heavy golden curtains part on the first scene.

There was the altar of Venus, seemingly of white translucent alabaster, from which a pale blue smoke ascended. A. cloud of leaves, the pale grey leaves of olive trees, surrounded it. Above and behind it was the great dome of the sky, in which the light changed slowly from sunset to the deep blue of night.

Antony nodded, satisfied. That was a good scene, and what he had had in

mind. Then his heart stopped a moment as. the silvery dropping notes of a ilute announced Berenice the queen coming jvith her maids to the sacrifice. She came, all in flowing white, with a white chaplet of flowers on her streaming gold hair. At first glance she seemed to Antony the queen he had imagined, then as a cunningly arranged light caught in her white garments, making them like a cloud of white fire, he leaned forward,' gripping the railing of the box. •

"Does she —she can't know how transparent that white stuff is!" he gasped.

He heard a murmur of admiration go over the crowded house below him. Here and there someone coughed, as if a trifle embarrassed.

But Rosemary moved slowly toward the altar, and knelt before it, her masses of golden hair sweeping the steps. Her maidens arranged themselves for a solemn dance. The smoke above the altar grew in volume, played upon by changing lights, till suddenly, with a crash from the orchestra, Venus herself appeared, by some cleverly arranged illusion of mirrors in the wings, to hover in the smoke. This illusion had not been in Antony's script, and as the young playwright watched, horrified, he foresaw in a flash what Grenoble had made of his poetical fantasy. He saAv now Grenoble's purpose in throwing a light on the girl so that her white garments were a transparent cloud about iei tor the Venus was also lightly veiled in curling smoke. thk&'Ztt a % to , . Colne - The sec ° n d *"<* W able to tS WS play were u»l,ec°gsat £ his & S P la 7 w "gH and le Grenob e, a °ainstT "F* aSainst been ahw° 1 ■ Umself for havin S M the*fe'f a ffit curS° k ; from the box. hVuLToS himt

Anotlier shout made him pause at the exit of his box. "Author!" "Author!" they were calling. did they know I was here?"j muttered Antony to himself, then he' remembei'ed that he had given his card to the manager. That worthy had evi-' dently spread the news that the author had returned from America. "Author!" said Antony bitterly to himself. "If I were the author of this I should hang myself."

The door of the corridor that led to the boxes was flung open, and Grenoble rushed in, followed:by the manager. "My dear i fellow!" cried Grenoble, "why didn't fou send "word to me that you were here! You must come out and take your call. The show is a winner!" Antony ignored the producer's outstretched hand. "Author! Author!" roared the audience behind them.

I Grenoble, undismayed by Antony's J antagonistic attitude, rushed to the edge of the box and lifted his hand for silence. "Ladies and gentlemen," he said, "I I have the honour to present to you the ; author of the play you have just seen, . Mr. Antony Carson. Unknown to all of i us, he has just returned from America." After the momentary hush, the roar increased tenfold, "Author! Author! Marigold! Marigold!" "This is great, better than the first night!" cried Grenoble. "You shall lead Marigold out with you to take your bow together." Antony, with narrowed eyes, watched the producer's excitement coldly, from his shelter at the back of the box. An idea had come to him to get rid of the incubus of Grenoble's peculiar genius onco for all. He therefore followed the producer through the little door, that led to the wings. Marigold was not to be seen. Grenoble dispatched someone to find her, but Antony gripped the producer's wrist. "There is no need to bring her before the audience again," he said. "Like the play, she is a thing of your making." Grenoble did not notice the first part of Antony's remark, but he replied complacently to the latter part. "Well, yes," he admitted, "I believe I can take the credit for having made her what she is." Antony's rage grew colder and more determined. He dragged the producer, in spite of his protests that they must wait for Marigold, out between the heavy curtains full into sight of the audience, who stood and roared applause.

Having got Grenoble there, Antony stood off a little and. surveyed the paunchy body and bald head silhouetted against the rich gold curtains. "Ladies and gentlemen," he said quietly, and a respectful hush fell on the audience. "Ladies and gentlemen, you do me too much honour. lam not the author of the piece you have just witnessed. In spite of his modesty, I must beg leave to present to you the real creator of the spectacle and its star, Mr. Lionel Grenoble!" Antony bowed ironically to the little man beside him, and, while the audience were still silent in bewilderment, he slipped, with another ironical bow to Grenoblej through the curtains and back on to the stage.

By morning Antony's rage had left him, and he felt only a chill depression. He knew what he must do, however, and twelve o'clock found him in Grenoble's office.

"Have you seen this morning's papers ?" asked the producer angrily as he entered. "You've made me look ridiculous, and yourself look like —" Words failed him, and he thrust a copy of a newspaper across his desk. "Who is the author of 'Berenice,' the new Grenoble play?" he read. "Author and producer last night vied with each other in modesty as to who had created

the vehicle for the new Grenoble star, 'Marigold.' It was a case of 'Who killed Cock Robin ?' reversed. 'Not I,' said Mr. Antony Carson, whose name nevertheless figures as author on the programme. 'Not I,' returned Mr. Lionel Grenoble, the famous producer, who seemed nonplussed by his author's denial. A huge and enthusiastic audience watched the duel of modesty bewildered.

"Our dramatic critic, as he left in perplexity, overhead a noted wit and man about town explaining matters to the pretty girl lie was escorting. 'Truth will out,' he declared. 'The fact is, my dear. I wrote it myself.'" Antony tossed the newspaper aside.

"it will be as well to settle the matter here and now," he said. "I demand that my name be taken off the programme as author of 'Berenice,' for the spectacle you have put on has no point of contact with my original drama. I wish also to withdraw all claim to any royalties. In short, I leave you in undisputed possession of the. spectacle, which is not my work, but yours, only asking in return that any mention of my name in connection with it be stopped." Grenoble shrugged his shoulders. "Very well," he returned. "But allow me to tell you that you are a very foolish young man. This show is likely to run for years. The public is simply eating it. I'm not sure that last night's scene will not give it even more impetus. You're throwing aAvay thousands of pounds, my boy." "That is my affair," said Antony. "And as for the play's running for years, I feel it is only fair to warn you, ; that it will not do so with its present star, if I can help it. I don't know what your hold may be on Madame Marigold, but I'm going to do all I can to persuade her to put a stop to this infamous exploitation." "Exploitation!" spluttered Grenoble, thumping his desk with his fist. "Why, I've made that girl what she is!" "Precisely," returned Antony. "She was a nobody—in disgrace—and I've made her talked of all over the world. She would have remained a nobody if it hadn't been for me." "I don't agree with you there," said Antony. "Though you've certainly made her talked about. I doubt if she can feel any gratitude for that."

"Ask her and see," he said coolly. "I think you'll, find she is satisfied enough with the luxury and fame I've given her." He rang for his secretary. "Meanwhile I'll give orders that all connection between you and the play 'Berenice' is to be severed. It will be continued here after with no author's name attached. I admit that the spectacle as it stands is largely my work. I was willing to pay you royalties on it nevertheless. Since you refuse them, that is your affair."

Antony bowed. "Good morning," he said briefly, and left the office. (To be continued daily.)