“Thank heaven he’s alive!” were Marilyn’s first words.

“How did you get in the cellar?” Kennedy spoke sternly.

“I thought he might be there.”  Now that the reaction was setting in, the girl was faint and she controlled herself with difficulty.  “I was looking for him and as soon as I heard the first explosion I ran down the steps into the film-vault entrance—­I was right near there—­and I found him, stunned.  I started to lift him, but there were other explosions almost before I got to his side.  The flames shot out through the cracks in the vault door and I—­I couldn’t drag him to the steps; I had to pull him back where you found us.”  She began to tremble.  “It—­ it was terrible!”

“Was there anyone else about, anyone but Mr. Shirley?”

“No.  I—­I remember I wondered about the vault man.”

“What was Mr. Shirley down there for, Miss Loring?”

“He”—­she hesitated—­“he said he had seen some one hanging around and—­and he didn’t want to report anything until he was sure.  He—­ he thought he could accomplish more by himself, although I told him he was—­was wrong.”

“Whom did he see hanging around?”

“He wouldn’t tell me.”

Shirley was too weak to question and the girl too unstrung to stand further interrogation.  In response to Manton’s call several people came up and willingly helped the two toward the comfort of their dressing rooms.

At the fire chief’s suggestion the stream of water into the basement was cut off.  Manton led the way, choking, eyes watering, to the front of the vaults.  Feverishly he felt the steel doors and the walls.  There was no mistaking the conclusion.  The negative vault was hot, the others cold.

“The devil!” Manton exclaimed.  A deep poignancy in his voice made the expression childishly inadequate.  “Why couldn’t it have been the prints!” Suddenly he began to sob.  “That’s the finish.  Not one of our subjects can ever be worked again.  It’s a loss of half a million dollars.”

“If you have positives,” Kennedy asked, “can’t you make new negatives?”

“Dupes?” Manton looked up in scorn.  “Did you ever see a print from a dupe negative?  It’s terrible.  Looks like some one left it out in the wet overnight.”

“How about the ’Black Terror’?” I inquired.

“All of that’s in the safe in the printing room; that and the two current five reelers of the other companies.  We won’t lose our releases, but”—­again there was a catch in his voice—­“we could have cleared thousands and thousands of dollars on reissues.  All—­ all of Stella’s negative is gone, too!” To my amazement he began to cry, without attempt at concealment.  It was something new to me in the way of moving-picture temperament.  “First they kill her and now—­now they destroy the photographic record which would have let her live for those who loved her.  The”—­his voice trailed away to the merest whisper as he seemed to collapse against the hot smoked wall—­“the devil!”