Such Power is Dangerous Read online

  ‘This is my idea,’ said Lord Gavin slowly, ‘you are recognised as the greatest force in the film industry today, Mr. Hinckman. It is for that reason that I have approached you—a lesser man could not carry this thing through. There are in America only eight or ten corporations of real magnitude—the others we can afford to neglect, the Combine will smash them later at its leisure. The ones we have to deal with are—afer the T.C.E., which you control—Pacific Players, Star Artists, Klein Brothers, Alpha Talkies, World Wide Pictures, Ubiquitous Films, Mozarts Ltd., Reno Films, and Stillman Comedies.

  ‘Most of these have one big personality to whom his codirectors are subservient. It should not be difficult for a man in your position to arrange a meeting with these key directors. Put this suggestion of a combine before them with all its immense advantages. Those who do not feel absolutely secure on their ground will welcome the suggestion; others may do so also if they have wisdom and foresight.

  ‘Those who come in with us at the beginning will be fortunate in the end, since when the Combine is actually formed they will receive the benefit of their support by full allotment in the Combine of their shareholding in the old companies.’

  ‘Yeah.’ Hinckman twirled his cigar restlessly. ‘So far so good, but they’re a jealous lot—we don’t throw no bouquets when we meet. How about the guys that won’t play? We’d have to get seven out of those ten if we’re to be strong enough to break the other three and the small folks as well. They’ll sure fight like hell!’

  ‘I agree—but if you can get, say, three or four of those ten with you in the beginning, we should be able to select three or four more amongst the weakest of our opponents, and with the funds at my disposal secure a controlling interest in their concerns. That would bring our total up to the seven you suggest as necessary.’

  ‘That’s no practical proposition to my mind—you’d have to re-sell at top figure to the Combine to get your money back. With every share you bought, their share ’ud be raised on you, you’d sure land the Combine with the baby ’fore you’d done.’

  Lord Gavin placed the tips of his small pudgy fingers together as he lay back in his low chair. ‘My dear Mr. Hinckman’—he shook his head with a mildly reproving look—‘I fear you underrate my poor intelligence. I can assure you that by the time I came to purchase those shares they would be offered freely and at a very heavy discount. None but those who support the Combine in its inception can be allowed to benefit to the full by its creation.’

  ‘Go right on, Lord Fortescue—it ’ud be mighty interesting to hear how you figure to bring that about.’

  ‘In this way. You will agree, I think, that the prosperity of every business is dependent on the few vital personalities who are its brains and executive. Should these be removed or disappear it is a very serious thing and the larger the business the greater repercussions of such a shock. The shares of the concern begin to fall at once.’

  Hinckman nodded thoughtfully. ‘That’s so,’ he said, ‘but how do you reckon to accomplish that?’

  Lord Gavin’s voice sank to a lower note. ‘There are two methods. The first, I trust, will prove sufficient for our needs. It is that we should offer attractive forward contracts to such key-stars, producers, camera-men, etc., whom the Combine would anyhow have to employ later on. I mean, of course, those employed by the corporations that we decide to force into joining us after your meeting. The publication of the fact that their principal executives were leaving would destroy public confidence and lower the value of the shares. If possible we should induce these people to break their present contracts in addition—indemnify them for so doing, and create legal delays to postpone an action in the courts. By such means we could ruin the value of many films at present in preparation. Get me four companies willingly. Hinckman, and I will force the other three.’

  A sudden gleam of enthusiasm showed in Hinckman’s eyes. Such methods were no new thing to him. When he first began the grim struggle that he had waged for thirty years, he had found it essential to put any scruples about fair dealing behind him—results were all that mattered.

  ‘It’ll take no little handling,’ he said thoughtfully, but I guess it could be done. There’s complications, though, lots of ’em. Take Barton Druce, of Pacific Players—he’d never come in, not with me. We’re about the biggest of the bunch, just about neck to neck. He’d fight us, and Percy Piplin—we’d never get him; what’s he got to gain?—he and the Marybanks crowd have got their own show in Star Artists … they’re producers, directors, and stars themselves, all rolled into one. Besides, star buying on forward contracts is a game that two can play—once we start the others’ll be at it—it’ll sure become a competition. We’ll have a big pull if you’re willing to finance the game, but let’s hear about your other method.’

  For a moment Lord Gavin did not reply, then he said slowly, ‘I wonder, Mr. Hinckman, if you realise the magnitude of my conception. The world control of the entire film industry. Our revenues would be greater than the budget of any but a first-class state. The wealth of Ford and Rockefeller would not compare with ours. Again, our sphere of influence would be unbounded. By the type of film which we chose to produce we could influence the mass psychology of nations. Fashions, morals, customs, could be propagated by our will—we should even be able if it suited us to fill a whole people with a mad desire to make war on their neighbour—or if we considered that a universal language would lead to world peace we could induce the children of all nations to learn English, by a decision that our talking pictures should be made in no other tongue. We should have power to do either endless good … or boundless evil. No king or emperor would ever have had such power in the world before!’

  Hinckman drew a sharp breath at the amazing vision which this frail elderly man spread out before him in his soft, melodious voice.

  ‘You’re right.’ he said thickly, ‘you’re right—the President of the United States himself would be small fry compared to us—I guess it’s dangerous to think just how precisely powerful we’d be.’

  Lord Gavin nodded. His pale eyes glittered in his broad white face. His glance was filled with the tremendous power of the fanatic, but the grim lines round his mouth belied the saintly look lent to his face by the crown of silver hair.

  ‘Then for such a tremendous project,’ he went on, with sudden intensity, ‘I think you will agree that unusual measures are justified—should they become necessary. In Europe during the last century we have become effete, we set too high a value on. the continuance in our midst of individuals who are often useless. Such cowardice has been forced upon us by a slavish multitude—and we pay the penalty in that great conceptions are sometimes thwarted or brought to naught by this stupid overvaluation of the sacredness of human life. Today it is only in the younger nations that one can find those virile natures who continue to observe a reasonable standard of proportion; men who are prepared to take great risks to attain great ends. Sometimes it is even necessary for them to ensure their own protection.’ Lord Gavin paused, but he continued to hold Hinckman with his eyes. Then, with a suden change of tone, he asked casually, ‘By the bye, they tell me that you keep two gunmen yourself—is that rumour true?’

  Hinckman grinned. ‘That’s so, Lord Fortescue—if you’re a rich man it’s best to in this country—a good few people do, especially since the Lindbergh baby case—I keep ’em as a sort of insurance against a hold-up.’

  ‘Exactly,’ Lord Gavin smiled; ‘do you consider that these men are to be trusted—if, for example, it became necessary to carry the war into the enemy’s camp?’

  ‘I guess so—and that’s your second method, eh?’

  ‘A method that I would not for one moment suggest we should employ, my dear Mr. Hinckman—but of course we shall offer every possible inducement for the heads of other corporations to come into our scheme—why should they refuse?’

  ‘But just supposing one or two big boys stood right out—people who’d just make all the difference between
complete success and the Combine blowing up—I guess that’s what you’re meaning?’

  Lord Gavin waved a deprecating hand. ‘Mr. Hinckman, I have an unfortunate but rooted objection to dotting my “i’s” and crossing my “t’s”. I have laid certain proposals before you—I have pointed out that certain eventualities may arise. This child of my imagination will need money, time, patience, skilful negotiation, and an inflexible determination to override all obstacles if it is to grow into actual life. Once we have begun our operations there can be no turning back, but if you agree to join me I have no single doubt as to our ultimate success. What is your answer?’

  Hinckman stood up—his great chin jutted out and he threw his massive shoulders back as he replied:

  ‘I guess this is the biggest proposition that’s ever been put up, Lord Fortescue—but I’m your man!’

  Lord Gavin took his hand, a sudden fire leapt into his strange, cold eyes. ‘Within a year,’ he said softly, ‘you and I will be the richest and most powerful men in the world.’

  2

  So this is Hollywood!

  Avril Bamborough sat in a basket-chair under the cool shade of a eucalyptus tree in Clair de la Lune’s garden. She looked very graceful there and she knew it! For one thing she was a very graceful girl, for another she had been trained since she was a tiny child to be graceful in movement and repose.

  Avril came of a great theatrical family, her grand-father, her father, and her uncles had for many years been lords of the British stage, and it was their hope that she would follow in the great tradition. At sixteen they had feared that she would be a failure, she was then a tall gawky girl, her pale narrow face surrounded by dank locks of dark hair, her big eyes staring with apparent vacancy—as she sat, solemn and preoccupied whenever she was among older people. ‘The girl is clever in a queer, hostile way,’ they had said, ‘she may succeed in certain Shakespearian roles or true drama, but she’ll never get over with the modern plays.’

  To their surprise the ugly duckling had become a swan. Her face broadened and took on colour, the dark hair, properly dressed and sweeping back from her forehead, was fine and lustrous. Her mouth was a trifle wide and her chin a little long, but they spoke of generosity and determination. Above all, the big, dark, violet eyes gave her real beauty, and by the time she was twenty her youthful shyness had disappeared.

  She knew her Shakespeare backwards—and an enormous repertoire of stock plays besides. She had played minor parts for years, but only minor parts, that she might not spoil herself or her future public. Then the grind of two years in the Provinces and a tour in South Africa—after that the lead in two London plays, neither a raging success and neither a great play—but each a sound, satisfactory performance. Avril Bamborough, the critics said, had come—and come to stay.

  It was then that she had decided to try the new medium of the films. Amongst the older members of her family there had been opposition—but John Bamborough, the rebel of the clan, had seen the future of the screen many years before. ‘Uncle John’ was now a power in the film world, his studios at Hatfield were renowned. He swept aside the protests of the elders, and welcomed Avril with open arms. She trained once more, and made a thorough study of the new techniques. Titchcock directed her and she starred in two of his big films.

  Then came the German-American producer, Hugo Schultzer—the big man of Ubiquitous. He offered her a Hollywood contract. Uncle John was loth to let her go, but he knew that the experience would be good for her, and make her an even more accomplished artist. That was an all-important factor to a Barhborough; money came second—and so, a week before her twenty-fourth birthday, Avril Bamborough had sailed upon the great adventure. Only the day before, she had stepped off the train at Hollywood.

  Hugo Schultzer stood beside her chair. He was a nice old homely German, fat and jolly. With a frank pleasure that gave the lie direct to any suggestion of triumphing over his rivals, he produced this new star from whom he hoped so much. Social occasions were usually avoided by him, and in other circumstances he would have fought shy of Clare’s garden party, where a galaxy, of stars would be certain to forgather, but today Hugo Schultzer was quite happy to face the film world for the pleasure of presenting his new leading lady.

  It pleased him greatly that Avril was easy to talk to and unaffected. So many girls lost their heads when they reached stardom, and poor old Hugo had no idea how to cope with them when they behaved like fractious children. He had dreaded that with Avril, but he need not have worried. Fame was an attribute of her family, and she considered that a star’s contract was only her rightful portion after all the years of grinding work she had gone through.

  A multitude of people strolled about the lovely garden, the women in bright colours, the men in flannels. Here and there she saw a face vaguely familiar, and yet so different from its prototype on the screen that she hesitated to recognise it—but most of the people about her stirred no chord of recognition in her mind. She turned to Schultzer. ‘Do tell me all about these exciting people, please.’

  He smiled. ‘Most of them haf names you would not know—some stars are here, yet also many who make for broduction. Engineer, scene artist exberts of every kind. When imbortant beoples arrive, I bresent them to you—Ach, here now is “Uncle Andy”.’

  Avril saw a fine stalwart old gentleman approaching. Set at a jaunty angle on his white hair he wore a rakish panama. ‘Uncle Andy?’ she repeated. ‘I’m afraid I’m terribly ignorant, but do you know I haven’t an idea who he is.’

  ‘He is the Grand Old Man of Hollywood, he is here since nineteen eight, and is now World Wide Pictures. Uncle Andy—come here—I wish to bresent to you my new star—Miss Avril Bamborough.’

  Uncle Andy removed his panama with a flourish. ‘I’m sure delighted to make your acquaintance, Miss Bamborough. It certainly is a great victory that Hugo’s scored—taking you off the English screen—it’s a real pleasure to meet an actress of your quality here in Hollywood.’

  Avril thought him charming. ‘I feel very small fry here,’ she smiled, ‘but it cheers me up tremendously to hear you say such nice things.’

  ‘I mean it—every word,’ he assured her. ‘I saw your uncle—or would it be your grandad now—way back in eighty-eight, and I’ve seen your folks act a hundred times since then. You’re not the girl to go back on your family—even an old man like me can see that by the tilt of your chin! Hugo’s a lucky fellow to have signed you up.’

  ‘It won’t be for want of trying, if I let him down,’ Avril’s violet eyes became very earnest.

  He waved the suggestion aside with a sweep of his hat. ‘You don’t need to tell me that, Miss Bamborough—and I’m no poacher, but if Hugo isn’t satisfied—World Wide Pictures’ll take over your contract every time. I saw your last film when I was over on the other side—it certainly was great stuff … why, say—here’s Issey.’

  Uncle Andy beckoned to a little Jew who was passing at the moment. A tiny man with quick, bright eyes, and a flamboyant tie that cursed his socks. He paused, flashing them a smile which displayed two rows of enormous teeth—four of which were gold.

  Uncle Andy laid a hand on the little man’s shoulder. ‘Issey my boy, I want to introduce you to Miss Avril Bamborough—Miss Bamborough, meet Mr. Issidor Vandelstein—he’s Mozarts.’

  The gold teeth flashed again. ‘Ai’m sure pleased ter meet yer, Miss Bamborough. Vos you come to vork in Hollywood?’

  ‘Mr. Schultzer has been kind enough to give me a contract.’ Avril smiled.

  ‘Now ain’t dat fine, and vos you vorkin’ on der screen ’afore?’ Uncle Andy slapped him on the back. ‘Miss Bamborough is one of the Bamboroughs, Issey—you sure know that name, they bin big folk in the theatre for generations.’

  Mr. Vandelstein looked doubtful. ‘Ai don’t know no Bamboroughs,’ he said, ‘ ’cept some fellah vot makes British Talkies.’

  ‘What you need is education, Issey.’ Uncle Andy shook his head.

  ‘Vot vou
ld Ai vant with education, ven Ai make motion pictures?’ Mr. Vandelstein wanted to know. Avril’s dark eyes twinkled.

  ‘I made two pictures for Mr. Titchcock,’ she said.

  ‘Now ain’t that fine! Veil, Ai vish you all the luck in der vorld, Miss Bamborough,’ and with another flash of the amazing teeth Mr. Vandelstein passed on.

  Hugo Schultzer had seen a friend that he wished to speak to, so for the moment Avril was alone with Uncle Andy. The handsome old man sank into a chair beside her.

  ‘You’ll certainly find us a queer lot, Miss Bamborough—there’s all sorts gets to Hollywood. Good ’uns and bad ’uns—but there’s a whole heap of good even in the worst of ’em, if you just go looking for it. And believe you me, half the evil that’s talked ain’t true—no—not by a long chalk.’

  Avril thought the Grand Old Man a dear. She was anxious to learn all that she could about this new world she had come to live in, and she found him a bottomless well of information, interlarded with kindly, humorous anecdote.

  ‘I’m terribly anxious to meet some of the real stars,’ she said after a while. ‘Do you think many of them will be here this afternoon?’

  ‘Sure—there’s Lila Dalmatia over there in the green hat—she’s talking to Hustler Beaton at the moment. Then the dark chap in the open shirt is Pritchard Tix.’

  ‘Is Piplin here—or either of the Marybanks?’

  ‘No, they don’t go places—they prefer to live quiet, and I guess they’re big enough to please themselves. Rita Ravo was the same, and so’s the English colony—Warren Hastings Rook, Jeremiah Mustard, an’ all that bunch. Maybe since you’re a Bamborough they’ll take you up—if so you’ll be fixed for the quiet life, too, and I’ll not say there’s anything against it for the serious artist. It sure means better work on the set. Say now—there’s Carlo Green an’ Handsome Harry. Howdo, Handsome—come right over here.’