From a distance, Bell spotted a familiar short, compact figure jump impatiently from the stateroom car that Research had determined was Brooks’s. Brooks pushed through the crowd on the platform and through the arrival hall to the front of the station.

Bell gave Texas Walt the nod. Brooks hopped into a taxi. Walt eased into the Oldsmobile, and the Van Dorn driver trailed Brooks’s taxi away from the station. Balant, waiting by the streetcar track, hailed another taxi and tore after them.

“Mr. Bell. Mr. Bell.”

Bell recognized the out-of-breath Van Dorn messenger running up to him.

“Best to keep your voice low, son, while engaging a colleague on duty,” Bell cautioned, mildly. He took the messenger’s arm. “Walk along with me while we try to notice who took notice… What do you make of that fellow in the straw hat? Is he watching us?… Oh, there he goes with that lady kissing him. Otherwise, we’re clear. What’s the message?”

“Telephone Mr. Clyde Lynds soon as you can.”

Bell hurried inside the train station and telephoned the laboratory. Clyde Lynds sounded even more excited than the messenger. “Come see. I’ve synchronized sound and pictures.”

“I’ll be right there.”

But as Bell exited the station to race to the Imperial Building, he bumped into Texas Walt.

“What are you doing here? Did you lose Brooks?”

“Nope.”

“Where is he?”

“Stopped in Levy’s Café for supper. Balant’s watching him.”

“Cover him closely. I’ll be at the Imperial Building.”

“Can’t.”

“Why not?”

“Guess who he’s eating supper with?”

“Irina Viorets.”

“Nope. He’s eating with a fellow who’ll spot me in a second.”

“Who?”

“The feller who directed me in those Western dramas, the Pirate King himself, Jay Tarses.”

Bell shook his head in disbelief. “I figured Brooks would meet Irina first thing. And I hoped he would lead us to Semmler. What’s he doing with Tarses?”

“Balant took a table near ’em. We met up in the alley outside the facilities and Balant told me that Tarses mumbles too quiet to hear, but he heard Brooks jawing up a storm.”

“About Imperial?”

“No. J. P. Morgan is fixing to start a moving picture factory, and he wants Tarses to run it for him. Brooks is troweling it on thick about how much they need Tarses. Tarses is watching him like a snake. So it don’t sound to me like Brooks came to Los Angeles to visit Imperial. He’s come out here to grubstake a new outfit.”

“Maybe he’s meeting Irina tomorrow,” Bell said with little confidence.

“Hell, Isaac, why don’t I just walk in and ask him straight off?”

“I’ll do it. I know Brooks slightly, and I want to watch to see if he’s lying.”

“You want me to back you up?”