“Fair enough,” said the director. “Hey, Pickles, let her try that one you got.” Pickles, too, was not unwilling to oblige. “That’s better,” said the girl. “It’s balanced right.” Taking the blade by its point between thumb and forefinger she sent it with a quick flick of the wrist into the wall a dozen feet away. It hung there quivering. “There! That’s what we want. It’s got to be quivering when Jack shoots at Ramon who threw it at him as he leaps through the window. Try it again, Flips.” The girl obliged and bowed impressively to the applause. “Now come here and try it through the doorway.” He led her around the set. “Now stand here and see can you put it into the wall just to the right of the window. Good! Some little knife-thrower, I’ll say. Now try it once with Jack coming through. Get set, Jack.” Jack made his way to the window through which he was to leap. He paused there to look in with some concern. “Say, Mr. Burke, will you please make sure she understands? She isn’t to let go of that thing until I’m in and crouched down ready to shoot--understand what I mean? I don’t want to get nicked nor nothing.” “All right, all right! She understands.” Jack leaped through the window to a crouch, weapon in hand. The knife quivered in the wall above him as he shot. “Fine and dandy. Some class, I’ll say. All right, Jack. Get back. We’ll gun this little scene right here and now. All ready, Jack, all ready Miss Montague--camera!--one, two, three--come in, Jack.” Again the knife quivered in the wall above his head even while he crouched to shoot at the treacherous Mexican who had thrown it. “Good work, Flips. Thanks a whole lot. We’ll do as much for you some time.” “You’re entirely welcome, Mr. Burke. No trouble to oblige. How you coming?” “Coming good. This thing’s going to be a knockout. I bet it’ll gross a million. Nearly done, too, except for some chase stuff up in the hills. I’ll do that next week. What you doing?” “Oh, everything’s jake with me. I’m over on Number Four--Toys of Destiny--putting a little pep into the mob stuff. Laid out for two hours, waiting for something--I don’t know what.” Merton Gill passed on. He confessed now to a reluctant admiration for the Montague girl. She could surely throw a knife. He must practise that himself sometime. He might have stayed to see more of this drama but he was afraid the girl would break out into more of her nonsense. He was aware that she swept him with her eyes as he turned away but he evaded her glance. She was not a person, he thought, that one ought to encourage.