The widow of Harry Foster, whose body was found on the evening before the authorities were to have closed in on his nefarious activities, is finding solace in the company of Tim Woodart, who is the inventor of Hammer Productions' new play technique. No one would deny Jenny Foster her right to happiness, and we'll cheer her on-- Foster crumpled the paper craftily. Woodart was about ready to start banking checks in six or seven figures, and-- Harry Foster left the restaurant and headed back toward Hollywood. * * * * * The locomotive thundered across the stage at a forty-five degree angle, filling the theater with a wave of heat and a puff of smoke and steam. Then it was past and gone, and its string of cars rumbled out of "offstage" to the right rear to the "offstage" at the left-front corner. It slowed and stopped, and the porter and passengers emerged; the principal players of the scene appeared and went through their action. "Now that," said Hammer, pleased, "is a right good scene." "Y'know," smiled Jenny Foster, "people are going to be so surprised to see the real thing come roaring across the stage that they're going to forget a couple of rather irrelevant items like having their heroine's head nineteen feet in diameter." "Yeah," drawled Hammer, "and tell the crook to shave closer. A close-up of Jack Vanders looks like a pincushion with telephone poles shoved in. Didn't know hair could be so big!" "What bothers me," smiled Martha Evers, "is where I drink that Manhattan in the close-up. Darned drink must be all of twenty-three gallons." "That isn't the main trouble with that scene," objected Vanders cheerfully. His saturnine face was only for selling purposes; a more pleasant villain was seldom to be found. "What bothers everybody is that you can smell the odor of that drink, it's so big. Half of the would-be sots in the audience are going to be as dry as the Sahara by the time Evers gets it down." Martha laughed, "Hammer is a great one for realism," she said, "but I hope he doesn't insist on a real slug of cyanide in the poisoning scene. I hate to think of twenty gallons of cyanide!" "No doubt," laughed Hammer. "But what we ought to do is to have Woodart fix up some way of stopping that thing during close-up. We could start with a normal Martini and end up with fifty gallons." Woodart shook his head. "Cost twenty times as much liquor itself," he said with a good-natured smile. "You see, the energy that keeps this thing in balance comes from the wipe-out of the previous scene. Stop it that way and your light bill heads for the ceiling." "O.K.--it was just an idea." Vanders faced the group. "Look," he said. "I'm a professional villain, and all villains are supposed to want something for nothing and finding out that it can't be did." Woodart agreed.