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“I pretended to be an exhibitor with a string of picture show shops in Indiana.”
“That was a nice touch,” Bell said admiringly.
“Not really,” Rubenoff replied with a modest smile. “I control houses in Detroit, Toledo, Battle Creek, and Indianapolis.”
“So you think she passes muster?”
“There are poseurs in this line who like to say that anyone can make a moving picture. That is not true, as Mr. Thomas Edison is slowly beginning to learn at great expense. Similarly, not just anyone can distribute movies. Mademoiselle Viorets knows her business. Most important, she knows the future of the business.”
“You didn’t fall for her, Uncle Andy, did you?”
“It is in my makeup,” Rubenoff replied, enigmatically, “to be capable of admiring a beautiful woman without desiring her.”
“How did Irina learn so much about the future of the business?”
“Apparently she made one-reelers in Russia. Much as your bride does when she is not shooting her Picture World newsreels for the ghastly Whiteway.”
“But how did a Russian moving picture director learn about distribution and exhibition?”
Rubenoff smiled. “You’re your father’s son, young Isaac. Always to the core.” Then he turned very serious, and Isaac Bell was reminded that Rubenoff had earned several fortunes since landing as an immigrant and appeared to be on the road to another. “It seems to me that Irina Viorets learned about distribution and exhibition by listening carefully to someone who has manipulated a modern corporation to control the entire chain of production and marketing from top to bottom.”
“Like who?”
“Andrew Carnegie pretty much invented modern vertical integration.”
“Assuming the young lady did not sit on the old philanthropist’s knee, who else? Any Germans?”
“Germans? Krupp has pretty much written the book on German vertical integration.”
“What about Krieg Rüstungswerk?”
“If not quite so large as Krupp, Krieg is better connected in the kaiser’s circle. But wherever the lady absorbed her ideas, she has a clear understanding that the future of moving pictures belongs to those who control every aspect, from hiring actors to projecting the finished product in the theater — only then can we guarantee a place to see our product, and a product to see in our place.”
“Sounds like you’re working at vertical integration, too, Uncle Andy.”
“From your lips to God’s ear, young Isaac. But don’t go blabbing it about.”
“Will you keep digging into who’s behind her?”
“I’ve already begun inquiries,” Rubenoff replied.
* * *
“Quiet as a church,” the Van Dorn Protective Services operatives reported whenever Bell dropped by the Imperial Building laboratory where Clyde Lynds was hard at work. “He’s at it from breakfast to supper, and sometimes half the night. The man works hard as a nailer.”
“Have you seen anyone hanging around?”
“No. It’s just him and us and Clyde’s helpers — and you know we looked at them real close.”
“No shadows on the way home?”
“No, sir, Mr. Bell. None coming in either. And the boys watching the house haven’t seen a soul who looked like trouble. Do you think maybe they just gave up and packed it in?”
“I would be very surprised,” said Bell. “Keep on your toes. And remember, the hardest part of guarding a fellow is that the attack can come anytime, night or day.”
Privately, however, Bell had to wonder. Had Krieg given up? Or were they laying back, reasoning that once he was set up in a laboratory, Clyde Lynds wasn’t going anywhere until he had finished the machine, in which event they had him just where they wanted him?
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