IMPERFECTION by Ray Clark (e novels to read online TXT) 📗

“The two most well-known were Phantom of the Opera and The Hunchback of Notre Dame.”

“Did he star in something called A Blind Bargain?”

“I think he did,” replied Fettle.

Gardener realised he was still standing. He sat down, grabbed his mug and took a mouthful of tea. “So, what do you know about Lon Chaney?”

“He was a genius. In the early 1920s, there was a well-known saying around Hollywood, ‘Don’t step on that spider, it might be Lon Chaney’. His make-up was that good, he was known as ‘The Man of a Thousand Faces’. Both his parents were deaf, so the only way he could talk to ’em was through mime, which is where he picked up his ability to act. He was brilliant, man. His make–up, well, you’ve never seen nowt like it. He did it all himself.”

Fettle pointed to the page. “That film was just the business and he did all his own make-up. In fact, I remember reading somewhere that the film was so chilling, it inspired a murder. Some bloke in London claimed that after seeing it, he had visions of Chaney’s vampire character. It terrified him so much, that he went into an epileptic fit and killed an Irish housemaid.”

“I thought you said he played Inspector Burke.”

“He did,” replied Fettle. “He also played the vampire. Two parts. Just look at the make-up involved.”

Gardener turned to Reilly. “Well, even if we don’t know who’s doing it, we know who he’s emulating.”

“I wouldn’t say that entirely,” replied Reilly. “Remembering where we’ve just been.”

“What do you remember about A Blind Bargain?” he asked Fettle.

“Not much, I never saw that one, either.”

Fettle left the table and lunged over to the cupboard in the corner. He tossed a few books around, creating a fair amount of dust, before returning with another dog-eared copy of Film Review.

“Here we are. Another lost film, second only to London After Midnight. In fact, he played two parts again, the Mad Scientist and the Ape Man.”

“What was the film about?” asked Gardener.

“Summat about a doctor who’s experimenting on people. Apparently, the half-man half-ape is the result of one of his earlier experiments.”

“I take it all his films were silent films.”

“All except one, I think,” replied Fettle.

“In which case, the words came up on the screen if the actors spoke to each other.”

“Aye,” replied Fettle.

“You’ve no idea if a film script for these films still exists, have you?”

“You must be kidding,” said Fettle, finishing his tea. “Although I did hear talk once that there was a book about the reconstruction of the film.”

“A Blind Bargain?” asked Gardener.

“Aye,” said Fettle.

“Any idea who wrote it?”

“Haven’t a clue, sunshine.”

Gardener turned to Reilly. “Sean, make a note, see if we can find the book.”

“You reckon he’s using quotes from Chaney’s films?” asked Reilly.

“It’s looking that way,” replied Gardener.

“What quotes?” asked Fettle.

“I’m sorry, Mr Fettle, we’ve kept them from the public. You remember that day you took us into the cellars and we found a puzzle?”

“Oh aye.”

“They’re not the only ones he’s been leaving. We’ve found one-line quotes next to the bodies.”

“And you think they’re from the films?”

“Possibly,” replied Gardener.

“And if you could get film scripts you’d know for sure.”

“Maybe.”

“Do you have a copy of the quotes?”

Gardener passed over the evidence bag with the paper he’d shown to Corndell. After a couple of minutes of studying it, Fettle shook his head. “No, can’t help you there.”

“Do you know anyone who can?”

“No, afraid not. You see, most of Chaney’s films are missing, and I doubt there’s any records of the scripts lying around, they’re just too old.”

“Do you know if any of the films are available today?”

“Only way to find out is to use the internet. I dare say you might pick up The Phantom of the Opera, or The Hunchback of Notre Dame.”

“I’ll check that out,” said Reilly. “I’ll also ask Laura what she knows, or maybe who she knows. Her friend at the university might help.”

“Maybe Corndell could,” suggested Gardener.

“Who’s Corndell?” asked Fettle.

“William Henry Corndell. Do you know him?”

“Should I?” asked Fettle.

“I would have thought so,” replied Gardener, “given his pedigree.”

“Pedigree? What pedigree?” asked Fettle, taking a mouthful of fresh tea.

Gardener and Reilly told Fettle what they knew about Corndell. Fettle consulted all his Film Reviews but nothing materialised. “There’s plenty about Wallace Henry Corndell. He was a pretty prominent director.”

“Did he ever make a film called Tales From a Village Pub, starring Leonard White?” asked Gardener.

“Aye, he did, but Leonard White wasn’t the star of the film.”

“But he was in it?” asked Reilly.

“Aye. But there’s no mention of a Corndell.”

Gardener stared at Fettle. “Got another question for you. Do you know anyone connected to the London theatre scene?”

“What do you want to know?” asked Fettle.

“I want to know about William Henry Corndell. He came up here from London. Apparently he’s big in the world of theatre, writes a lot of material, and he once played the role of the Phantom before Michael Crawford.”

“I didn’t know there was anyone before Crawford,” said Fettle.

“Corndell seems to think there was,” said Reilly.

“Can you find out for me?” asked Gardener.

“Aye, I can. In fact, a mate of mine used to work backstage at Her Majesty’s. I’ll see if I can track him down, he’ll know.”

“Thanks. And while we’re on the subject of people, do you know anyone called Harry Fletcher?”

Fettle grew silent before answering. “The name rings a bell. I think he was a writer, worked for the Playhouse.”

“Do you know where he is now?”

“Can’t say as I do, I haven’t seen or heard from him in ages.”

“When did you last see him?” asked