‘The Rat’ was the die-hard of the gang who were engaged in sabotage for an unidentified government of N-zis. His speeches were simplicity itself — Pat had written their like many times. ‘Don’t finish him till the Brain comes’; ‘Let’s get out of here’; ‘Fella, you’re going out feet first.’ Pat found it pleasant — mostly waiting around as in all picture work — and he hoped it might lead to other openings in this line. He was sorry that the job was so short.

His last scene was on location. He knew ‘The Rat’ was to touch off an explosion in which he himself was killed but Pat had watched such scenes and was certain he would be in no slightest danger. Out on the back lot he was mildly curious when they measured him around the waist and chest.

‘Making a dummy?’ he asked.

‘Not exactly,’ the prop man said. ‘This thing is all made but it was for Gyp McCarthy and I want to see if it’ll fit you.’

‘Does it?’

‘Just exactly.’

‘What is it?’

‘Well — it’s a sort of protector.’

A slight draught of uneasiness blew in Pat’s mind.

‘Protector for what? Against the explosion?’

‘Heck no! The explosion is phony — just a process shot. This is something else.’

‘What is it?’ persisted Pat. ‘If I got to be protected against something I got a right to know what it is.’

Near the false front of a warehouse a battery of cameras were getting into position. George Hilliard came suddenly out of a group and toward Pat and putting his arm on his shoulder steered him toward the actors’ dressing tent. Once inside he handed Pat a flask.

‘Have a drink, old man.’

Pat took a long pull.

‘There’s a bit of business, Pat,’ Hilliard said, ‘needs some new costuming. I’ll explain it while they dress you.’

Pat was divested of coat and vest, his trousers were loosened and in an instant a hinged iron doublet was fastened about his middle, extending from his armpits to his crotch very much like a plaster cast.

‘This is the very finest strongest iron, Pat,’ Hilliard assured him. ‘The very best in tensile strength and resistance. It was built in Pittsburgh.’

Pat suddenly resisted the attempts of two dressers to pull his trousers up over the thing and to slip on his coat and vest.

‘What’s it for?’ he demanded, arms flailing. ‘I want to k............