feet-seven. Mr. Li was not tall, and his face was round."
The elderly Chinese waved his hands in the air soothingly. "But Mr. Ch'ung look' exactly like Mr. Li. All same his twin blother. Mr. Ch'ung is outside now."
This was too much for O'Conner.
"Good Lord! Here I've wasted a third of a morning and all the time the man was here! Bring him in! We'll find out whether or not he's Li's twin brother!"
The elderly Chinese moved leisurely to the door and gave a shrill call. In response, there sidled sheepishly into the room an embarrassed-looking Oriental of thirty, gorgeously caparisoned. He was of Mr. Li's height and the face was authentically the full moon with slant eyes that the late lamented actor had possessed. But there the resemblance ended. Where Li had been thin to the point of cadaverousness, this actor verged on corpulence.
O'Conner suddenly moaned. "Take this man out!” he said feebly. "Take him away! He's forty pounds overweight! He's beefy!"
The elderly interpreter looked worried. He conferred for a moment with his charge. The latter began peeling off an outer jacket, a crape under jacket and then the loose silken shirt next to the skin.
"Here! What's the matter?" muttered O'Conner, startled. "Why the disrobing act? I'm not making any pictures of Aphrodite!"
"But, sir, I show you that Mr. Ch'ung is not beefsy, as you complain. No fat on him. All muscles."
In spite of himself, O'Conner was caught by the sinewy, beautifully developed brown torso that was revealed.
"He's an athlete, isn't he? Looks like a wrestler. . . . Hum . . . I wonder if I couldn't use him. Make him do a few stunts. He ought to be able to. . . . Yes . . . I could" O'Conner broke off. He had been talking to himself. Now he turned to the interpreter. "First I must give him a screen test; also, find out if he can act for nuts. You—" jerking a hand toward the newest Thespian—"you—come on."
The small but husky Chinese trotted obediently toward the door. As the pair, followed by the elderly interpreter, were walking across the lot, Sergeant Andrews appeared. O'Conner hailed him.
"Well, Sergeant, I think I've found a substitute for Li. I was growing pretty discouraged. I've had to give up the idea of getting an absolute double for Li. Funny thing, you think that all Chinese look alike—until you try to duplicate 'em! This man doesn't look like Li in the least, but I'm playing a hunch. I'm going to turn my picture upside down, begin all over again, change it to a stunt production. I'll make this new man engage upon a few high, wide and handsome fights. He looks like a fighter—stripped to the buff. Which is more than you can say about most Chinese. I don't think it's ever been done in an Oriental film. If he lives through the mill, perhaps I'll have a picture that will make me not regret Mr. Li's passing to the Great Beyond."
Sergeant Andrews had listened with a mouth that drooped wider and wider. With an effort he closed it and then said:
"Muster O'Conner, did you say that you were goin' to make a dare-de'il of this new man? A stunter?"
"That's it! A parachute drop or so from an airplane. A jump from a moving train to a motor car, and back again."
"My God!" muttered the Scotchman. "See here, O'Conner, you can't do"
He stopped, for the actor who had paused near by was suddenly taken with a cough, a loud nasty cough that blanked
