Kitabı oku: «Janet Hardy in Radio City», sayfa 9
Chapter Twenty-six
IN THE HALL
From a distance came the soft strains of an orchestra playing in one of the more distant studios on the same floor, but there was no movement in the corridor.
Janet paused at the door. Should she snap out the lights? If no one came along they would burn all night, yet if she turned them off, she would be in utter darkness.
Then she realized that she was silhouetted in the light. Anyone who might trouble her would be even more handicapped than she in the darkness and her fingers pressed the switch.
As the lights went out, Janet stepped quickly away from the door, her feet treading silently on the heavy carpet which covered the floor of the hall.
Janet pressed close against the wall, listening for some sound which would indicate that someone was lurking in the corridor. There was only the far away music of the orchestra as it played a dreamy waltz. From outside a clock boomed, but Janet couldn’t remember whether it was a half after midnight or a quarter to one. It didn’t matter much, she decided.
Convinced at last there was no one moving along the corridor, she started feeling her own way along. The end of the corridor was marked by a very dim light that failed to penetrate more than a dozen feet in any direction. It was toward this glow that Janet started.
It was a ghostly and unnerving business, but she couldn’t spend the whole night in Jim’s office. It just wasn’t possible. She had to get out.
Fighting to keep down a mounting fear, Janet quickened her steps. Then she stopped abruptly. Just why she did that, she would never know, but her instinct warned her that someone was near.
She turned toward an office door she had just passed. It was open and a flood of light poured out to blind Janet’s tired eyes. The beam from the electric torch was so bright it fairly seared its way into her fatigued mind.
Then the stabbing light vanished and Janet heard a swift movement. A hard hand was clapped over her mouth and she felt an arm slide around her neck.
Before she could scream or move, a soft cloth, which reminded her of a hospital, was slapped against her face and the fumes of ether penetrated her nose and throat. Janet attempted to struggle but two capable arms held her fast.
She felt herself losing consciousness. She felt delightfully tired and dreamy. Once she rallied her senses, but the next time she slipped away into unconsciousness and her captor, satisfied that she would cause no trouble for some time, let her fall into a heap on the floor.
While Janet remained unconscious, a lithe figure darted into Jim Hill’s office and the flash sought the drawer into which she had dropped the manuscript.
A small steel instrument, expertly inserted, forced the drawer open and the beam of light fell upon the inscription Janet had placed on the envelope. The intruder’s breath was drawn in sharply and it was evident that this was the property sought.
Removing the envelope and placing it in his pocket, the unknown closed the drawer and slipped out into the corridor. Bending down over Janet, the figure vanished. Someone watching closely could have seen it dodge into the main reception room, but there was no one there to watch – only Janet unconscious on the floor.
Just how long she remained slumped on the floor she would never know exactly; probably it was not more than half an hour at the most.
Finally lights penetrated her tired mind and the sweetish smell of the ether assailed her returning consciousness. Someone was shaking her gently and someone else was rubbing her arms.
“Wake up, Janet, wake up!” a voice kept repeating.
It sounded strangely like Helen’s voice, but Helen, she realized, had gone home hours before.
“Take a drink of this,” another voice commanded and Janet obeyed almost automatically for she was far from being in full command of her senses.
The cool water, flowing down her aching throat, helped and she tried to sit up.
“Take it easy,” a voice cautioned and she let her head drop back against someone’s knees.
Lights were on now in the corridor and as consciousness returned Janet recognized Helen leaning over her. Curt Newsom was massaging her arms and grumbling to himself in anger.
“Feeling better?” Helen asked as Janet’s eyes opened wide.
“I’ll be all right, soon. I’d like another drink of water,” said Janet.
A second glass of water followed the first and she felt stronger as her head cleared.
“What happened?” she asked.
“That’s what we’d like to know,” said Curt. “We found you unconscious on the floor a few minutes ago and the place smelled like a hospital.”
“Look at Jim Hill’s desk and see if the right hand drawer has anything in it,” Janet whispered to Curt and the tall cowboy hurried away to do her bidding.
He returned almost instantly, shaking his head.
“Someone’s pried the drawer open with a jimmy,” he declared. “There isn’t a thing in the drawer.”
Helen looked stricken.
“Don’t tell me that manuscript you worked on all evening was in that drawer,” she said.
Janet looked beyond Helen and Curt to where half a dozen studio employees, most of them from the engineering department, were clustered looking at her and wondering what it was all about.
“I put the manuscript there just before I started down the hall,” nodded Janet. “It looks like it’s gone.”
There was a flicker of her right eyelid, barely visible to Helen and Curt, and they caught its meaning and played the parts Janet wanted.
“Then that means they won’t be able to bolster up the program for Ace Pictures,” wailed Helen. “The World Broadcasting Company will probably lose its contract.”
“Yep, and we’ll all lose our jobs,” groaned Curt. “Well, there’s nothing we can do about it now. We might as well go back to the hotel. We’ll report to Director Adolphi in the morning. Think you can walk if I steady you?” The question was aimed at Janet.
“I’ll make it all right,” she said, but the steadying influence of Curt’s arm was welcome,
They walked down the corridor, across the reception lobby, and then sped downward in an elevator.
When they were outside and comfortably ensconced in a taxi, Helen faced her companion.
“Is the manuscript safe?” she asked.
“Unless Radio City burns down,” replied Janet.
“Well, for goodness sake, where is it?”
“I slipped it under the rug in Jim’s office and spread the sheets out so there won’t be a hump which would attract attention. I’ll have to get up early and phone him at the studio for he’s coming down to start the revision of my material.”
“You’ll do no such thing,” cut in the cowboy. “You’ve earned a morning of sleep. I’ll phone Jim Hill myself and explain where the manuscript is hidden.”
“Now I want to know just what happened.” It was Helen speaking.
Janet shook her head.
“I don’t know. I knew someone was prowling in the corridor, but I couldn’t stay there in the office all night and I couldn’t get a phone connection out. After I’d hidden the manuscript I turned out the light in the office and started down the hall. Someone turned a flashlight into my face, then I was grabbed around the neck and finally a cloth filled with ether was smashed against my face. About that time I forgot to remember and the next thing I knew you two were with me.”
“How many jumped on you?” asked the cowboy.
“I can’t be sure, but I’d say that it was one man who was capable of moving very rapidly.”
“One man could do it all right,” nodded Curt. “I wish I could get my hands on him and I’d teach him a thing or two.”
“How did you two happen to get into the corridor? That’s a question I’d like to have answered,” said Janet.
“I became worried when you didn’t get back to the hotel at midnight and I phoned Curt. He agreed to meet me at Radio City and we came up together. It was as simple as that,” explained Helen.
“Well, for once I’m glad someone worried about me,” confessed Janet. “And, oh what a headache that ether gave me. The water tasted good, but I feel queer inside now. Bed is going to seem like heaven.”
Chapter Twenty-seven
SUSPICIONS
When she was alone in her room, Janet fairly tumbled into bed but not until she had picked up a letter Helen had brought up from the desk and placed on the bedside table. When she was stretched out comfortably in bed, Janet opened the letter. It was from home, her mother telling of news of the neighborhood and of interesting little things about the house.
Janet finished the letter, tucked it under her pillow, and snapped out the light. She was glad that her mother did not know of the stirring events of that night.
Janet slept late the next morning, for her fatigue had been heavier than she had imagined. After an invigorating shower, she returned to her own room and there found a note propped on the writing table.
“Have gone on to Radio City,” wrote Helen. “Will meet you there for lunch if you’re awake.”
Janet partially dressed and pulled on her dressing gown. Then she called the World Broadcasting Company and got a connection with Jim Hill’s office. The young continuity writer answered at once.
“This is Janet Hardy. I just wanted to know if you were able to dig the copy out from under your carpet.”
“I’ll say I was,” replied Jim. “It’s good stuff, Janet. Say, what under the sun went on here last night?”
“I’d like to really know,” she replied.
“Well, the studio officials are all upset about it. They were worried enough trying to land the big contract with the Ace Motion Picture Corporation and now they fairly have the jitters. The studio is being gone over with a fine-toothed comb to see if some clue can be unearthed. Have you thought of anything that would help?”
“To tell the truth, I’ve just gotten up and I don’t think well without any breakfast,” confessed Janet. “Maybe I’ll have an idea or two by the time I reach the studio.”
“It’s almost time for lunch,” Jim reminded her.
“I’m to meet Helen for lunch at the studio,” replied Janet.
“Then count me in on that and maybe we can get a line on who this was chasing around the studio last night.”
Janet completed dressing and started for the studio. The morning was clear and cool and it seemed impossible now that such events could have happened the night before in the studio. She swung into Sixth Avenue, walking briskly, and headed for Radio City.
When Janet arrived at the studio, the rehearsal in studio K was at an end for the morning and members of the company were hurrying out for lunch. Rachel Nesbit, her dark eyes flashing, pushed past Janet with little ceremony and Janet thought that the director looked away and flushed. But then, she might have been imagining that for Director Adolphi and Rachel were known to be close friends.
Helen came hurrying up, followed by Curt Newsom.
“How are you feeling now?” she asked.
“Hungry,” confessed Janet. “What’s the news around the studio?”
“Oh, everybody is looking at everybody else and wondering who did it. They all seem to think it was an inside job for outsiders couldn’t have known that you were working on that script, much less where you were working. I guess suspicion centers pretty strongly right on this company.”
“That would mean someone in our own unit has sold out to a rival company and is doing everything in their power to keep this broadcast from being a success,” mused Janet.
“That’s putting it politely,” put in Curt. “I’d say that someone is a skunk, and I hate skunks.”
Jim Hill joined them just then. He looked tired and worried.
“Let’s eat,” he said, and the others agreed, the group adjourning to a nearby restaurant. They obtained a secluded table where they could talk with little risk of being overheard by prying ears.
After giving their orders, Jim turned to Janet.
“Been able to think up any clues?” he asked.
She shook her head.
“I’ve tried to think of every event that took place, but I can’t remember any special smell, or noise, and I didn’t even feel the garments of my assailant. I’m afraid I’m of no help.”
“Not much,” conceded Jim, running his fingers through his hair.
“What have you found out, Curt?”
The cowboy star likewise had nothing to contribute.
“I’ve got plenty of suspicions, but not a grain of proof,” he grumbled.
“That’s just it. We all have suspicions but no proof and this program must be in dress rehearsal tomorrow night and there can’t be any boners pulled then. We’ve simply got to solve this mystery before then. Until this is cleared up the script won’t be safe for a minute unless someone is with it all of the time.”
“Where is it now?” demanded Janet.
“In my office with the door locked and an office boy standing guard in front of the door.”
“That doesn’t sound very safe to me. Suppose someone well known should come along and send the boy on an errand. He’d leave the door and there your manuscript would be unprotected.”
“Oh, it’s safe enough,” smiled Jim. Then he paused suddenly.
“Say, maybe you’re right. That could happen, especially if one of the program directors or other officials happened along. I told the boy to be sure and stay on the job, but he’d run an errand for any one of them.”
Jim stood up.
“Go ahead with your lunches. I’ll skip up and get the script and rejoin you. It won’t take five minutes.”
Chapter Twenty-eight
REHEARSALS AGAIN
Jim Hill hastened away, but it was fifteen minutes before he returned with a large envelope with the manuscript. When he arrived his face was flushed and he was breathing rapidly.
“What’s the matter?” asked Helen, who sensed that Jim was greatly upset.
“Plenty. It was a good thing I got there when I did.”
“You mean someone was after the manuscript?” demanded Janet.
“I mean someone had it,” retorted Jim. “But I got it back and without much trouble.”
“Who was in your office?” It was Curt who fired that question.
Jim looked at them steadily.
“It was Adolphi.”
He waited for the significance of his words to sink in and smiled a little grimly at the bewilderment which was reflected on their faces.
“Surprised? Say, maybe you think I wasn’t. And now I don’t know what to think.”
“Tell us everything that happened after you reached the studio floor,” urged Janet.
Jim took out his handkerchief and wiped his forehead, where glistening beads of perspiration had gathered.
“When I swung down the corridor I saw the boy had left my door so I ran the rest of the way,” he said. “The carpet’s thick and I made little if any noise. The door of my office was open and Adolphi was thumbing through the pile of script I had been working on. When I came up behind him he jumped almost across the desk.”
“What did he say?” asked Helen.
“Said he’d found the door of my office open and since he knew I was working on the script thought he would look it over while I was out at lunch.”
“What did you do?” It was Curt speaking.
“I picked up the script, stuffed it into an envelope, and told Adolphi he could see it when McGregor, my continuity chief, put his okay on it. I asked Adolphi if he was sure my office was open and he got sore. Wanted to know what I was trying to insinuate and all that sort of thing. But I think he felt guilty as thunder. Gosh, but I’d like to know how he got in there after all my precautions.”
“I can tell you,” said Curt. “He simply walked down the hall, told the boy to go on an errand, and then used a skeleton key on your door.”
“It couldn’t have been as easy as that,” protested Helen.
“Things like that are done easily,” smiled Curt. “Mark my words, you watch our director closely. He isn’t putting his best foot forward in getting us in shape. I wouldn’t be surprised if he has sold out to some other company.”
“That’s a terrible thing to say about anyone,” said Janet.
“It’s worse to do it,” Curt insisted.
They finished their lunch and returned to Radio City where they were whisked up to the twenty-seventh floor in one of the express elevators.
“Stop in after the rehearsal this afternoon,” Jim told them. “I’ll have the final script in shape by then.”
The afternoon was a fatiguing one, for Adolphi, as though possessed of a demon, found fault with everything and almost everyone. The only one who noticeably escaped his ire was Rachel Nesbit, and Janet had to admit that Rachel handled her work in a way that defied criticism. Curt Newsom came in for some especially bitter comments.
“Too bad we can’t get a horse in here so you’d feel at home,” snapped the director after Curt had bungled one bit of action.
“I don’t like skunks,” shot back Curt and turned away.
The director, his face flaming, grabbed Curt’s arm.
“You’ve got to explain that,” he cried.
“Do you want me to?” asked Curt, looking straight into the face of the incensed director.
Adolphi dropped his arm and turned away, and in that action he stirred Janet’s suspicions anew. If he were without guilt, she felt he would have forced Curt to a showdown. But he had turned away and Janet thought she caught just a flicker of Rachel Nesbit’s eyes.
Then they were back at work, rehearsing until well after the usual dinner hour. When the director finally released them, most of the company was dizzy with fatigue,
“He’s trying to wear us out so we won’t be able to put on a good show tomorrow night,” muttered Curt. “I’ve a good notion to drop him down an elevator shaft and see if he’ll bounce.”
Jim Hill was waiting for them.
“I thought you’d never come,” he said. “Adolphi been pretty tough?”
Janet nodded. “He couldn’t have been much worse.”
“He’s got a reputation for driving his casts just before the final show. Sometimes he gets marvelous results; then, again, the thing will fall flat with everyone all worn out.”
“He’s trying to break us in two,” grumbled Curt, whose feet were hurting.
Jim Hill took them down to his office and they ordered sandwiches sent in while they went over the manuscript. It had been given the approval of the continuity chief and was to be incorporated into the program.
“I think it’s good stuff,” said Janet as she laid down the script. “You’ve caught the spirit of the picture at last. If this doesn’t boom public interest in ‘Kings of the Air’ to a high pitch, I’ll be a very mistaken young lady.”
The others agreed with her that Jim had struck the right note.
“Now the thing to do is to get Adolphi to swing it through for me tomorrow night. He can if he wants to.”
“That’s a real question, too,” said Curt. “I suspect he’s the guy behind all of the trouble and we’ll find Rachel Nesbit right in with him.”
They left a few minutes later, Jim Hill taking the precious manuscript with him.
Parting on Sixth Avenue, Jim signalled for a cab.
“I’m not taking any chances tonight,” he said.
They watched him get into the cab and he waved as the taxi shot away and swung onto a side street. But before it disappeared Janet saw something that caused a wave of apprehension to sweep over her.
A long, rakish sedan, which had been parked further along the street, leaped ahead, and swung around the corner behind the taxi which was carrying Jim Hill and the final draft of their radio script.
Chapter Twenty-nine
JANET FINDS A CLUE
Janet’s sharp cry halted Curt Newsom and Helen. They turned startled faces toward her.
“What’s the matter? Someone try to run you down?” asked Helen.
“It’s Jim,” replied Janet. “A car’s following his taxi. It started up from the curb and swung right behind his cab. Someone is after that manuscript. We’ve got to follow them.”
Curt hailed a cruising taxi and they piled in, the cowboy giving the driver sharp directions.
“Step on it; we’ll pay any fines,” he said.
The cab lurched away, gaining speed so rapidly they shot around the corner in a dizzy skid. Turning onto Fifth Avenue they saw the long, dark sedan and ahead of it the taxi in which Jim was riding. A stop light blazed in their faces and their cab ground to a halt.
“Go on, go on,” urged Janet, leaning toward the driver.
“Can’t make it,” he growled, pointing to the heavy stream of cross traffic which was flowing ahead of them.
When the light changed the taxi and its pursuing sedan had disappeared.
“Pull over to the curb,” Janet told their driver. “Now what shall we do?” she asked her companions.
“Anybody know where Jim lives?” asked Curt.
“I do,” replied Janet.
“Then let’s go there and wait for him. We’ll be sure that he gets home all right.”
Janet gave the driver Jim Hill’s address and they raced up the avenue once more. In less than fifteen minutes they pulled up before an apartment house and Janet went into the small lobby and pressed the buzzer that signalled Jim’s apartment. There was no reply and she returned to the cab, a mounting fear in her heart.
She communicated the news to Curt and Helen and they fell silent, waiting and hoping that Jim would arrive.
Minutes ticked away and the taxi driver glanced uneasily at his meter and wondered about his pay.
“I’m going to call the studio and see if he returned there by any chance,” said Janet, driven to action in her desperation.
She walked to a nearby drug store and from a pay station there telephoned the World Broadcasting studio. It was as she had feared; Jim had not returned. In fact, there was no one in the continuity department.
It was with a heavy heart that Janet returned to the cab. So much depended upon the safeguarding of the script. There was their own radio début for one thing. But that was comparatively minor. More than that was the success of the broadcast which was to arouse public interest in the film which Helen’s father had created. This was what really counted.
When she told Helen and Curt that Jim had not returned to the studio, the cowboy sat silent for a time.
“This isn’t getting us anywhere,” he said. “We may get in trouble, but it’s worth a try.”
Without explaining what he intended to do, he bolted toward the drug store and returned a minute later with an address written on a slip of paper. He gave this to their driver and ordered him to get there with the least possible delay.
“Where are we going?” asked Janet.
“To pay a little call on Director Adolphi.”
“Then you think he’s mixed up in this thing?” Helen asked.
“I’m sure of it now. There’s something about him that just doesn’t ring true.”
There was little conversation in the cab during their fast ride to the director’s apartment and they all went up together after Curt had paid the taxi bill.
Insistent ringing of the bell failed to bring an answer and at last they turned away, their hearts heavy with despair.
“I’m going to report this to the nearest police station,” said Curt. “You girls might just as well go back to your hotel. There’s nothing further you can do.”
“But we seem so helpless,” groaned Helen.
“We’re just exactly that,” growled Curt as he signalled two cabs, one for the girls and the other for himself. “I’ll phone you the minute I get any word of good news.”
Janet and Helen said little on their way back to the hotel, for a numbing sort of ache had taken possession of their bodies. After days of fatiguing rehearsals, the broadcast appeared doomed. Helen cried a little as their cab swung onto Broadway and the bright lights of the Great White Way blazed in their faces.
At the hotel Janet stopped at the desk to inquire about mail and the clerk handed her a telegram.
“It’s for you,” she said, handing the message to Helen, who tore it open with fingers that were none too steady.
“Oh, this is awful,” she groaned. “Dad and Mother are coming to New York for the first broadcast. What will I do?”
“Don’t answer the telegram tonight,” Janet warned her. “Perhaps something brighter will have taken place by tomorrow.”
Janet opened the door of her own room and snapped on the light. As she did so a small envelope, which had been slipped under the door, drew her attention and she reached down to pick it up. Helen came in the room just then and looked at Janet curiously as she opened the envelope.
Janet’s face flushed as she read the message, which had been printed crudely on a sheet of fine linen paper.
“What is it?” asked Helen, alarmed at the expression on Janet’s face.
Janet handed her the sheet of paper.
“Go back to the sticks where you belong or you’ll get more of what happened last night. This means both of you.”
“Why, the nerve of some people,” stormed Helen. “I won’t be threatened into leaving.”
“Neither will I,” said Janet firmly, “but this thing is getting terribly serious. Last night I was made unconscious by some prowler and tonight Jim has disappeared with the script of our radio show.”
Janet paused and looked at the sheet of stationery in her hand. Then she lifted it to her nose and sniffed carefully. Helen looked on in wonderment and Janet finally handed the sheet to her.
“Smell anything?” she asked.
“There’s just a trace of perfume,” agreed Helen.
“Ever smell that before?” Janet was insistent.
“It does seem kind of familiar, but I don’t know where.”
“Wasn’t it in the studio?” Janet was pressing hard for an answer.
“Perhaps it was.”
“Someone in our company?”
Helen looked frankly alarmed and finally a wave of comprehension swept over her.
“You mean Rachel Nesbit?”
Janet nodded. “That’s just who I mean. This sheet is scented with the same perfume Rachel uses. Of course hundreds of others may use it, too, but it at least gives us a clue. And this printing, disguised though it is, is that of a woman.”
“Then if we can find Rachel, we may be able to solve this mystery,” burst out Helen.
“If we can scare her into telling us something,” agreed Janet. “I’ll phone the studio and get her home address. We’ll go there at once.”
“What about Curt? He’ll want to know what’s going on.”
“This is a woman’s job,” replied Janet. “We’ll let him try to find Jim. You and I are going alone on this particular mission.”
