HELLO, NEW YORK
They were so busy until after dinner that night that Janet had no time to scan the evening paper. When she picked up the Times it was with pleasant surprise for in the middle of the front page was a story by Pete Benda, reviewing “Water Hole” and describing the rôles Janet and Helen played.
“Miss Hardy gave a most pleasing portrayal in the rôle of the heroine,” Pete had written, “and a good many local people will enjoy this picture to the utmost. It is far above the average western.”
Near the end was a line. “Cora Dean and Margie Blake, local girls who were also in the picture, may be seen in a crowd scene at the village.” Janet smiled as she thought of the humiliation that Cora would feel. Well, it had been a mean trick of Cora’s to write Pete Benda that she and Margie had leading rôles.
Helen’s father made complete plans for their trip to New York for the Ace company was paying all expenses as well as salaries to Janet and Helen while they were in the east.
Both Janet and Helen packed the new dresses Roddy had sent them in the large bags which they were taking with them. There might be little actual opportunity to wear them, but they wanted to be prepared.
Their train for Chicago left at ten o’clock and they arrived at the station in ample time, Janet’s father conveying them there. He had reserved a drawing room for them and they felt elated over that.
The Chicago Limited was on time to the minute, the puffing locomotive drawing its long string of Pullmans to an easy stop. The girls had drawing room A in car fifty-seven. The porter took their bags as they turned to say good-bye to their parents.
“Got plenty of money?” Janet’s father asked in a whisper.
“Plenty, Dad. And I’ll get paid while I’m in New York.”
But he slipped her a small, black book that resembled a check book.
“Put this in your purse. It will come in handy if you have an emergency,” he said.
Calls of “Bo-o-oard,” rang along the train. Final good-byes were said and the girls stepped into the vestibule of their car. The train started easily and they waved to their parents. Then they were out of the train shed, picking up speed rapidly for the remainder of the night run to Chicago.
They retired to their drawing-room, finished in restful tones of rose and gray, and slipped into pajamas. Both being tired, they went to bed at once, Janet in the upper berth and Helen in the lower.
The car was air conditioned and they slept restfully, neither one of them awakening until they were in the outskirts of Chicago.
“What are you going to wear today?” asked Helen, stretching luxuriously between the crisp, cool sheets.
“My corduroy dress,” said Janet. “It’s excellent for travel; comfortable and it won’t muss easily.”
“That appeals to me,” replied Helen, slipping out of bed and starting to dress while Janet lowered herself out of the upper.
The train was past Englewood by the time they were dressed and their porter came in to take their bags.
“Going to wear a hat?” asked Janet.
“Not with this dress; I haven’t anything that goes well with it.”
Janet tipped the porter and a red cap, waiting on the platform, took their bags. Their New York train was only four tracks away and would depart within an hour so their bags were taken directly to the Pullman, where another drawing room had been reserved for the Chicago-New York trip.
After making sure that their bags were in the drawing room, Janet and Helen went into the great, high ceilinged dining room in the station. They enjoyed a hearty breakfast of delicious country ham and eggs with crisp toast and a cool glass of milk.
Janet bought several morning papers and they returned to the train shed. Trains which had been rushing across the plains all night in their dash for Chicago were still arriving, while on other tracks long strings of coaches, ready to start carrying passengers away from the city, were being backed down the tracks.
Re-entering their New York train, they found seats in the luxurious limousine-lounge car at the rear of the train where the observation platform was enclosed in glass. A radio was tuned softly and all of the latest magazines were available.
Travel was light that day and at the start of the trip they were the only ones in the lounge car as the train rolled smoothly out of the station.
There was a brief pause at Englewood, then they were off again, picking up speed as the train skirted the southern edge of Lake Michigan where great industrial plants were perched along the shore and lake freighters seemed to spring out of the prairie as the rails crossed canals.
At lunch time they were well into Indiana. Only a few more passengers had boarded the train and they had the dining car practically to themselves.
As the afternoon advanced they dipped into Ohio and stops were more frequent. By late afternoon the train was well filled and space in the lounge car was almost at a premium.
Janet and Helen went to bed early that night for the coming day promised to be an unusually busy and exciting one for them—they would have their first glimpse of New York, visit Radio City, and receive their assignments for the radio play they were to be in.
“What are you going to wear tomorrow?” asked Helen as she snuggled down between the crisp sheets.
“I don’t know, perhaps the corduroy dress I had on today,” replied Janet. “It’s so comfortable and I think it’s becoming.”
“I guess I’ll vote that way, too,” said Helen, and a minute later both girls were asleep.
They were up early the next morning, breakfasting as the train sped out of the Jersey hills and straightened out for its dash across the tidewater flats to Jersey City. They shot past commuter trains at almost regular intervals for their limited had the right of way.
As they neared the terminal, the porter took their bags and Helen handed him a tip. Her father had deliberately routed them over a line which ended in Jersey City so that they might have their first real glimpse of the towering New York skyline from a ferryboat.
The passengers poured off the train and onto the nearby ferry. Bells clanged, smoke rolled from the twin stacks, and the bulky boat nosed out into the river.
Helen crowded close to Janet as the full majesty of the skyline was unfolded. To their right was the lower city with its cluster of skyscrapers while to their left was mid-town with the Empire State towering almost into the clouds. A little beyond that the sharp spire of the Chrysler building rose skyward.
On the New York side of the Hudson liners were sandwiched into the docks and Janet grabbed Helen’s arm and pointed to one. It was the Europa, famed speed liner. A little further along was the Rex, pride of the Italian merchant marine.
Then the ferry was nosing into its pier. Gates clanged, their baggage was loaded aboard a taxi, and almost before they knew it they were whirling away toward the heart of the city. Helen had given their hotel address.
Up onto an elevated roadway sped their cab where it rocketed along at forty-five miles an hour. Then they shot onto an incline and eased down into a street below. Traffic lights slowed them up now, but in less than ten minutes after leaving the ferry they were in Times Square, the very heart of the throbbing city, where Broadway and Seventh Avenue cross to form a great triangular opening.
At the hotel desk Janet registered for both of them.
“We were to have reservations,” she said.
The clerk checked the registration list and marked their names off. Then they were whisked away to their rooms, high up and on the inside, where they could sleep in something like quiet. They had two rooms with a connecting bath.
“Well, what do you think of the city?” asked Helen.
“I’m still a little breathless,” admitted Janet. “Los Angeles was large—but New York—it just seems to swallow you up.”
They dressed carefully in preparation for their trip to Radio City and at nine-thirty o’clock went down stairs and inquired the best way to reach their destination. The clerk on duty suggested that they walk.
“It’s only a short distance. Go one block to Sixth Avenue, turn to the left, and continue six blocks to Radio City.”
The morning air was clear and cool as they set forth, walking briskly and taking in everything about them. On Sixth Avenue elevated trains rumbled overhead, but up the street they could see the towering building which housed Radio City and their steps quickened.
They reached their destination in a few minutes and turned to the right to the entrance which led to the offices of the World Broadcasting Company, the chain which was to put their program on the air. The lobby was of chromium and black and they stepped into a modernistic elevator that whisked them upward so rapidly they were breathless.
They stepped out at the twenty-seventh floor and into a luxuriously furnished lobby where there were comfortable chairs and restful lights. A young woman at the reception desk looked up as the girls advanced.
“We’re to join the company from the Ace studios,” Janet explained.
“Your names?” The inquiry was purely impersonal.
“Janet Hardy and Helen Thorne.”
The young woman checked their names and called a page.
“Take them to studio K,” she directed.
Janet and Helen turned and followed the page, who was leading them to a new chapter of their lives—one more thrilling than they could have imagined even in their deepest dreams.
IN RADIO CITY
The page ushered them into the studio and the first person they saw was Curt Newsom, the tall cowboy star who had also had a part in “Kings of the Air.”
Curt hastened to greet them.
“When did you get in?” he asked.
“This morning,” replied Janet. “My, but it’s good to see you again. I didn’t know you were going to be in this promotional unit.”
The cowboy flushed and grinned somewhat sheepishly.
“Well, to tell the truth, I’ve always wanted to try broadcasting a little and I finally pestered the general manager out on the coast until he sent me along and ordered them to give me a part. Come on and meet the director of this unit.”
Curt led them over to a small group where a rather slender, dark-haired man was speaking. He turned to face them as they approached and Janet noted that he wore unusually thick glasses, indicating that his eyes were in need of heavy correction.
“This is Mr. Ben Adolphi,” said Curt, by way of introduction. “Mr. Adolphi has been assigned by the World Broadcasting Company to handle this promotion work.”
He introduced each of the girls to the radio director and Mr. Adolphi smiled pleasantly.
“I shall get at your parts presently,” he said. “Please be seated.”
They found comfortable chairs at one side of the studio and Janet enjoyed the opportunity to look around the room for it was here that they would put on their radio show. The ceiling was high and evidently covered with a cloth which absorbed sound readily. The walls were also covered with a cloth of heavy texture and the carpet on the floor felt an inch thick.
At the rear of the room was a low platform which might be used for an orchestra and to the left, through a heavy plate glass window, was the control room where the engineers regulated the volume of the program and fed it out on the air. Near the door was a desk with a microphone on it for the announcer, and beyond that was a tall steel stand with several microphones, attached to adjustable arms, on it. These could be placed in any portion of the room to pick up the program to the best advantage.
Mr. Adolphi joined them within a few minutes. He carried a handful of script with him and handed one section to Janet and another to Helen.
“You understand that this company is comparatively small when you think of the one used in the production of the picture?” he reminded them. “It will be necessary for you to take several parts, but all of them will be minor rôles since I understand neither of you have had any experience in broadcasting.”
The girls nodded their understanding, and the director plunged on.
“We are going to give only the high spots of the film story over the air, but in addition we are going to weave in some of the actual drama and the thrills attached to the shooting of the picture—some of the behind-the-scenes incidents. Understand?”
“We have not been able to get all of this material that we desired and Mr. Newsom has informed me that you have a fair ability at writing.”
This was aimed at Janet and she replied promptly.
“I enjoy writing,” she said, “but the question of ability hasn’t been very well determined yet.”
“But you sold a script for film purposes only recently,” pressed the director.
“Yes, that’s true, but I think it was more luck than anything else.”
“Be that as it may, I’d like you to write some of the intimate and unusual things that go on in the production of such a picture. Get in all of the thrilling material possible. Get me?”
“I think so,” replied Janet, recalling the vivid hours that had marked the production work on “Kings of the Air” when the company was out in the desert and she had been kidnaped.
“Then take the rest of the day off and try to get some of the material into my hands tomorrow morning. We’ll have it whipped into shape by the studio continuity writers, for this program goes on the air day after tomorrow.”
“I’ll do my best, Mr. Adolphi,” promised Janet, and the director hurried away to give further instructions to others in the company.
Helen looked at Janet admiringly.
“Well, you certainly get yourself into all kinds of work,” she smiled. “Now you’ll have to go back to the hotel room and pound away on a rented typewriter while I go down and see a show in the Music Hall.”
“Oh, don’t do that,” begged Janet, who was anxious to see the interior of the world’s largest theater. “Wait another day until I can go with you. There’ll be plenty for you to see in New York beside the Music Hall.”
“All right,” agreed Helen. “We’ll plan on that for tomorrow afternoon.”
As they left the studio they bumped into a slender, dark-haired girl who was hurrying in.
“Clumsy fools,” Janet heard the other girl murmur as she went on and Janet’s face flushed for it had been as much the other’s fault as their own.
They dropped down to the street level in the elevator and Janet started back for the hotel while Helen walked toward Fifth avenue to enjoy a window shopping tour along the exclusive shops that had made the avenue famous throughout the world.
Chapter Nineteen
A MANUSCRIPT VANISHES
Janet went directly to their hotel and asked at the desk about renting a typewriter. Arrangements were made to have one delivered at her room within half an hour and she went to change into an older dress, something that wouldn’t be hurt by wrinkles that were bound to come as she labored over the typewriter.
The machine was delivered promptly and Janet used a supply of the hotel stationary for her writing material. At first the idea of setting down intimate little things about the filming of the picture had appeared easy, but now that the task was before her, the words and ideas did not come freely.
Janet wondered if she dared to record the story of the sabotage when the company was on desert location. She could imagine that it would make grand material for broadcasting purposes and so she set resolutely about the task. The worst that could happen would be for Mr. Adolphi to reject it entirely. Janet finally got started and once under way the flow of words came smoothly and her fingers moved rapidly over the keyboard.
She worked steadily for more than an hour, got up, stretched, walked around the room and returned to the writing. She wasn’t attempting to make it a complete story, just giving the sequences as they had happened during the filming of “Kings of the Air” and the mysterious events which had taken place out on the desert. It was natural that Janet should hint that the plotting was the work of another concern for it had been common talk in their own company later that Premier Films, also producing an air story, had attempted to keep their own film from a successful conclusion. But it had only been talk for there was no definite proof.
Helen came hurrying in just as Janet finished her work.
“How is it going?” she asked.
“All through,” replied her companion. “Have a good time?”
“Grand. I never knew there could be so many beautiful shops in such a small area. Come on now. I want to ride a subway.”
“I’ll have to change clothes,” said Janet.
“Never mind changing for a subway trip. We’ll go down to the Battery. I inquired the way at the desk.”
Janet slipped on a light brown coat and followed Helen down and across to the Times Square subway station where they found themselves engulfed in the crowd and the noise. Helen dropped two nickels in the turnstile and they went through the gate, Helen still in the lead and striding along as though she were the veteran of many a ride in the subway instead of a rank beginner.
A train roared out of the darkness of the tube and Janet saw a sign, “South Ferry,” on the windows.
“This is our train,” cried Helen, shoving her companion ahead of her and into one of the seats. Other passengers piled in, the doors clanged and they were roaring through the tunnel far under the street level. Their train was an express and occasionally they shot past a slower local. The air was close with an odor that is peculiar to a subway, but Janet enjoyed the ride, watching the crowd in the car. It was evident that most of them were accustomed to using the subway several times a day and they were either visiting or reading evening papers, which they had folded so they would take up the least possible room.
At the South Ferry station they walked up to the street levels and entered Battery park. Janet paused a moment, struck by the beauty of the harbor in the late afternoon. Beyond the Battery was the Statue of Liberty and even further the tidewater flats of Jersey.
Several freighters, which had cleared their docks a few minutes before, were going down the harbor and Janet and Helen, standing along the Battery wondered for what distant port they might be bound.
They walked past the Aquarium. On another afternoon they would come back and spend several hours going through that fascinating building.
“I’m tired,” confessed Janet. “Let’s get back to the hotel now, clean up, and have dinner. Perhaps we’ll go to a show after that.”
Helen readily agreed to the suggestion and they returned to the South Ferry station where they caught an uptown express that took them to Times Square at a dizzy pace.
When they emerged from the tube, the shadows were lengthening in the heart of the city. Sidewalks were crowded with hundreds of men and women on their way home after a day’s work in the city. They paused for several minutes to watch the teeming mass of humanity and then turned and entered their hotel.
Janet was the first to step into their rooms and the instant she passed the threshold a feeling of foreboding gripped her and she stopped so suddenly that Helen bumped into her.
“What’s the matter?” asked Helen, looking up quickly.
Janet looked a little sheepish. “I don’t know. For some reason I thought there was something wrong in here.”
“Want me to scream?” smiled Helen. “I can do a good job of that and I guarantee to get someone here in less than a minute with one scream.”
In spite of the banter Janet was far from reassured for a feeling of unrest had settled down upon her. She snapped on the lights in the room and looked around.
Apparently nothing had been disturbed and Helen walked past her and went on into her own room. A puff of wind stirred the curtains at the half-opened window and Janet walked over and looked out. There was no fire escape nearby and it would have been impossible for anyone to have gained access to their room in that manner. But then, she asked herself, why would anyone want to enter their room. They carried no personal jewelry of any value and the money they had left in the room was of such a small amount that it would not make robbery worth while.
In the next room Helen was humming to herself as she undressed and prepared to take a shower. Janet dropped down on the bed to rest a moment. It had been a hectic day and she was tired. Her eyes dropped and she fell into a deep sleep.
Helen finished her shower, looked in at Janet, then returned to her own room, where she partially dressed, put on a dressing gown, and sat down to write a letter home chronicling the events of her first day in New York.
Janet awoke as suddenly as she had fallen asleep. Helen had turned out the light in her room and it was quite dark now, the only light coming through the half-opened door that led to the bathroom and on to Helen’s room.
Janet turned on the light over the desk where she had been writing and glanced down at the manuscript she had been working on. She turned and called sharply to Helen.
“Did you pick up the manuscript I finished this afternoon?” she asked.
“Haven’t seen it since we left for the Battery,” replied Helen. “The last I knew it was right beside your typewriter. Maybe you’re too sleepy to see it.”
“I’m not that sleepy,” retorted Janet.
Perhaps she had put it on the dresser and she turned toward that article of furniture but there was no sign of the manuscript there. She pulled open the drawers, but the manuscript was not there and Helen joined her in the hunt.
“Sure you haven’t taken it to your room and mislaid it?” asked Janet, a deep pucker of worry lining her forehead.
“We’ll look to make sure,” said Helen and they hastened to her room, but the search there was just as fruitless as the one in Janet’s room. Janet even looked in the closets, but there was no encouragement there. In a last hope, she went through the wastepaper basket, but she was doomed to disappointment and turned to Helen, her voice shaking with emotion.
“There’s no doubt about it now,” she declared. “Someone entered our rooms while we were away and stole the manuscript I had been working on!”
THE MYSTERY DEEPENS
The girls stared helplessly at each other and Helen was finally the first to speak.
“But Janet, that can’t be possible. It must be here somewhere.”
Janet shook her head firmly. “It isn’t here and we both know it. My premonition when we entered the room was right. Something is decidedly wrong.”
“But what can we do about it?” asked Helen.
“I’m going to call the clerk,” said Janet, picking up the telephone. She explained briefly what had happened. “The assistant manager is here. He’s coming up in five minutes,” she said when she replaced the instrument on the stand.
Helen rushed back to her own room to finish dressing and was fully clothed when the assistant manager arrived. He made a careful examination of the door and the lock and then went all over the rooms with the girls, but as Janet had felt convinced, there was no further trace of the missing papers.
“I regret this deeply,” said the hotel official, “and can only promise that every effort will be made to see that the papers are returned if they are still in the building.” He excused himself to question the housekeeper about any maid who might have been working in the room while the girls were away.
In less than five minutes he returned, a maid following close behind him.
“I think the mystery is solved,” he explained. “The maid says she came in to put fresh towels in the bathroom and someone knocked at the door. She answered and a man from the World Broadcasting Company said he had come to get your manuscript. He came right on in and picked up the papers beside the typewriter. Of course she should not have admitted him, but he appeared to know just what he wanted.”
“What did he look like?” Janet asked the maid.
“Well, I didn’t pay particular attention, but he was small and I guess you would call him dark. He had on a hat and it was pulled down over his forehead. He took the papers and went on out. Said they’d be waiting for you at the broadcasting office tomorrow.”
“I believe this solves the mystery,” said the assistant manager.
“I hope so,” agreed Janet. “We’re sorry to have caused you so much trouble.”
When the hotel official and the maid had taken their departure, Helen turned to her companion.
“I didn’t know the radio people were in such a hurry for the material you were working on,” she said.
“Neither did I,” replied Janet, “but I guess it is all right. Let’s have dinner now and then perhaps a show. I feel tremendously relieved about the manuscript.”
They added a dab of powder and a touch of rouge to their faces and went downstairs. Further down the block they had noticed an attractive Old English Inn and they walked there where they enjoyed a leisurely dinner.
“What shall we do now?” asked Helen as she finished the dish of ice cream which was their dessert.
“Shall we go back to Radio City and see the Music Hall?” asked Janet.
“I’d like nothing better. We’re on our way.”
They strolled along at a leisurely pace, turned into Sixth Avenue and headed north toward the great mass of gray limestone which was Radio City. Overhead the trains rumbled along the elevated, but Janet and Helen had eyes only for Radio City.
Ahead of them opened the doors of the world’s largest theater and with their hearts beating faster than usual they purchased their tickets and walked into the grand foyer, the most majestic, breath-taking enclosure either of them had ever been in. Their feet sank into the heavy pile of the great carpet and their eyes feasted on the beauty of the towering bronze doors which led into the theater itself.
Then they went on into the Music Hall, which with its sixty-two hundred seats, was the largest of the world’s modern theaters. A great expanse of space greeted their eyes, the theater sloping gently forward to the huge stage. An orchestra, in full dress, was rising from the depths of its pit as though lifted by the hand of some unseen giant. The orchestra broke into a full swell of music and Janet and Helen, sinking into deep, comfortable seats, were enraptured. Above them hidden lights changed the color effect of the ceiling continuously. Then the overture was over and the curtains of the stage parted and for half an hour they enjoyed a musical entertainment based on Coney Island, the famed fun center of the city. After that came the feature picture, and they enjoyed every moment of the nearly three hours of entertainment.
When it was over they walked out slowly, for the Music Hall was one great part of Radio City. Tomorrow, across the street and up on the twenty-seventh floor, they would be in another but very vital part of Radio City, in the broadcasting studios of the World Broadcasting Company. As they walked down Sixth Avenue they glanced aloft and far up in the building a blaze of light shone from windows. Some company was busy up there tonight, providing thousands of radio fans with drama or music for their entertainment and they thrilled at the thought that within a very short time, they, too, would be a part of the radio world.
Back in their rooms that night Janet glanced at the place beside the typewriter where the manuscript had disappeared. She would have liked to have telephoned Curt Newsom and told the lanky cowboy about the incident but he had not mentioned where he was staying. She thought of telephoning Mr. Adolphi, their radio director, but dismissed that for she felt that he might think her foolish. Undoubtedly he had sent for the manuscript.
They were up early the next morning, refreshed after a night of sound sleep. A quick shower was followed by a rapid but thorough toilet and they were ready for what they might have in store for them. They had breakfast in the grill room which opened off the main lobby of their hotel and then started for Radio City.
There was a touch of fall in the air and they walked briskly, pushing through other hurrying throngs of men and women who were on their way to work.
The elevator shot them up to the twenty-seventh floor in a dizzy, breathless rush and they stepped out into the reception room. A page took them to studio K and there were only two others there when they entered—Ben Adolphi, their director, and Curt Newsom. The cowboy star looked a little pale.
“Sick?” asked Janet.
Curt shook his head. “Not exactly, but I didn’t sleep very well last night. Too much noise here in the city. I’m going to move. My hotel’s right on Times Square.”
“Why, we’re staying there too,” said Helen. “Our hotel is the Dorchester. We slept fine.”
“I’m staying there,” replied Curt, “but I don’t see how you slept. I heard fire engines and police patrols and street cars and newsboys all night. I might as well have been down in the subway trying to sleep on an express train.”
The radio director looked at Janet.
“Manuscript ready?” he asked.
Janet stared at him and he repeated the question.
“Haven’t you got it?” she asked.
“Certainly not,” he snapped, evidently a little provoked at what he considered dull wits.
“But the maid at the hotel said someone from the studio called yesterday afternoon for it. It’s gone!”
“Certainly I didn’t send for it,” he retorted. “Evidently it was some one’s idea of a practical joke.”
“I don’t think it was much of a joke,” said Curt quietly. “If the manuscript Janet was working on has disappeared, it vanished because someone was afraid of what she might write.”
INSINUATIONS
At the cool words of the cowboy star, the radio director whirled to face him.
“Just what do you mean by that,” he demanded, his face flushing.
“I mean just this,” retorted Curt. “There was a very real attempt made on the coast to stop the filming of ‘Kings of the Air’ and it begins to look like that attempt is being carried on even in New York in an effort to stop the promotion of the picture. All I’ve got to say is that someone had better be careful.”
“Are you insinuating anything?” demanded the radio director.
“I’m not insinuating; I’m just saying,” said the cowboy star firmly.
The director turned back to Janet.
“You’re sure the manuscript was stolen?”
“It was unless someone in the studio here has it,” she replied.
“I’ll make inquiries,” he promised, “but I am sure no one in the studio would have sent for it.”
Mr. Adolphi left studio K and Janet, Helen and Curt Newsom were alone.
“You’re not kidding about the manuscript being missing?” Curt asked.
“No, Curt, I’m terribly serious. We went out for a time yesterday afternoon. While we were gone the maid came in to leave clean towels and while she was in the room a man came in. He said he was from the studio here and had come for the manuscript. Naturally the girl didn’t object and he walked out with the papers.”
“What did you have in the story?”
“Oh, a lot about the final days in the desert. How the attempts were made to stop the picture, the bombing from the sky and my own kidnaping.”
“Did you hint that some other company was responsible for this?” The question was snapped at Janet.
“Come to think of it, I did, but of course I didn’t mention any company by name.”
Curt scratched his head in frank worry.
“You know,” he confessed, “this thing has got me puzzled. There is some powerful agency at work to stop the picture Helen’s father made and I believe its influence must extend right here into this studio. You girls be sure and watch your step and especially at night.”
“But nothing will happen to us,” protested Helen.
“No, I don’t suppose there will, but you keep on the alert just the same,” Curt warned them.
Mr. Adolphi returned and shook his head in response to Janet’s inquiring gaze.
“I’ve checked everyone in the studio,” he said, “and no one knows anything about it. Can you do the manuscript over?”
“Probably,” assented Janet, “but I’d prefer not to under the circumstances.”
The director did not insist and Janet thought perhaps he even seemed a little relieved.
Other members of the company arrived. Several of them had been in the film company on the coast but most of them were from the regular stock company which the studio maintained for its dramatic needs. Most of them were pleasant enough. Only one of them turned Janet against her and that was the small, dark-haired actress who had bumped into her the day before and called her a “clumsy fool.” That was Rachel Nesbit and Janet thought her eyes a trifle too close together and her mouth too hard. It looked as though it was difficult for Rachel to look pleasant and there was a sulky twist to her lips.
Janet soon found that Rachel was the pampered member of the studio’s stock company. She was considered an actress of ability and she arrived late and left early during rehearsals. Her one redeeming grace was that she came through when she was before a microphone. Janet also learned that Rachel was writing in addition to her acting and that she had had several of her skits produced on the air.
As soon as the company was assembled, Director Adolphi plunged into the task of rehearsing. Sound men brought in the necessary paraphernalia and through the hours of the morning they went over the first scene which was to be presented in their radio show. The program was to be unusual, running half an hour for five consecutive nights, each of them increasing the tempo and mystery of the action. Janet, reading the script, could feel the thing getting into her blood and she was anxious for the hour to come when they would actually go on the air.
She had no fear of the microphone, now, for that had vanished while she was working for Billy Fenstow in the westerns with Curt Newsom and Helen.
The trio had lunch together that noon, and returned immediately to the studio, where rehearsals continued into the afternoon and at the close of the day the director rather grudgingly conceded that the company had made excellent progress.
“Be here tomorrow sharply at nine,” he cautioned as he dismissed them for the day.
Members of the company scattered quickly, some of them hurrying away to catch trains for their suburban homes.
Janet, Helen, and Curt Newsom walked slowly toward the elevators. The corridor down which they walked was practically deserted for none of the studios flanking it were in use. They entered the main lobby of the World Broadcasting Company office. From a loudspeaker on the reception desk came the voice of a world-famous crooner which Helen recognized instantly.
“That’s a program I’d like to see,” she told Curt.
“Come on, then. Now that we are members of a radio company, we ought to be able to crash the gates.”
The cowboy star inquired the way to the proper studio and they turned and walked down a long corridor to Studio A, the largest and most costly of all of the broadcasting rooms of the World Company. It was like a little theater, with sloping seats and a stage upon which the performers worked before the microphone. At the back was a large orchestra, while up to the front of the stage the famous crooner was singing into a “mike.”
“Why, he doesn’t look at all like I thought he would,” exclaimed Helen as they peered through the plate glass windows which flanked one wall of the studio. “He’s much older.”
“Many of us are disillusioned about our heroes and heroines,” said Curt quietly. “Let’s eat. I’d like a steak.”
“Sounds good to me,” agreed Janet, and even Helen was willing to leave the studio after another minute or two of gazing at the crooner.
They ate in a small but attractive restaurant off Sixth Avenue and after a leisurely meal Curt hurried away to keep an appointment and Janet and Helen, though tired from the long day’s grind of rehearsals, strolled over to Fifth Avenue to look into shop windows. After half an hour on the avenue, they started back to their Times Square hotel, heading west on one of New York’s dark and little-frequented cross streets.
They were halfway down the long, dimly lit block when Helen seized Janet’s arm.
“Someone’s following us!” she whispered.
SHADOWED!
Despite Helen’s whisper of warning, Janet never missed a stride. If anything, she quickened her pace.
“Keep up with me,” she replied, “and don’t look around.”
From somewhere behind Janet could hear steady footfalls that quickened as they walked faster.
“Are you sure someone is following us?” asked Janet.
“Positive,” replied Helen. “There was someone back of us on the avenue and he turned onto this street right after we did.”
“But it must be coincidence,” insisted Janet.
“But remember what Curt said about our knowing too much of the mysterious events that went on during the last days of the filming of ‘Kings of the Air,’” said Helen. “He warned us to watch out.”
There was no answer to that for Curt had warned them and Janet was glad that they were near the bright lights of Broadway. She felt safer now. As the noise of that great artery of traffic deepened, they slowed their pace and Janet turned and looked around.
There was no one on the street behind them. She grasped Helen’s arm and both girls stopped.
“There’s no one following us,” smiled Janet. “It was just imagination.”
“It wasn’t imagination and you know it,” declared Helen. “Whoever it was could easily have slipped into a doorway. Maybe he’s watching us this very moment.”
Janet felt a shiver of nervousness race along her spine. It was not pleasant to think of being shadowed, especially in New York where there were so many people and so few friends.
They turned into Times Square and entered the lobby of their hotel. At the desk they inquired for mail and each received letters from home.
Once up in the privacy of their rooms, they undressed, slipped into comfortable pajamas and dressing gowns, and read their letters. There was little actual news from Clarion, but just hearing from their fathers and mothers was nice.
“Dad is anxious to hear the first part of the program,” said Helen as she finished her letter. “He says they’ll all be over at our house grouped around the radio when we go on.”
“Nervous about it?” asked Janet.
“Not particularly about the program, but there’s something about the whole thing that has me uncertain. The company seems to be on edge as though there was some danger hanging over the heads of everyone.”
“Perhaps talk about the trouble on the coast has reached them,” suggested Janet.
“That may be. But I’m so anxious for the program to be a success. This picture has meant so much to Dad; it’s the air epic that he has wanted to do for years. If it goes over in a big way, the Ace Company will renew his contract for a substantial time and give him a big increase in salary.”
Shortly after that they retired and both girls slept soundly.
Next day at the studio the pressure was on again and Director Adolphi whipped them through the rehearsals at a terrific pace. Several changes in script were necessary and the director sent a page to the scenario department on the run. He returned in a few minutes with Jim Hill, the writer who had handled the continuity for the radio play.
“Listen, Jim,” he snapped. “This sequence is punk. It will fall flat on the air and too much money is being spent on this program. Get some punch into this or I’ll see that another writer gets the job.”
Jim Hill was tall, lean and pleasant, with dark eyes that shot back sparks at the director’s criticism.
“You okayed this script once,” he reminded Adolphi, “but I’ll see what I can do about it.”
Dark, pretty Rachel Nesbit stepped forward.
“I’m pretty good at that sort of thing,” she declared, flashing a winning smile at Jim Hill. “Perhaps I could help on the rewriting.”
The continuity writer looked at her glumly.
“Your stuff is all right for lighter things, but this is straight action drama,” he said shaking his head.
“But I can at least try,” insisted Rachel, and the worried continuity writer finally acceded to her insistent requests. He left the studio with Rachel accompanying him.
Janet turned to Curt Newsom.
“I thought all of the work on this script was being handled with the utmost precaution and that no one outside was to do anything on it?”
“I guess that’s right, but Rachel can hardly be called an outsider since she belongs to the studio’s stock company.”
“But she sells some of her radio skits free lance,” insisted Janet.
“That’s right,” agreed Curt. “I hadn’t thought of that.”
He hastened over to Director Adolphi.
“No one with any outside contacts is supposed to work on this script or in the company,” he told the director.
“That’s right,” replied Mr. Adolphi. “There’s an iron-clad contract with the Ace Motion Picture Corporation to that effect.”
“Then you’d better get Rachel back here. She’ll read the rest of the script and know what the final broadcast will be.”
“Oh, but Rachel’s all right. Of course she does a little free lance stuff, but she can be depended upon.”
“I’m not arguing that point,” said Curt firmly. “I’m just telling you to get Rachel back here unless you want a violation of your contract reported to the Ace Company.”
“I didn’t think you’d stoop to such a dirty trick,” sneered the radio director.
“You don’t even need to think,” snapped Curt, his eyes flashing. “You just live up to the agreements of that contract and you’ll have no more trouble.”
With his temper considerably ruffled, Mr. Adolphi left the studio and other members of the company stared wide-eyed at the husky cowboy star for most of them held their director in awe, but Curt had spoken firmly and there had been nothing else for Adolphi to do unless he violated the contract.
He returned to the studio in less than five minutes with Rachel Nesbit at his heels. The minute she entered the room, she rushed toward Janet, her hands clenched and her eyes snapping sparks of anger.
“You’re responsible for this insult,” she stormed at Janet. “I’d like to step on you.”
“Oh, calm down, Rachel,” said the director. “It was this skinny cowboy who started the trouble.”
The radio actress and continuity writer whirled toward Curt Newsom.
“Go ahead and step on me,” he grinned, and a titter of giggles ran through the rest of the company.
Rachel’s dark cheeks flamed anew with anger, but she kept her tongue and turned away in silence.
The rehearsal continued. They were getting well along in the production and Janet felt that it was going smoothly. It was a condensed version of the real story of “Kings of the Air” and so to Janet and Helen it was familiar material.
Promptly at noon the director stopped the rehearsal.
“Half an hour for lunch,” he announced and the company scattered at once.
Janet and Helen walked down the long corridor to the reception room where a hurrying figure almost bumped into them.
It was Jim Hill, the continuity writer. He stopped suddenly and his face lighted up as he recognized them.
“Just the girls I’m looking for!” he exclaimed. “Lunch time?”
Janet nodded.
“Then have lunch with me,” and before they could remonstrate, he hurried them toward the elevator and they dropped downward with a suddenness that always unnerved Janet.