JANET PINCH HITS
Janet and Helen found that Jim Hill was extremely pleasant and likeable, but he appeared to be laboring under some severe nervous strain and Janet noticed that his hands shook when he picked up a glass of milk.
“This script for your broadcast has about got me down,” he confessed. “I’ve got to keep lots of punch in the action and yet I can’t give away the actual plot of the film. On top of that old Adolphi is a regular crab and it doesn’t seem like anything will suit him. This whole show of yours has to be okayed Saturday night by the Ace film people and if they don’t like it they can cancel out and give it to another company.”
“Is there any danger of that?” asked Janet.
“I’ll say there is. This is a juicy contract and two other chains would like to get it on their networks. Believe me, there is some intense rivalry in getting big contracts like this. Why the Acme and the Sky High chains would be willing to pay a large sum just to see us fizzle the rehearsal Saturday night.”
Janet was silent for a time. She had sensed the tension in the studio without knowing exactly what was behind it. Now she knew what was wrong.
Jim Hill was speaking again.
“Both of you girls are from the original film company on the coast, aren’t you?” he asked.
Helen nodded in agreement.
“Then perhaps you would have some suggestions that might help me out of this tangle,” suggested the continuity writer.
“Mr. Adolphi suggested that several days ago and I worked one whole afternoon on it, but someone stole the manuscript I had finished out of my room,” explained Janet.
Jim whistled softly to himself.
“So that’s how it stands.” Janet and Helen weren’t sure whether he was talking to them or to himself.
The continuity writer pushed back his chair and stared at them appraisingly.
“I wish you’d help me and I’ll promise that your script won’t be stolen from your hotel room. What do you say?”
Janet looked at Helen, and her companion nodded approvingly. The decision was easy to make for Jim was likeable and both of the girls wanted the broadcast to be a success.
“All right, we’ll do it,” said Janet.
“You mean you’ll do it,” Helen corrected her. “I’m not good as a writer and you can fairly make a typewriter talk. I’ll just hang around and give you whatever advice I can and try not to be a nuisance.”
“Say, that’s great,” said the continuity writer. “When can you begin?”
“As soon as we are through rehearsing this afternoon,” promised Janet.
“How long will it take?”
“I don’t know,” she confessed. “Radio continuity is something new for me. I’ll simply do the rough stuff and you’ll have to smooth it over.”
“Then suppose you come to my office as soon as you’re through and you can work right on into the evening. Helen and I will see that you are well supplied with coffee, sandwiches and whatever you want in the way of eats.”
“I’ll be there,” promised Janet. “Now we’ve got to get back to the studio.”
At rehearsal that afternoon neither their director nor Rachel Nesbit were in a good mood and Rachel made it obvious that despite Curt’s explanation she still blamed Janet and Helen for being taken off the continuity work on the script.
“It was the chance of a lifetime,” Janet overheard her telling another girl in the company. “What if there is a clause about keeping the script secret. I’d know it as soon as the final chapter is placed in the hands of the company for rehearsal.”
“But we won’t get the final chapter until Saturday afternoon,” replied the other. “They’re taking no chances about any leaks on this program so any of the other companies can interfere with their contract for this big film broadcast.”
Janet had no idea just how much the broadcast of their program would mean to the World Broadcasting Company, but from all the talk in the studio, she knew that it must be an exceedingly large sum. The vice president in charge of programs dropped into the studio that afternoon and watched them work for over an hour. At the end of that time, when the director called a brief recess, Janet saw him conferring with Mr. Adolphi. Whatever passed between them evidently was not pleasant to the director for he called them back at once and they started all over again, the director driving them with an intensity that approached a white-hot fury.
At last the rehearsal was over and most of them were completely worn out. Janet, fortunately, had been spared most of the director’s criticism while poor Helen had come in for several bitter attacks from him.
“I’m going on to the hotel, take a shower and crawl into bed,” said Helen. “Another day like this will put me in bed for a week.”
“I’ll be along later,” said Janet. “Get the mail at the desk and if there are any letters for me, leave them on my bed.”
They parted, Helen taking the elevator down and Janet turning toward the suite of rooms where the continuity writers worked. At the end of a long corridor, she found Jim Hill’s office, a tiny cubby that contained only a desk, chair and typewriter stand.
“I thought you’d forgotten all about this writing date,” said Jim, looking up. “I’ve patched up the sequence that Adolphi objected to this afternoon, but I’m still in a mess over the last episode. It’s got to carry a lot of punch and this is the chapter we’ve got to guard until the last afternoon of rehearsal. There are more leaks in a big studio like this than you can shake a fist at.”
“But who would give away this information?” asked Janet.
“That’s not hard to guess,” replied Jim. “It could be someone jealous of another member of the company, or someone who wanted a job with another broadcasting outfit and who figured that by double crossing his or her present employer, a better job could be obtained.”
Jim stood up and motioned for Janet to take his place at the typewriter. Briefly he explained what he had been trying to work out and Janet thought his ideas sounded good. But somewhere the winning punch was lacking.
She scanned the last pages of script which he had written. Then she rolled a fresh sheet of copy paper into the typewriter and started work. A new interest took possession of her and the fatigue of the day dropped away as she got into the swing of the writing.
NIGHT ON THE TWENTY-SEVENTH FLOOR
Jim Hill peered over her shoulder for a time. Then satisfied at the work she was doing, he slipped away and went in quest of a basket of lunch. It was nearly half an hour before he returned and by that time Janet had completed two pages of manuscript.
Jim laid the lunch out on his desk and while Janet munched a thick, cold meat sandwich and quaffed a glass of cold milk, he read the pages with real care.
“Say, this is just the stuff my script lacked,” enthused the continuity writer. “My gosh, Janet, you ought to be on the staff here. We pay money for fresh ideas like these.”
Janet stopped munching the sandwich and looked at Jim Hill with real interest.
“You actually think it is good?” she asked.
“I’ll say it’s good. Of course a lot of work has to be done to put it in finished form, but you’ve got the meat of it here. I’m going to take this down to McGregor. He’s still in his office.”
Before Janet could ask about McGregor and who he was, Jim Hill picked up the manuscript and his own work and fled down the hall.
When he returned ten minutes later a square hulk of a man, who had thick pompadour hair and peered through thick lensed glasses, followed him into his office.
“Janet,” said the younger writer, “I want you to know Mr. McGregor, who is head of our continuity department. I showed him your manuscript and he agrees with me that it is just what we want for the final episode in the program for Ace Pictures. Can you go on working tonight? We’ve got to have the finished draft in the morning.”
There was a dire appeal in young Jim Hill’s eyes. Janet couldn’t have ignored that and then Mr. McGregor spoke.
“It is extremely important that we have the Ace contract,” he said in his slow, precise way. “Other companies are also anxious for it and if our dress rehearsal Saturday night fails to meet the approval of the Ace officials, we may lose the contract, which would then go to one of our rivals. We are none too sure but what they have certain people within our own staff who might sell them some of our secrets about this program.”
“I know the situation,” said Janet. “I’m tired, but I’ll keep on until I either go to sleep or am through.”
Mr. McGregor smiled approvingly and Jim Hill felt like shouting.
“That’s splendid,” said the continuity chief. “I’m going to send Jim along to bed. He’s to report here early tomorrow morning to start the rewriting of your story. You keep on as long as you can. When you are through you can lock the script in the right hand drawer of Jim’s desk. Here is a key for you and Jim has one already.”
The head of the continuity department departed and Jim Hill lingered on for a minute or two.
“Want some more lunch?” he asked.
Janet, who had turned back to her typewriter, shook her head.
“How about a cup of coffee to keep you awake a while longer? I don’t want you to go to sleep before you get this material hashed out for me.”
“Go on, Jim. I’ll get along all right. It won’t take long now if I’m not interrupted.”
Jim Hill took the hint and departed quietly and Janet continued with her work. It was something she thoroughly enjoyed doing. This writing was creating something out of whole cloth. Of course it would have to have a special revision by Jim tomorrow to work it into the script, but when it finally went on the air there would still be a lot of her material in the radio play.
Janet worked for more than half an hour and then leaned back in her chair for her arms ached and her eyes were blurred.
The studio was strangely silent. From somewhere at a distance came the soft strains of an orchestra but there was no sound in the corridor where the writer’s offices were located.
Janet picked up the sheets of copy she had written and scanned the material. She smiled a bit as she read it and admitted that it did real well.
Placing the sheets back on the desk, she inserted a fresh page of copy paper into the typewriter. She would be through in a few more minutes. She glanced at her wrist watch before she started in again. It was eleven-forty. By midnight she would be through.
Janet was about to resume her work when a queer sensation started at the base of her spine and shot up her back. It was a feeling she couldn’t quite describe and she sat perfectly motionless for several seconds.
Through her mind shot the thought that someone was watching her, peering at her from the darkness of the long corridor.
Janet turned suddenly, but there was no one behind her. She got up and went to the door where she could look down the corridor, but there was no one in sight. The office across the corridor from Jim’s was dark and the windows only mirrored the shadowy depths.
Despite the fact that she saw no one, Janet was not wholly reassured and she looked about Jim’s office. There were shades at the windows and the door which could be pulled down and she closed the door and drew all of the curtains. Before returning to the desk, she snapped the spring lock on the door. That done, she went back to the typewriter, but it was hard to concentrate now.
Janet forced herself to the task. She knew she must finish and at last got into the mood of her script again, working now at high speed and wholly forgetful of the strange feeling which had alarmed her.
Somewhere in the distance a bell tolled midnight as she finished the last page and pulled it triumphantly from the typewriter. The job was done and she felt that it was well done.
The pages she had written were scattered over the top of the desk and as she reached out to pick them up, one of them floated to the floor. Janet half turned to pick it up. As she did so, her eyes fell on a small gap in the curtains she had drawn on the windows along the corridor.
JANET OPENS A DOOR
A half stifled scream escaped from her lips. Someone was staring at her intently through the small opening. The light from the desk lamp was just strong enough to reveal two eyes. That was all, but Janet saw the desperate intentness with which they were focused upon her.
Then the eyes vanished and there was no sound from the corridor. Involuntarily Janet leaped to her feet, her trembling hands seeking the curtain and closing the gap. She wanted to cry out, but the words stuck in her throat and she realized that to scream would be useless for there was no one along the corridor at this hour of the night who could help her.
Stepping back from the curtained window, Janet listened intently for the sound of footfalls in the corridor. Then she remembered that it was heavily carpeted and one could move along it without making a noise.
Visibly shaken, she finally rallied her nerves and stooped down to pick up the sheet of copy which had fallen from the desk. Almost mechanically she placed the sheets in order and stacked them neatly. That done she sat down at the desk to decide what to do.
There was no question in her own mind but what someone was after the manuscript she had finished and someone outside the studio. The disappearance of the manuscript from her hotel room tied up with this latest event and Janet knew that some agency was determined that the story of the last eventful days of the filming of “Kings of the Air” should never be told as a part of the radio play they were to present. Whether the unknown force was the Premier Film Company or a radio rival of the World Broadcasting Company, she couldn’t even guess, but in either case she knew that she was in a particularly unpleasant position, and wished that Jim was with her.
Janet unlocked the right hand drawer of Jim’s desk and pulled it out. For ordinary purposes it was strong enough, but to place a valuable manuscript in it was something that made her hesitate.
She turned around and stared at the curtains at the windows and the door along the corridor. They were drawn tightly now. It would be impossible for anyone to see in the office.
What should she do with the manuscript? Would it be safe in her own hands when she walked down the long corridor she must traverse before she reached the reception lobby and the battery of elevators?
Janet didn’t feel she wanted to risk that, yet she knew it would be unsafe in the drawer of Jim’s desk.
Suddenly her gaze fell upon the telephone and she smiled a little foolishly. She picked up the instrument and waited for the operator in the main office to answer.
There was no response.
Janet jiggled the hook several times, but still there was no answer. She did not know that the particular branch exchange on that floor which served the publicity department did not have an operator on duty after midnight.
Janet’s spirits drooped when she failed to get a response through the telephone and once more she looked about the room for some place to hide the manuscript.
Suddenly she hit upon a plan of action. Seizing the manuscript she hastened over near the outside window, reached down and pulled up the heavy carpet which covered the floor. Working swiftly she placed the manuscript under the carpet, spreading the sheets out so there would be no noticeable bulge in the floor covering.
That done Janet returned to the desk, picked up a handful of blank copy paper, folded it quickly, and stuffed it into a large envelope. Taking up a pen she scrawled these words on the envelope: “Jim Hill—Here is the manuscript you wanted. Hope it is something that will fit into your program. Janet Hardy.”
Janet didn’t even stop to blot the wet ink, dropping the envelope into the drawer, and closing and locking the receptacle.
She felt better after that. At least she felt she had done her best to save the manuscript. Now the problem was to get up enough courage to attempt the walk down the long, darkened corridor.
Janet slipped the key to the drawer of Jim’s desk into her left shoe, mechanically patted her hair, and decided that she might just as well be on her way.
It took nerve to open that door, and to step out into the hall from which someone had been staring at her only several minutes before. But somehow Janet managed it.
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.”
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.”
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.
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.”
OPPORTUNITY AHEAD
They obtained Rachel’s home address from the studio, slipped on their coats, and after making sure that they had an ample supply of money in their purses, hastened down and hailed a cab.
Rachel lived in the Greenwich Village section and their driver swung over to Fifth Avenue and raced south, green lights winking a clear path ahead of them.
There was little conversation in the cab as they sped toward the village and when they drew up in front of the narrow building which housed Rachel’s apartment Janet paid the bill.
“What are you going to say to her?” asked Helen.
Janet shook her head. “I don’t know,” she admitted. “I suppose I’ll accuse her of writing this threatening note. That ought to be enough to get us into her apartment and once we’re there you look around for anything suspicious.”
They were entering the apartment when a car drew up to the curb and Janet seized her companion’s arm.
“Get out of sight, quick. That’s the sedan which followed Jim’s taxi.”
They slipped into the shadows to the right of the doorway and watched the sedan. Rachel Nesbit stepped out and after her came John Adolphi, director of their radio program. Janet could hear Helen’s gasp for under the director’s arm was a familiar portfolio. It was the portfolio in which Jim Hill had carried the manuscript.
Rachel and the director disappeared into the apartment building and Janet, without a word to Helen, ran toward the nearest shop, a little fruit store in a half basement.
“Where can I find a policeman?” she demanded.
The shop keeper helped her phone in an alarm and in less than five minutes a radio car pulled up in front of the store.
Janet told her story quickly and when the officers looked doubtful, she pleaded with them.
“You’ve got to believe me. Every minute counts. If that script is destroyed the company may lose thousands of dollars worth of business.”
Then she put through several calls and finally reached Mr. McGregor, head of the continuity department. His words electrified the police and they swept down the streets and stormed up into the apartment building to the third floor where Rachel lived. In answer to their sharp knock, Rachel opened the door and they shouldered their way in.
Janet saw Rachel’s face blanch as she saw her, but Janet’s heart leaped for on a table was the missing manuscript. Director Adolphi was pulled out of a closet and from his ashen lips tumbled the sordid story. He was really Rachel’s brother and the two had conspired to steal the manuscript and ruin the World Broadcasting Company’s chances for the contract with the motion picture company. Another broadcaster had offered him a large sum, he said, and promised a job if he would steal the script and ruin the program.
They hastened back to the studio where a tense group awaited their coming. Mr. McGregor was there and so was Curt. Janet started suddenly when she saw Jim Hill with a bandage around his head.
“What happened to you?” she asked anxiously.
“Adolphi ran my cab into a curb and then pulled a gun on me and took the script away. Of course he had a mask on, but I recognized his voice. He clouted me over the head when I tried to resist and the next thing I knew Curt had found me at the police station where I was being given emergency treatment.”
Mr. McGregor spoke. “What about Adolphi and that precious sister of his?”
“They are in police custody awaiting whatever charges may be filed against them,” said Janet.
Mr. McGregor nodded. “That can be done tomorrow. How about you girls?”
“We’re all right,” replied Janet and Helen.
“A little tired, maybe,” added Helen, by way of an afterthought.
The continuity chief looked at Jim Hill.
“Think you can step in tomorrow and whip this company in to shape so we’ll be sure of the contract?” he asked.
Jim’s face lighted up. “I know I can.”
“Then get home and get some sleep. You’re in charge of the program.”
He turned back to Janet and Helen.
“Like New York?” the question was so sudden that it caught them unawares.
“It’s exciting,” gasped Helen.
“It isn’t always like this,” smiled the continuity chief. He was looking intently at Janet.
“How would you like to join my staff as a writer?”
Janet could hardly believe her ears.
“Why, I think I’d like it,” she managed to say. “Yes, I know I would.” She plunged in blindly.
“Then if you girls want to stay on, there’ll be a place for Helen in the stock company and for you on my writing staff,” he said. “Think it over and let me know tomorrow.”
An hour later when they were alone in their rooms, Janet and Helen had their first chances to talk uninterruptedly.
Helen smiled contentedly.
“It’s such a relief to know that the program to boost Dad’s picture is going through all right,” she said. After a pause she went on, “What shall we do about the jobs in Radio City?”
“I think I’ll accept,” said Janet.
“But what about school back home; what about going to Corn Belt U.?”
“I’ve thought of that, but an opportunity to work in Radio City doesn’t come every day. In six months we’ll have had enough. Then we can go back and start our university careers at Corn Belt U.”
“What will our folks think?” asked Helen.
“I believe they’ll agree with us that six months here in radio work can be looked upon as a valuable part of our education.”
“Then we’ll tell Mr. McGregor we’ll stay?”
“That’s exactly what we’ll tell him. Now I’m going to write the folks and tell them all about it,” said Janet, picking up a pen and sitting down to the task of writing of the thrilling adventures which had befallen them since their arrival in New York.
THE END