The Toff In Town

appreciated. At last the job was finished, and Rollison combed his hair and shrugged his coat into position.

“Much better,” he said. “Thanks.”

“What the devil are you up to?” demanded Wardle. “I hope you’re not going to try any of your fancy tricks here, Roily.”

“Not my tricks, the enemy’s,” said Rollison. “I don’t know what they’re going to do, old chap. Sorry. And I don’t see why there should be trouble here; this happened before I left the fiat.”

Then why didn’t you have your hand seen to?”

“I can’t keep important B.B.C. personages hanging about like that, it’s not good for morals. The In Town To-Night people are still here, I hope?” he added anxiously.

“Yes—I just popped along to make sure. Not all of them, but the two who’re arranging Saturday’s show have stayed on.” Wardle stood firmly in front of Rollison, legs slightly parted, arms stiff by his sides, “Before you see them I want to know more about this business—why you’re so interested.”

“It’s quite simple,” said Rollison. “A young fellow who’s due to broadcast on Saturday—name of Allen—is having a spot of bother. I’m lending a hand. This is just a routine check, asthe police would say.”

“Do they know anything about it?”

“They will soon,” said Rollison. “This can’t be kept from them any longer. You’d rather have me poking about than the police, wouldn’t you?”

“Oh, come on,” said Wardle.

He led the way out of the room and along the passage between the cream-coloured walls. Rollison looked about him with some interest, although he could not keep his thoughts wholly from Merino and the explosion. He noticed that the walls were partitions, and did not stretch as far as the ceiling. Names were painted on the doors. This was a large hall, which had been partitioned off into offices.

They stopped outside a door on which were the names: M. T. Hedley: Miss Rosa Myall and, beneath it in smaller print the words: In Town To-Night.

Wardle and Rollison went in.

A tall, youngish man in brown, and a short, attractive woman wearing a white blouse and dark skirt stood up from the same desk—they had been sitting opposite each other. Although Rollison was fairly presentable, his appearance was enough to justify their startled glances.

Wardle was more than equal to the occasion.

“This is Mr. Rollison—he’s had a slight accident that delayed him,” he said. “Miss Myall—Mr. Hedley.” He pulled up chairs, and they all sat down, the couple murmuring suitable condolences. Hedley produced cigarettes and Rollison lit up appreciatively.

“Well, now——” began Wardle.

“Wouldn’t Mr. Rollison like a cup of tea?” asked Miss Myall. “I can easily get one from the canteen. Or perhaps something stronger?”

“That’s a good idea,” approved Wardle. “A drink Roily?”

“Tea, please,” said Rollison.

Miss Myall hurried out, but was back almost before they could start talking; someone else would bring in the tea. Obviously she did not intend to miss anything of this interview. Hedley fiddled with a pencil and looked thoughtfully at Rollison.

“Mr. Rollison is interested, as I’ve told you, in finding out the procedure by which you get the celebrities for the show,” Wardle said. “You’re particularly interested in next Saturday’s performance, aren’t you—the day after to- morrow?”

“Well, just to take it as an example,” said Rollison. “This is just Mr. Prodnose at work.”

Clearly none of them believed him.

“It’s quite simple——” Hedley began.

“Every week——” started Miss Myall, and they broke off.

“Go on,” said Miss Myall.

“Go on,” said Hedley.

“Miss Myall,” said Wardle, in the tone of a man who was tired of shilly-shallying.

“Mr. Hedley’s right, it is simple,” said Miss Myall. The chief difficulty is one of selection. There are so many people we could put on. They fall into three categories, I suppose. The celebrities who really are famous, who come along for a special occasion, such as the launching of a new film, or from a play that’s been running almost for ever. Secondly, the sensational people——”

“Such as?” asked Rollison.

“Now what have we got this week?” asked Hedley. He glanced down a typewritten list. “Well, like Allen, for instance —chap who was lost in Burma for several years, lived with natives all the time and only turned up again a few weeks ago.”

“Of course, he’s exceptional,” said Miss Myall. “We tried to get him when he first arrived but couldn’t find his address, and we were pretty crowded that week, anyhow. Then there’s the third category—not really exceptional but giving us a new slant. I mean, we might put on a miner some week when the coal output has been very good, or an engine-driver on a holiday week-end—or a man who runs The Skylark at some seaside place, or a passenger on a train which nearly had an accident. Or a busker—you know——”

“Itinerant entertainer,” said Rollison gravely. His head still ached, but he was pre-occupied by this information