everyone was staring at him. Hedley opened his mouth and gaped, Wentworth forced a smile, as if to say: “It’s all right, you’re doing fine,” but the pause lengthened.
Lundy half-rose in his chair, and his hand was pushed against his coat pocket.
Then suddenly Allen began to speak, more quickly than before, but with every confidence, and Hedley relaxed, Wentworth wiped his forehead.
Allen went on firmly, with the new script, Pauline’s script! He wasn’t reading; he was repeating something he had learned off by heart!
Lundy sat down again, few seemed to have noticed that he had moved. Wentworth said his little piece leading on to Allen’s final paragraph, the message which Pauline had been so anxious that he should put over; and which was put over.
He finished, and wiped his forehead. Rollison hardly heard Wentworth’s final comment. Barbara was leaning against Rollison’s knee, as if the strain were too great to bear. There was a tense hush—and then the green light came on, Hedley clapped his hands together, and said gaily:
“A minute to spare—couldn’t be much better than that, could it? By jingo, it’s been a good night!” He waved to Rollison. The producer came out of the control room and made a bee-line for Rollison. McMahon looked across at Rollison and shook his head reproachfully—obviously he thought that Rolli-son had deliberately fooled him. The Italians were shaking hands with everyone, the Lundys and their friends were laughing and talking. Allen sat where he was, as if he could not find the strength to get up. One of the girls took him a glass of water.
The producer reached Rollison, glanced down at Barbara and frowned, then gave a pleasant laugh, and said:
“I hope I wasn’t too short with you just now; it’s a trying time, you know—always the same just before we go on the air.”
“You were patience itself, said Rollison, “I ought to be shot. Found it a bit of a strain myself,” he added, and then glanced down at Barbara. The producer took the hint and went to speak to someone else. Jolly hovered near. Rollison helped
Barbara to her feet. Her face was pasty-white and her eyes were filled with a horror which, a few minutes before, he wouldn’t have been able to understand. But he did now, he knew the whole truth. Jolly could not restrain himself, and leaned forward so that only Rollison and Barbara heard what he said:
“So he knew it off by heart, sir. We’ve failed.”
Barbara said weakly: “I must sit down.”
“No, we haven’t failed,” said Rollison. “I can see the whole story now, Jolly.”
“You
“Oh yes,” said Rollison. “Don’t let Allen leave, Jolly.”
“He must leave! You mustn’t stop him!” cried Barbara, in a voice so loud that it sounded high above every other sound and made everyone swing round and stare. Even Allen turned from the door and looked at her. When she stopped the silence was profound.
Lundy broke away from his friends, and went to the door as if to leave hurriedly. He pushed Allen by the shoulder and opened the door with his free hand.
Rollison moved forward.
“Let him go !” cried Barbara, and flung her arms round Rollison and held him tightly, “Let him go,” she sobbed. “Let him go!”
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
ALLEN went out, Lundy followed him, the door closed behind them. Barbara still clung to Rollison, but Jolly had hurried across the room only to be impeded by the Italian troupe. Hedley looked puzzled, but stood back discreetly. Rollison put Barbara gently aside and went in Jolly’s wake, but she wouldn’t let him go alone, she clung to his arm and followed him. No one spoke to them, although someone called out:
Rollison said: “Barbara, you’ve got to see this thing through. It’ll be for the best in the long run.” He stepped along the hall, past a startled commissionaire. It was dull outside and a drizzle was falling. Jolly reached the kerb and Perky Lowe pulled up in front of him.
“As ordered?” he demanded.
