"I can't, sweetheart. I've got too much to settle up first."
"And you'll find another excuse tomorrow and the day after and the day after that...."
"You know that's not true."
"Remember what you said about politics? To hell with politics because we're more important. I agree, Jordan. That's the truth. And to hell with Knott and his letters too."
"No."
"Oh, why are you so stubborn?"
"I have to do what has to be done," Lennox said patiently. "You go ahead and finish packing. We'll leave as soon as I've called the lunatic who's been crucifying me. I'm going up to the theater now. I'll phone you when we're off the air."
"No," Gabby said quietly. "The packing can wait. I'll go with you."
It was seven-thirty when they arrived at the Venice Theater. More than a hundred ticket-holders were already queued up before the main lobby, waiting for the nine o'clock show. When the doors opened at eight-thirty, there would be at least five hundred more. As Lennox took Gabby around to the stage door he passed down the length of that line, staring into each strange face, searching for his hidden enemy.
To the deaf doorman he spoke in a low flat drone that was more effective than any shouting. He was expecting a Mr. Fu, a Mr. Hamburger, and a Mr. Eugene K. Norman. If they came to the stage door they were to be admitted and given seats. If anyone else asked for him ... A Mr. Knott, say ... Lennox was to be called at once. He repeated these instructions three times. Gabby bit her lip.