There was a roar of sound from the hallway; a noise of glass shattering; a revolver went off with a sharp report and, frozen with alarm, I waited for its echo: there was none; only shouts of: Cave! Cave! Cave!
Surrounded by police, Cave and Iris were escorted into the office. More police held the door, aided by the office crew who, suddenly inspired, were throwing paper cups full of water into the crowd. Flash bulbs like an electric storm flared in all directions as the newspaper men invaded the office, let in by the police who could not hold them back.
Iris looked frightened and even Cave seemed alarmed by the rioting.
Once the police lieutenant had got Cave and Iris into the office, he sent his men back to hold the corridor. Before he joined them he said sternly, breathing hard from the struggle, “We’re going to clear the hall in the next hour. When we do we’ll come and get you people out of here. You got to leave whether you want to or not. This is an emergency.”
“An hour is all we need, officer.” Paul was smooth. “And may I tell you that my old friend, the Commissioner, is going to hear some extremely nice things about the efficiency and good sense of his men.” Before the lieutenant had got around to framing a suitably warm answer, Paul had maneuvered him out of the inner office; he locked the door behind him.
“There,” he said, turning to us, very businesslike. “It was a mistake meeting here after last night. I’m sorry, John.”
“It’s not your fault.” Cave, having found himself an uncomfortable straight chair in a corner of the room, sat very erect, like a child in serious attendance upon adults. “I had a hunch we should hold the meeting out on Long Island.”
Paul scowled. “I hate the idea of the press getting a look at you. Spoils the mystery effect; guess it was bound to happen, though. You won’t have to talk to them.”
“Oh, but I will,” said Cave easily, showing who was master here, this day.
“But ... well, after what we decided, the initial strategy being....”