“This would make a very interesting picture,” remarked Cranston, pointing from the window. “Saturday afternoon at Times Square.
“Hundreds — thousands of people, each moving with some different thought in mind. A great crowd, all engaged with their own thoughts, oblivious of those who are watching them.”
“You’d like a picture of it?” asked Griscom, with a smile. “Suppose that I obtain a camera man after lunch.”
“Excellent,” said Cranston.
“I’m going to be here evenings as well as afternoons,” said Griscom. “You know, Cranston, the Paladrome is our greatest theater. It is in the heart of New York.
“I am apprehensive — I have been so since yesterday. The very fact that we are worrying about the prestige of the Paladrome makes me believe that the racketeers may have an eye on it also.”
“What are you doing to offset them?” Cranston asked.
“What can I do? We have detectives in the lobby. We are watching suspicious characters. Ballantyne is watching, too. He is downstairs in the theater office.
“He is in and out of the Paladrome all the time. Nevertheless, we cannot watch every patron who enters the theater. That would be impossible.”
Griscom received a telephone call that he had been expecting. He and Cranston went out to lunch.