Smith stood at the corner of the corridor, leaning back every half minute or so to peek around at the stretch leading toward the library and communications room.
Westervelt had propped himself with folded arms against the opposite wall, facing the door to the stairs.
Beryl hovered behind Parrish, who faced Smith impatiently between darting glares at Westervelt.
"All right, I guess I have to tell you, Pete," said Smith in a low tone. "You might say we are temporarily inconvenienced."
"By him?" asked Parrish, jerking a thumb in Westervelt's direction. "That I could understand. The kid's beginning to think he's a comedian. He started out just now playing Charley's Aunt."
"Sssh!" said Smith softly.
Westervelt turned his head toward the main entrance, wondering how far Parrish's voice had carried.
Smith's dapper assistant looked from one to the other. Seeking some evidence of sanity, he turned with raised eyebrows to Beryl. The blonde rounded her blue eyes at him and shrugged.
"Pete, this is no joke," insisted Smith. "I wish it hadn't gotten around so fast, but there it is."
"There what is?" demanded Parrish, in a tone bordering on the querulous.