"What's happened?" Lemson screamed. "What's going on?" He tugged at a uniformed sleeve but was thrust aside by the running man.
Herschell and Lemson followed, half running, to the elevators. Herschell shouted an inquiry at a cluster of policemen surging into one of the cars but the nearest grim-visaged man almost angrily waved them away from the door as it closed in their faces.
"The manager's office!" Herschell cried and they ran for a private elevator. Seconds later they dashed into the manager's office.
"He's not here," Lemson wailed.
Herschell snapped a switch on the desk and a harried, shocked face appeared on the viphone screen. "Mr. Herschell! Mr. Lemson!"
"Pete!" Herschell exclaimed, "why've we got the police and medicos? An accident?"
The man's lips quivered as he spoke. "A lot of the patrons are dead."
"WHAT?!! How many?"
"Don't know ... yet ... maybe all," Pete said brokenly.
"What in heaven's name happened?"