When, three hours later, they alighted from a cab before an imposing home hidden behind tall shrubbery in one of the city’s finest suburbs, Mary’s hands gripped the roll of papyrus. Her tense fingers trembled slightly as, with Sparky at her side, she marched up the winding walk.
“This is the place,” she whispered.
“And this the hour,” he agreed. “Keep a stiff upper lip. Everything will be fine and dandy.”
“All the same, I don’t like it.” She gripped his arm. “I’d rather be right up there in the sky.”
“Even in Burma?”
“Yes, even that.”
Just then a half block away, a heavy car slid up to the curb. Three husky men sprang out and marched briskly up the street.
“The cast is all here. The stage is set,” Sparky whispered, as he rang the door bell.
Their ring was answered at once. A blonde-haired maid ushered them in. She led them to a door, tapped, then waited.
“Come in! Come in!” a large voice welcomed as the door swung open. “I have been expecting you.” The large, red-faced man waved them to chairs close by his mahogany desk.