“Then you think he’s mixed up in this thing?” Helen asked.
“I’m sure of it now. There’s something about him that just doesn’t ring true.”
There was little conversation in the cab during their fast ride to the director’s apartment and they all went up together after Curt had paid the taxi bill.
Insistent ringing of the bell failed to bring an answer and at last they turned away, their hearts heavy with despair.
“I’m going to report this to the nearest police station,” said Curt. “You girls might just as well go back to your hotel. There’s nothing further you can do.”
“But we seem so helpless,” groaned Helen.
“We’re just exactly that,” growled Curt as he signalled two cabs, one for the girls and the other for himself. “I’ll phone you the minute I get any word of good news.”
Janet and Helen said little on their way back to the hotel, for a numbing sort of ache had taken possession of their bodies. After days of fatiguing rehearsals, the broadcast appeared doomed. Helen cried a little as their cab swung onto Broadway and the bright lights of the Great White Way blazed in their faces.
At the hotel Janet stopped at the desk to inquire about mail and the clerk handed her a telegram.
“It’s for you,” she said, handing the message to Helen, who tore it open with fingers that were none too steady.