Blue Door Venture Page 17

  All day and far into the night she racked her brain that was not used to such constant use, but it was not while she was engaged in consciously ‘thinking’ that she eventually found her inspiration. It was during the rehearsals of Othello. She was playing Desdemona in the death scene, and was being purposefully smothered by a determined young Moor from Kennington. For the first time for days, Maddy was concentrating on what she was doing—which was keeping enough of the pillow out of her mouth to say her last few lines. Suddenly, just as she was at length supposed to be dead, she electrified the class by leaping off the couch with a wild gaze, and shouting, ‘Yes—yes, of course…’ Othello looked terrified, and wondered if he had hurt her.

  ‘Maddy, what is the matter?’ demanded the Shakespeare teacher. But the only answer was the slam of the door behind Maddy’s flying figure.

  18

  AMBUSH

  Down the marble staircase, flight after flight, she ran. She entered the telephone-box, panting for breath, and feeling in her pocket for coppers.

  ‘I want to send a telegram,’ she announced breathlessly when the operator answered her, ‘to—to Halford, Young Men’s Hostel Association, Russell Square, WC1. The message is: Have got an idea. All may be saved. Meet me tonight. And the signature is—S. Holmes.’

  ‘Beg pardon?’

  ‘S—for Sherlock—Holmes.’

  She could not wait to have the message read back to her, but dashed up the stairs again and back to the class, where she resumed her position on the couch as though nothing had happened.

  ‘Maddy! What was the meaning of that?’ Maddy looked at her instructress so reproachfully that the good lady coloured and said, ‘Well, you must ask permission another time.’

  The time until the classes were over seemed endless, and then she was afraid that the boys might not have received the wire in time. But when she ran out of the swing doors there were three familiar figures skulking round a nearby corner, their hats at a despondent angle. With pigtails flying, her arms full of books and face shining with excitement, she ran up to them.

  ‘Well?’ said Nigel, not very encouragingly.

  ‘An idea…’ she panted. ‘I’ve got one. A wonderful one. The obvious one! Now, listen—’

  ‘Wait a minute,’ Nigel interrupted. ‘We can’t stand here and talk. We shall keep seeing people we know. Let’s go and sit somewhere quiet.’

  They found a secluded seat in the square between two bushes, and the boys sat down.

  Maddy stood facing them, jigging with excitement.

  ‘When you hear you’ll kick yourselves for not thinking of it before,’ she told them gleefully.

  ‘Well, come on, let’s have it,’ growled Bulldog. ‘It’s sure to be some cock-eyed scheme.’

  ‘You remember,’ said Maddy, ‘what we did when we first wanted someone to look after the box-office? We advertised in The Stage, didn’t we? And do you remember what a funny collection of people turned up? Then we got Mr Chubb.’

  ‘Well, what about it?’

  ‘We know that Lucky makes a point of picking on new companies and getting in with them. Well, why don’t we put a nice inviting advertisement in The Stage that will attract him. You know, something like “Energetic young business manager and box-office secretary wanted by new company.” Something that would just catch his eye.’ The three boys began to sit up. ‘I’m pretty sure he reads The Stage—yes, he used to buy it every week—I remember plainly.’

  ‘And you—you think he’d answer it?’ said Nigel slowly.

  ‘He might, mightn’t he? And there’s no harm trying.’

  The boys looked at each other with hope dawning in their eyes.

  ‘We—we were going home the day after tomorrow—’ said Jeremy uncertainly.

  ‘Oh, all right,’ said Maddy casually. ‘I expect I can manage it by myself.’

  ‘But what—what would we do if he did answer?’ asked Bulldog. ‘Put the police on him?’

  ‘No,’ said Maddy, her eyes sparkling. ‘We’d arrange a meeting somewhere, and—and confront him. After all, you boys have been saying for months what you’d do when you found him.’

  They looked a little shamefaced. Then Nigel said, ‘Maddy, you’ve got something.’

  They looked at her admiringly. Jeremy slapped his knee.

  ‘Just fancy us not thinking of that before! All these weeks…’

  Maddy giggled delightedly. ‘I told you you’d be livid. Now are you going home?’

  ‘Of course not,’ said Nigel briskly. ‘This throws an entirely different light on things. I’ll go and put the advertisement in tomorrow.’

  ‘No, you won’t,’ said Maddy. ‘I shall. It was my idea.’

  ‘Oh, well—shall we come too?’

  ‘Mm—yes,’ Maddy allowed. ‘But don’t try and make out it was your idea, will you?’

  ‘No,’ said Nigel meekly.

  ‘What had the advertisement better say?’ said Jeremy, producing pencil and paper.

  They scribbled out several drafts before they finally decided on: Wanted, enterprising young man for box-office and management of newly formed theatre company. Must have experience, and accept full responsibility for business side.

  ‘That’ll get him,’ said Maddy, clapping her hands delightedly, ‘and we’ll give him a box number, and he’ll never guess it’s us.’

  ‘We’ll take it to the office the first thing tomorrow morning,’ said Jeremy, ‘and then it will be just in time for next week’s issue.’

  ‘I’ll have to cut a class and come with you,’ said Maddy. ‘It’ll be History of Drama. Mrs Siddons will have to get on without me.’

  Next morning they went along to the office of The Stage and were there as soon as it opened. They spread out on the counter the piece of paper with the advertisement on, and Maddy said, ‘Please, we want to put this in this week’s issue.’

  ‘Sorry,’ said the man behind the counter. ‘We’re all full up. It’ll have to wait until next week—or even the week after…’

  Their faces fell visibly.

  ‘Is it urgent?’ the man asked quite kindly.

  Maddy drew a deep breath. ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘You see, it’s like this…’ And with no more ado she proceeded to tell him the whole story of Lucky, and the predicament they were in. The torrent of words, and the sincerity of the emotion with which she told the story, seemed to daze him slightly. She had talked for quite five minutes, when finally she finished up with, ‘And so, you see, it’s a matter of life and death.’

  ‘I see…’ said the man faintly. ‘It is urgent, you might say. Well, I’ll try and squeeze you in. It’ll mean leaving someone else out, but I’m sure they wouldn’t mind if they heard your story.’

  ‘May you be rewarded,’ said Maddy grandly, and sailed out of the office.

  Bulldog wiped his brow. ‘Whew,’ he said; ‘Maddy, you could talk the tentacles off an octopus.’

  ‘And now,’ said Maddy, ‘all we have to do is wait.’ The days of waiting were terrible. At times it seemed certain that Lucky must answer the advertisement, at others it seemed ridiculous to suppose that he would fall into their trap. Maddy could not concentrate on her studies, and the boys did not even bother to go out looking for Lucky. One night they were even so rash as to go to the cinema, spending a few more shillings of the last of their money.

  ‘If he doesn’t answer,’ said Nigel afterwards, as he slid into the narrow hostel bed, ‘we really have had it. We shall just have to go home.’

  ‘He must answer,’ said Bulldog between clenched teeth.

  ‘Why should he?’ demanded Jeremy. ‘At this moment he is probably happily engaged in swindling some poor wretched company somewhere. He doesn’t need to waste stamps answering advertisements. So why should he?’

  Bulldog flung a pillow at him to relieve his feelings.

  The week-end passed slowly. They wandered round all day Saturday, and on Sunday morning went to church at St Martin’s-in-the-Fields, feeling rather
shabby among the smart congregation.

  Maddy became more and more depressed. ‘Perhaps it wasn’t such a good idea after all. When will you go home?’

  ‘Tuesday, I should think, if we’ve heard nothing from the advertisement.’

  ‘Have you told the girls? And the parents?’

  ‘No. Not yet.’

  On Monday morning the boys were just sitting down to their uninviting breakfast in the dining-hall of the hostel, when one of the officials came up to Nigel.

  ‘Oh, Halford,’ he said. ‘Your—er—sister’s waiting in the lobby to see you. She seems distressed.’

  ‘Vicky?’ cried Nigel, jumping up. ‘Whatever’s up?’

  The three of them hurried out into the lobby. The official had been wrong. It was Maddy. She was stretched out luxuriously on the hard wooden form in the hall-way with a blissful smile on her face, and large tears were rolling out of her eyes.

  ‘Maddy—’

  ‘A letter…’ She sat up and waved a sheet of paper at them, clutching in her other hand a pile of envelopes. Nigel and Jeremy pounced on it in silence, while Maddy and Bulldog danced a wild fandango to the amazement of the other young men on their way out to their shops and offices.

  Dear Sir, ran the letter, which was written from the Linden Grove address. In answer to your advert in ‘The Stage’ I beg to apply for the post. I am twenty-five years of age, and have had much experience of the type what you are needing. I have been manager for Red Radcliffe and his Rhythm Boys, also in several West End theatres. Should be glad to call whenever convenient. My references are spotless. Yours truly, L. Green

  ‘Spotless!’ cried Bulldog ‘Gosh, he’ll be far from spotless when we’ve finished with him.’

  They ran out into the sunlight of the street and up the road.

  ‘Where are we going to?’ panted Maddy.

  ‘Don’t know,’ said Bulldog, ‘but we must go somewhere.’

  ‘Let’s ring the others and tell them to come up to town at once.’

  ‘Yes. There’s a phone-box down there. Oh,’ said Nigel, ‘no money.’

  ‘Reverse the charges,’ said Maddy wisely.

  It seemed ages before they got through to the Little Theatre at Penlannock, and centuries before the girls were brought to the phone. Then ‘Hallo!’ said Lyn’s voice from very far away.

  ‘Lyn—’ Maddy shouted in the receiver excitedly.

  ‘Maddy! What on earth do you mean by reversing the charges?’

  ‘It’s urgent,’ gabbled Maddy. ‘Come up to town at once. It’s Lucky.’

  ‘They—they haven’t got him?’

  ‘No—but we’re going to. And you must be here. Come up to town tonight. It’ll be tomorrow.’

  ‘What will be?’

  ‘The grand capture, of course.’

  ‘What on earth are you talking about?’

  ‘Here, Nigel,’ said Maddy, ‘you take over. They won’t believe a word I say.’

  Nigel took the receiver and said briskly, ‘Hallo, you! I think it will be a good thing if you came up to town tonight. Things are about to happen.’

  ‘Really?’ Lyn’s voice throbbed with excitement.

  ‘Where shall we come to?’

  ‘Well, you can’t come to our place. Better go to Maddy’s digs. She’ll tell you about it.’

  ‘O.K. See you tomorrow.’

  When they came out of the phone-box they did not quite know what to do next, but Nigel said firmly, ‘Now this needs thinking out. Where’s a good place to think?’

  ‘Somewhere near food,’ said Maddy promptly. ‘I was too excited to eat any breakfast.’

  ‘First,’ said Nigel, ‘we’ll go to a post-office to send a telegram to Mr Green, requesting his presence tomorrow morning.’

  ‘Where?’

  ‘I don’t quite know. It must sound feasible—’

  ‘I know,’ cried Bulldog. ‘Let’s hire a rehearsal room. They’re quite reasonable. We’d only need it for an hour.’

  ‘And what an hour it will be—’ breathed Nigel.

  ‘Gosh, we’ve just got to get him this time…’ breathed Bulldog.

  The Locarno rehearsal rooms were in a little alley-way off Leicester Square, appropriately named ‘Ranting Yard’. It was a shabby grey building, with each floor divided into two large bare rooms where, for a few shillings an hour, companies could rehearse plays, or with the aid of an out-of-tune piano, variety acts could rehearse their numbers. The door-keeper sat on a little canvas stool outside the entrance with a large ledger in which he entered how long each room was occupied, and who paid him how much. When the Blue Doors arrived in full force the following day the whole building was shaking with the beat of a swing band that was rehearsing in the top front. On the floor below, a soprano warbled ‘Ah, Sweet Mystery of Life’, and on the ground floor, a chorus were tapping out a fast routine to a tinkly piano.

  ‘Bit noisy today, sir,’ said the door-keeper cheerfully to Nigel.

  ‘You’ve said it. But we shan’t mind. In fact… Oh, my name is Holmes. I’ve engaged a room from eleven till twelve.’

  The door-keeper consulted his ledger. ‘Oh, yes, sir. Top back. Here’s the key.’

  Behind Nigel came Bulldog and Jeremy, looking tense but determined. Then came Maddy, in a state of uncontrollable excitement. Vicky, Lyn and Sandra, pale and heavy-eyed from their all-night journey, walked together arm-in-arm, and behind them, a giggling seething bevy, were the six ex-pantomime fairies, Buster and her gang.

  ‘Oh, I’m expecting a young gentleman by the name of Green a bit later on. Will you send him up?’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  Nigel turned to Maddy and the six little girls. ‘I shan’t want you lot until Green arrives.’ He winked at them surreptitiously.

  ‘Yes, Mr Holmes,’ said Buster loudly, pink with excitement under her freckles. ‘We’ll be about…’

  Maddy led the cortège along the side of the building farthest away from the main road, but one snub nose was kept just peeping round the corner.

  The Blue Doors mounted the stairs in silence.

  ‘Oh, dear,’ said Sandra. ‘Supposing…’ But she was in too bad a state to be able to think what catastrophe she was fearing.

  Nigel unlocked the door. It was a large bare room with chairs round the walls and a table at one end. Nigel seated himself in front of the table, facing the door.

  ‘Girls,’ he said, ‘you sit round the table behind me. Jeremy and Bulldog behind the door.’ They grouped themselves as he ordered. ‘Now just supposing he gets away—don’t worry. He won’t get far.’

  Sandra said anxiously, ‘I hope Maddy will be all right.’

  ‘She’ll be fine,’ Jeremy reassured her. ‘This sort of thing is right up her street.’

  ‘It’s eleven o’clock,’ said Lyn tensely, looking at her wrist watch. They were silent, watching the blackness of the door.

  ‘Aah—sweet mystery of life,’ wailed the soprano.

  ‘Boom-boom-de-boom, boom-boom-de-boom, Alexander’s Rag-time Band…’ thudded the orchestra. And the dancers tapped madly to the tune of ‘The Dicky Bird Hop’.

  Lyn’s heart was pounding so loudly that it seemed to her to be shaking her whole body. She thought that she had never cared so violently about anything in her whole life.

  ‘Gosh, that piano’s flat,’ said Jeremy softly, not relaxing his listening attitude. Then they heard footsteps—loud confident footsteps that mounted the uncarpeted wooden stairs.

  ‘Here he is,’ hissed Jeremy. ‘I know those steps.’

  ‘Oh! Oh, dear…’ cried Sandra helplessly. ‘Whatever will happen?’

  ‘We mustn’t let him go,’ said Bulldog.

  ‘We won’t,’ said Nigel confidently.

  The steps seemed to get louder, louder than the piano, the soprano, the dancers—louder even than the swing band. And yet the brusque knock on the door made them all jump. For a minute no-one could answer, then Nigel shouted in a very stern voice, ‘Come in.’


  The door swung open and there stood Lucky.

  He was dressed in a new chocolate-brown pin-striped suit, with a yellow waistcoat and a flaunting orange tie. His black patent shoes were shinier than ever, and so was his hair. His cheeks were pink and so well washed that they were shining. His wide-brimmed hat was held in front of him. While the door still swung open he stepped across the threshold and opened his mouth to speak. But although his mouth stayed open, no words came.

  Nigel met his horrified gaze levelly. ‘Hullo, Lucky,’ he said; ‘so you want a job in a box-office, do you?’

  ‘Funny, eh?’ Lucky gave a sickly chuckle and Jeremy and Bulldog moved from behind the door to close in on him. But suddenly his wits returned to him, and like an eel, he turned and slithered between them. Bulldog flung himself at his feet in an unsuccessful rugger tackle, Jeremy grabbed at his shoulders and received a blow on the jaw that sent him reeling. The three girls screamed, and by the time that Nigel was across the floor, Lucky was out of the door and gone.

  ‘Get him, get him!’ shouted Nigel. Jeremy and Bulldog picked themselves up and were after him in a flash, with Nigel behind them. They fell, rather than ran, down the top flight of stairs, shouting strange battle cries at the top of their voices. ‘Stop thief!’ and ‘Catch him!’ and ‘Look out, Maddy!’ By the time they reached the bottom of the flight, Lucky was descending the next flight. In the doorway out into the street, the six fairies and Maddy were playing innocently with a skipping rope. The door-man was turning one end and Buster the other, while Maddy bounced up and down over the rope, singing out, ‘Salt, Mustard, Vinegar, Pepper…’ But they each had one eye on the staircase. As Lucky’s flying figure appeared on the stairs, Maddy snatched the handle of the rope from the door-man.

  ‘O.K., Buster,’ she yelled, and they pulled the rope taut. Out of the door came Lucky, as fast as his legs would carry him.

  ‘Hooray!’ yelled the fairies, as he tripped helplessly over the rope and crashed on to the ground. They were on to him in an instant, sitting heavily on his head, his legs, his feet.