"That's what I thought," Peter said, "but this guy sounds all right to me. He offered me two and a half million bucks for the percentage and he'll advance the company two million bucks against film rentals."

"I don't get it," Johnny said. "What's the guy got in mind?"

"Nothing, absolutely nothing," Peter shouted back. "He's got a business principle which says a retailer will work harder if he has a connection with the manufacturer, that's all. It makes sense to me." He cleared his throat. "What do you think about it, Johnny?"

Johnny thought for a moment. "I don't know what to think," he answered cautiously. "I don't know enough about it, but the dough sounds awful good to me."

"Not only that," Peter added enthusiastically. "He's got an idea that will bring in another two million bucks and improve our credit. I'm telling you, Johnny, he's a smart feller, that one. I think he knows what he's talking about."

"Well, you're there, Peter," Johnny said slowly. "You know what's best for us."

"You got no objections if I decide to sell him a piece?" Peter asked.

Johnny hesitated. He didn't like the idea, but couldn't see how he could object to it. After all, Peter owned the company, he had a right to sell part of it if he so desired. Peter must be almost clean now and this was a chance for him to recoup some of his personal fortune.

"I haven't any objections," he replied slowly. "But, Peter-be careful."

"Sure," Peter said, his voice still excited, "I'll be careful."

Johnny remembered the picture on the work sheet. "Do you know anything about a picture called United We Stand?" he asked.

"No, I never heard of it. Why?"

"It just showed up on last week's studio work sheet," Johnny said.

Peter laughed. "Then what are you worrying about? It must be a new t.i.tle Mark put on one of the pictures."

"But-" Johnny started to protest.

Peter's voice cut in on him. "I left Mark with complete instructions on the program. He just changed a t.i.tle, that's all. After all, we got to let him have a little freedom, don't we?"

Resentment rose in Johnny's throat. With difficulty he managed to keep it from spilling over into his voice. Every time he said something about production since that fiasco with sound on disks Peter had shut him up. "The t.i.tle is a phony," he said flatly. "We haven't anything on the schedule it would fit."

"How would you know?" Peter asked belligerently. "Mark is running the studio, not you. He would know better." He was still sensitive over the argument Johnny had given him when he left Mark in charge of the studio.

Johnny recognized the tone in his voice. It meant that Peter had closed his mind to argument and nothing he could say would change it. He decided not to push it any further at the moment, he did not want to upset Peter while he was in the midst of negotiations with this guy Danvere. Johnny had a hunch that Danvere was a pretty smooth article and that Peter would need all his wits about him. "All right," he said reluctantly. "When are you coming back?" he asked. Time enough to settle it then, he thought.

"I don't know," Peter replied. "If I set this deal with Danvere, I was thinking of taking a two-month trip through the Continental offices and see how they're doing. It's been more than two years since I looked them over."

"Good idea," Johnny said. "Maybe you can hump 'em up a little."

"I'll try," Peter said.

"You want me to forward any message to the family?" Johnny asked.

"No, thanks," Peter replied. "I've got a call in for Esther now and I'll be talking to her as soon as I get through with you."

"Okay, I won't keep you then," Johnny said. "So long."

"Good-by, Johnny," Peter answered.

Johnny put the phone down and looked at it thoughtfully. He hoped Peter knew what he was doing. He looked at his watch. It was eleven o'clock in the morning. That made it five o'clock in the afternoon in London and eight o'clock in the morning in California. Peter's call should catch the family at breakfast.

Doris was seated at the table reading the paper and drinking her orange juice when Mark came into the room. She looked up at him.

His eyes were puffed and rimmed with lack of sleep. He grinned at her. "Morning, sis," he said, his voice still husky with sleep.

"Good morning, Mark," she said, still looking at him. "What time did you get to bed last night?" she asked curiously.

He glanced at her quickly. "Why?"

She shrugged her shoulders. "I was just curious. I was up until after three o'clock and I didn't hear you come in."

He felt a peculiar irritation at her statement. "I'm not a baby any more," he growled surlily at her. "You don't have to wait up for me."

"I wasn't waiting up for you. I was working," she said, putting down her paper and looking at him. "What's eating you lately?" she asked. "You've been grouchy as a bear the last month."

He managed a conciliatory smile. "I've been working too hard, I guess," he said placatingly.

She picked up her paper again. "You might try getting to bed a little earlier," she said quietly. "It won't hurt."

He didn't answer her. He picked up the gla.s.s of juice in front of him and drank it. He heard her laugh and looked at her. "What's funny?" he asked.

"This item here in Marian Andrews's column," she said. She read it aloud. "'A prominent son of a prominent father in this town is in for a rude awakening when Papa comes home from a business trip. Said son has been running around with an actress his father fired from the lot on a morals-clause threat.'" She laughed again. "I wonder whom she means?"

He looked down at the table in front of him. He could feel a flush running up into his face and hoped she wouldn't notice it. G.o.d d.a.m.n that columnist! He didn't know where she got her dope. They had been very careful not to be seen together after that first time. He was glad when the phone rang, distracting her.

"Sit there," she said to him, "I'll get it." She got out of her chair and picked up the phone. "h.e.l.lo," she said into it.

A look of excitement came into her face. "Get Mamma quick," she said, covering the mouthpiece with her hand. "It's Papa calling from London!"

He looked at her stupidly for a minute. What the h.e.l.l! Had the old boy heard about the picture already? No, he couldn't have; he didn't get any of the work sheets. He ran into the kitchen.

As usual Esther was at the stove frying the eggs and the cook stood by, watching her. "Mamma," he said, "come quick. Papa's on the phone!"

Esther dropped the frying-pan on the stove and, wiping her hands on her ap.r.o.n, hurried after him into the dining room.

Doris saw her coming. "All right operator," she said into the phone. "Put him on. Here she is now." She handed her mother the phone and stood by, watching her with excited eyes.

"h.e.l.lo, Papa?" Esther shouted into the phone. Her hand was shaking so that she could hardly hold it. "How are you feeling? Are you all right?"

They could hear their father's voice buzzing and crackling in the receiver.

Esther was silent a moment, then she spoke again. "I'm all right Papa," she shouted into the phone again. "Doris and Mark are all right too." She turned and looked at them with proud shining eyes. "Yes, Papa," she said, "Mark is working very hard. He gets home from the studio late almost every night. Last night he didn't come in until almost four o'clock...."

5.

She saw him as he stepped down from the train. She stood on tiptoes and waved to him. "Johnny!" she called. "Over here!"

His eyes turned toward her and a broad smile crossed his face. The porter followed him with his valise as he walked toward her. She ran to him. "Oh, Johnny," she cried, "I'm so glad you could come!"

He looked down at her still smiling, the corners of his eyes crinkling good-humoredly. "I'm glad I did come, sweetheart," he said. "But why all the mystery?"

She looked up at him, her eyes clouding suddenly. "It's Mark," she said quickly. She looked up at him, a sudden fear in her eyes. "Johnny, there's something the matter with him! I don't know what it is."

His face grew serious as he took her by the arm and walked toward the car. He waited until they were settled in the car before he spoke again. "What seems to be the trouble?"

She started the motor and rolled out into traffic. "Johnny, there's something wrong out at the studio. That picture he's working on, it's not what it seems."

"I don't understand what you mean, Doris." His voice was puzzled.

"Mamma got a letter from Papa last week and her gla.s.ses weren't handy, so she asked me to read it to her. In it Papa said that he expected things to be a lot easier once Mark delivered the six pictures he was working on." She stopped for a traffic light and looked at him.

"That's right," he nodded. "But there's nothing wrong with that. We all expect things to pick up with those six pictures."

"But there is something wrong," she said swiftly. "I went down to the studio the next day to pick up something for Mother from Papa's office, and his secretary, Miss Hartman, said something to me about everybody being so excited over United We Stand that almost all the other work at the studio was at a standstill."

"Did you ask her what she meant?" Johnny questioned.

"I did," came her answer, "and she said that this picture was the biggest thing Magnum ever did. She said something about it costing over two million dollars."

"Two million dollars!" Johnny e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed. "She must be nuts! All six of the pictures on the work report don't come to that much."

"That's what I thought, even though I didn't know all the figures," Doris said. "I knew about the money Papa got from Danvere, but I couldn't believe that Papa would throw it all into one picture."

"Did you ask Mark about it?" Johnny could feel a sudden anxiety run through him.

"I did at dinner that night and he became angry and told me to mind my own business. He said that Papa left him in charge of the studio, not me, and it was about time somebody showed them how to do things properly." She looked at him out of the corner of her eyes. He was sitting very still. "I asked him if Miss Hartman was right when she told me that the picture would cost more than two million dollars."

"What did he say?"

"He didn't answer me at first, just looked at me angrily. Then he said very nastily: 'What if it does? What are you going to do about it? Run and tell Johnny?' I told him that I wasn't prying, but was only curious because of Papa's letter. 'Papa must have been thinking of something else,' he said, trying to make a joke of it. Then he smiled at me very sweetly, and you know how sweet he can be when he wants to, and said: 'Don't worry your little head over it, sis. Your brother knows what he's doing. Besides, Papa okayed everything.' I let it drop then, but later in the evening, when I thought things over, I thought I ought to call you and see if you'd come out. Naturally I didn't want to talk about it over the phone. But I thought you should come anyway. Mark wouldn't dare fool around with you." She looked at him.

His face had settled into grim lines. If what she said was true, they were in a h.e.l.l of a mess right now. Under the terms of their agreement with Danvere they had to deliver six pictures to the Martin theaters in the next month and a half. In addition to that, at the first meeting of the newly appointed board of directors, which had been held in New York just two weeks ago, he had glowingly told them of the six pictures now in progress and what it meant to the company to have them ready on time.

They wouldn't like that. Had Mark forgotten that, according to the law now, he had to have approval by the board for anything he did? The board had already approved the program of six pictures and that guy Ronsen, who was on it as Danvere's representative, was no fool either. He already had an extensive experience with the Borden Company. And there was something peculiar about the way he acted, too. Johnny couldn't put his finger on it, but the man seemed to be waiting for something to go wrong. He reminded Johnny of a hawk circling around and around in the sky waiting for prey.

He was silent for so long that at last she looked at him anxiously and asked: "What are you thinking about, Johnny?"

There was a hint of anger in his blue eyes as he turned and looked at her. "I think we ought to pay the kid a visit at the studio and see for ourselves what's going on," he said grimly.

Something in his voice frightened her. Her grip tightened on the steering wheel. "Johnny, if he did that, would we be in trouble?"

His answering laugh was flat and completely devoid of humor. "Honey, if he did that, we'd be in real trouble, the likes of which we never been in before!"

Mark looked at his watch. It was a little after two o'clock. "I got to be getting back to the studio, Dulcie," he said, looking up. "It's getting late."

She smiled back at him. "And I have the whole afternoon to kill by my lonesome," she pouted.

"Got that picture to make, baby," he said. "You wouldn't want me to be late for that."

A mischievous look came into her eyes. "No, I wouldn't want that to happen," she said quickly, "but-"

"But what?" he asked.

She eyed him daringly. "I heard so much about it, I would like to see for myself how it's going."

His voice was surprised. "You know you can't do that," he said.

She raised an eyebrow. Her voice was challenging. "Why not?" she asked. "Are you afraid to take me there?"

He laughed unconvincingly. "I'm not afraid. I was just thinking that it might be unpleasant for you, that's all."

"I don't think I'd mind," she replied. "And I do so want to see how you're doing," she added appealingly.

"No," he decided. "You'd better not. It would cause too much talk and there's enough of that already."

"You are afraid!" Her voice was accusing.

"I'm not," he insisted, standing up. He glanced at his watch again. "I'd better be going." He turned and started for the door.

She let him go as far as the door before she called him. A sudden obstinacy swept over her. "Mark!" she called.

He stopped and looked back at her questioningly.

"If you don't take me back with you, you don't have to call me any more," she told him quietly.

She restrained an impulse to smile at his haste to get back to her. He tried to take her in his arms. "Dulcie, you know I can't."

She disengaged herself from his grasp. "I don't know anything," she replied coolly, "except that you don't want to take me with you."

His hands still reached out for her. "But Dulcie-" His voice was miserable and pleading.

She turned away from him. Her voice was still cold. "That's all right, Mark. I understand. You just don't want to be seen with me."

"Dulcie, that's wrong," he pleaded. "Didn't I ask you to marry me?"