on the counter of the Wine and Tobacco Department as he sauntered through. There was something special about the patented spring cutting lever. And, as he sat fiddling with it, his resemblance to an elderly schoolboy was more marked than ever. If the cutter had been something that he had just invented and built out ofMeccano he could not have been more intense or preoccupied.
But already he was off again.
âWhatâs Tony say about it?â he asked.
âHe doesnât want to come into the firm,â Mr. Rammell told him. âSays he wonât, and thatâs that.â
Sir Harry gave his son a wink.
âLeave him to me,â he said. âI know how to handle âim.â
âIt wonât do any good ...â Mr. Rammell began. But he was interrupted by the telephone. It was the verse-drama student who was on the other end of it.
âMrs. Rammell to speak to you, sir,â she said, sounding as though she was on her way to bury Polynices.
Because his father was there, Mr. Rammell spoke into the instrument carefully, diplomatically.
âYes, dear. Yes. What is it?â
Mrs. Rammellâs own voice came through very loud and clear. It was naturally a little high-pitched. Urgent-sounding. And on the telephone it was always singularly penetrating.
âWhatâs the matter?â she demanded. âAm I interrupting? Is someone with you?â
âNo, dear. No. Go on.â
âThen why are you using your business voice?â
âIâm not, dear. Really, Iâm not.â
âOh, yes you are. But it doesnât matter. I only wanted to remind you about to-night,â Mrs. Rammell went on. âItâs not eight. Itâs seven-thirty. Weâll have to eat afterwards.â
âAfter what?â Mr. Rammell asked. He felt his strength ebbing away from him.
âAfter the concert,â Mrs. Rammell told him. âYou said youâd come. You canât let me down as late as this.â Mrs. Rammell was fairly shrieking by now. âThereâs a box reserved for us. Constanceâll be there ...â
âAll right, dear. Iâll be back in good time, dear. Good-bye, dear. Good-bye.â
As Mr. Rammell hung up the receiver he congratulated himself. There had been nothing for his father to get his teeth into from overhearing that conversation. Not a hint that he felt that he would go stark raving mad if he were ever dragged off to another concert anywhere. Last time it had been madrigals of all things. Part-songs and bleatings, like musical and demented sheep. His wife, Mr. Rammell realized gloomily, somehow belonged among such goings-on. And he didnât. That was the whole trouble. He didnât even look as though he belonged. Anyone seeing the pair of them sitting up there in the box would probably assume that it was thelady patroness being kind to the man who had landed the refreshments contract.
He looked up and caught his fatherâs eye.
The old man winked again. Evidently Mrs. Rammellâs voice had been louder than he realized.
âYou singinâ to-night?â Sir Harry asked.
Â
Chapter Four
1
But Mr. Rammell wasnât the only person connected with the firm who was having a bad day. There was also Marcia. And even though it was getting on for midday the curtains of her little flat were still not drawn back. Nothing very remarkable in that. In any large city there will always be plenty of late ones, night birds and other odd misfits who get home with the milk and try to make up for it afterwards. But for a member of Rammellâs staff to be down under the bedclothes at this time was certainly a bit of an exception. Because among the whole of the one thousand and eleven employees there was only oneâStaff No. 737âfrom whom such behaviour would have been tolerated.
That was because No. 737 was one of Rammellâs big assets, their ambassadress. While there were five other mannequins in