As she went through the now-familiar routine of crowded days and nights, she could not rid her mind of the thought of Paula Andrews and of—somewhere—Paula’s parents, wondering where she was. And as Paula began to bloom from her new, nourishing diet, Peggy seemed to fade with her preoccupations.
But nothing lasts forever, and soon the two long days were at an end.
The girls put in their phone call at noon, knowing that it was only nine in Los Angeles and that Dot would surely be asleep at that hour after a late arrival the night before. It seemed a pity to wake her, but it was better than waiting and taking a chance of missing her entirely.
“What? Who? Where?” Dot’s voice, fogged with sleep and confusion, came over the three thousand miles of telephone wire as clearly as if she had been next door.
“It’s me, Dot! Peggy Lane. In New York!”
“Why?” Dot demanded, this time a little less foggy. “It’s wonderful to hear your nice, friendly, wide-awake, noontime New York voice,” she said in her normal peppery manner, “but not when I was in the middle of a dream about landing a movie lead that was going to get me an Oscar!”
“I’m sorry to wake you, Dot,” Peggy said, “but this is important, and I didn’t want to find that you’d gone out. We want you to do a favor for us.”
“What is it?” Dot asked. “It must be darned important to spend all this money to call.”
“Dot, it’s too complicated to explain why I want you to do what I’m going to ask, so don’t ask why. I want you to go to a house called Eagletop, on Canyon Road in Beverly Hills, only don’t go in. I want you to find out, in whatever way you can, who lives there. Also, I’d like you to find out if they have a daughter and where she is.”
“And how am I going to do this without going in?” Dot asked. “And why can’t I go in, anyway? I could just ring the bell and ask—”
“No!” Peggy exclaimed. “That’s just what you can’t do. And I can’t go into the whys, as I said. I’ll write you a letter. Meanwhile, the important thing is to learn what you can, and not to let anyone in the house know that you’re asking questions.”
“Well, if you say it’s important to do it this way,” Dot answered, “I’ll do my best. But how...?”
“You’ll think of a way,” Peggy said cheerfully. “You’re a bright girl!”
“Thanks,” Dot said sourly. “Your compliment puts the whole thing on my shoulders ... which is what you had in mind, I guess.”
“Well, you know the city, and we don’t, and—” Peggy began.
“I know, I know,” Dot cut her off. “Don’t worry about it. I only have to know one thing more. What do you want me to do when I find the answers?”
“Call here,” Peggy said. “If I’m not here, tell Amy or Greta or May, but not one other person. Understand?”
“Okay,” Dot agreed, “and I feel a lot better, knowing May’s in on it.”
“Good. When do you think you can go up there?”
“Right after breakfast,” Dot said. “I’ll phone you by three this afternoon—that’s six in New York. Will you be there?”
“You bet!” Peggy said. “And thanks a million, Dot!”
Peggy replaced the phone and turned to her friends. “We’ll have whatever answers Dot can dig up today. She’ll phone us by six. That is, if she doesn’t go back to sleep again.”
“And if I know our Dot,” Greta commented, “that’s a darned big ‘if.’”
But Dot was as good as her word, and as resourceful as Peggy and her friends had hoped she would be. The call came through on time, the information was complete and accurate. Peggy put down the phone, turned to the expectant faces of Amy, Greta, and May, and slowly sat down as if in a daze.
“Wow!” she said quietly.
“What is it?” the girls asked in chorus.
“We’ve got our story,” Peggy said, “but I still don’t know exactly what to make of it.”
“Well, for goodness’ sake,tellus!” Greta said impatiently.
Peggy gathered her thoughts for a few seconds, drew a deep breath, and began. “Paula Andrews is the daughter of Stacy Blair and—”
“Stacy Blair? The actress?” Amy gasped.
“Yes,” Peggy said. “The one and only Stacy Blair. And her father is Dean Andrews, the producer and director.”
“Wow is the word all right,” Greta said.
“I knew she looked familiar,” Amy commented. “We all felt that we had seen her somewhere before. She looks like her mother. And no wonder she’s such a good actress.”
“This answers a lot of questions,” Peggy said. “But it leaves a lot of questions, too. The big one is, with parents like that, why would Paula pretend to be an orphan? And why would she go so far with the pretense as to actually starve herself?”
“I would say that’s a question only Paula can answer,” put in May Berriman, who had been silent until now. “And I think the best thing to do is to go directly to her, tell her what you know, and ask her to give you her full confidence. After all,” she added, “you have a right to know. She’s taking money and help from you girls on—well, on false pretenses. If you’re going to help her, at least you ought to know why.”
“The money isn’t important, May,” Peggy replied. “But there are important reasons for knowing. For one thing, her parents must be terribly worried about her. And for another thing, she’s the leading lady in our play. I don’t know what kind of publicity—good or bad—would come of having her discovered once we open. I think Mal and Randy should know about this, so as to make their decisions.”
The others agreed, knowing that it would be impossible for Paula to act in the play for long without being recognized.
“I suppose it’s not important,” Amy said, “but I can’t help wondering how Dot found out all this in such a short time.”
“She’s a smart gal,” Peggy answered. “She simply took her camera and bought a cheap autograph book and started walking around the streets in the Canyon Road area, pretending to be a movie-fan tourist. She struck up a conversation with a postman, and asked a lot of questions about who lived in the houses around her. Whenever she asked about a famous person’s house, she took a snapshot. When the postman saw she wasn’t going to actually disturb any of the people on his route, he let her walk with him, and he told her a lot about the people who lived in the area. That’s how she found out about Mr. and Mrs. Andrews, and about Paula. And she found out something else, too. Paula is supposed to be in Europe.”
“In Europe?” Greta asked. “How does she know that?”
“From the letters the postman delivers.”
“You’re not making sense. How can he?” Amy complained.
“That’s the peculiar part,” Peggy said, “and it’s what I meant when I said that there would be even more questions to answer. You see, Dot said that the postman told her he delivered letters from Paula, from different parts of Europe.”
“But Paula has been right here all the time!” Amy cried.
Peggy nodded slowly. “She’s been here for about three months that we know of for sure. And the postman said that she wrote to her parents regularly, at least once a week, until recently. He said that it’s been perhaps a month since they’ve had a letter, and that her parents seem pretty worried. Every so often they wait for the mail to come, and they ask him to look again, to be sure that they don’t have a letter from Paula.”
After a moment’s silence, while they all puzzled about the meaning of this latest development, May Berriman spoke decisively. “It seems to me that every minute we waste discussing the possibilities is a minute of uncertainty and unhappiness for this girl’s parents—and for her, too. Peggy, I think you should go right to her this minute and get to the bottom of the affair immediately.”
“Oh dear,” Peggy said unhappily. “I know you’re right, but I’ve been sort of trying to put it off. I just hate to be the one to tell her that we’ve been spying on her.”
“I know how you feel, Peggy,” May Berriman said, managing to sound gentle and stern at the same time, “but after all, you—”
“I know, May,” Peggy interrupted. “You don’t have to tell me. I started the whole thing, and it’s up to me to finish it. Besides, I’ve formed a closer friendship with Paula than any of the rest of you. You’re right. I’d better do it, and I’d better do it right away.”
As she started from the room, Amy stood up to follow. “Peggy,” she called, “I’m coming, too.”
“No, Amy,” Peggy said. “It’s good of you, but I think I’d better do it alone. It may be harder for me that way, but it will be easier for Paula. I’ll meet you all down at the theater as soon as I can get there.”
With a distracted wave of her hand, she left.
On the way to Paula’s apartment, she rehearsed several possible opening phrases, several tactful approaches to the problem of telling her friend that she knew her identity. Somehow, nothing seemed quite right, and when she finally stepped out of the little elevator and knocked on Paula’s door, her mind was blank. Paula greeted her with a smile.
“Peggy! What a nice surprise! I was just thinking of calling you up. I thought we might be able to have dinner together before going down to the theater tonight.”
“I’m glad I caught you before you went out,” Peggy said. “Paula. Sit down, will you? I—I want to talk to you. You see, this isn’t exactly a—well—a social visit, although it is a friendly one. I’m coming to you as a friend, to ask you to be honest with me.”
“Honest? Why, Peggy, I....” Paula’s voice trailed off, and she became pale and still.
“Yes, you know what I mean,” Peggy said. “It’s time to be honest about yourself—and honest with yourself. You can’t go on pretending to be what you’re not. I’m sorry, Paula, but I know all about you. I know who you are, and who your parents are, and I know that they think you’re in Europe. I’ve ... I’ve been snooping.”
“Have you talked to them?” Paula asked in a quavery voice. “Do they know where I am?”
“Nobody has talked to them,” Peggy assured her. “I think you ought to do that yourself.”
“Thank goodness!” Paula breathed. “But why...?”
“Why did I poke into your affairs?” Peggy supplied. “Because I was sure that you weren’t telling me the truth about yourself, and I was sure that your parents didn’t know where you were and that they were probably worried sick, whoever they were. I wanted to find out, so that I could help you. You must believe that. I didn’t do it out of personal curiosity, Paula, but just to help you.”
“I believe that, Peggy,” Paula said. “But really, it wasn’t necessary. My parents think I’m all right. They believe I’m in Europe, and they get letters from me, and—”
“No, they don’t,” Peggy interrupted. “They haven’t received a letter in almost a month.”
“Oh, no!” Paula gasped. “I was afraid of that! But how do you know, if you haven’t spoken to them?”
“Don’t bother about that now,” Peggy said. “I think the best thing is for you to start at the beginning and tell me the whole story. Then we can put the pieces together.”
Paula nodded in silent agreement, then drew a deep breath and started.
“My parents are wonderful people,” she began. “They’ve given me everything a girl could want, and I love them dearly. They’re both understanding and talented and charming and generous ... oh, all the things you want people to be! When I decided that I wanted to be an actress, they did everything they could to help me. I was sent to the best dramatic coaches and schools, introduced to all the people who would be good to know. They helped me get placed with the best repertory theater group in California, and when I started to get good parts, they saw to it that the leading critics came out to see me. I got wonderful notices, and I got a few movie offers, but—”
“But what?” Peggy asked. “It sounds as if you had everything in the world!”
“I did,” Paula answered. “Everything except self-confidence. I was never sure whether I was getting the good parts and the good reviews because I was me, or because I was my parents’ daughter. My mother is, well, very popular with all the show people in Hollywood, as well as being a famous actress. Nobody would ever do anything to hurt her. I was afraid I was being carried along because everybody wanted to be nice to her. And my father, too. He’s well-liked, and he’s also very—influential.”
“I see,” Peggy said thoughtfully. “And you wanted to try your talent on your own. But why didn’t you explain that to your parents?”
“They thought I was being foolish,” Paula said. “They told me that I should take whatever help I could get on my way to the stage, because once I got there, I would have to stand on my own feet anyway. Maybe they were right.”
“They were,” Peggy said decisively. “And it seems to me that we had this conversation once before, and I told you the same thing. You have to be willing to be helped. I think that you believe it a little more now than you did before.”
“I guess so,” Paula agreed. “But I certainly wasn’t convinced before. When I got the movie offers, I was afraid that I would be a failure. I wanted to be sure first that I could get a part and please an audience on my own merits. So I turned down the offers. I said that I wanted to complete my education first. I asked my parents to let me spend a year in Europe, so that I could learn a little more about people and the world. They agreed, on condition that I went with a friend. My friend Nancy Frome was planning to go abroad for a year anyway. She’s several years older than I, and my parents were satisfied to have me go with her.”
“And you arranged with her that she would mail previously written letters to your parents to convince them that you were in Europe, right?” Peggy put in.
“That’s right,” Paula said. “Nancy agreed to do that, and to mail me the letters my parents sent. That way, I could answer any specific questions and make my letters sound natural. I mailed my letters to my parents over to Nancy, and she posted them from Europe.”
“But what went wrong?” Peggy asked. “How come you ran out of money, if your parents gave you enough for a year in Europe? And how come your friend stopped sending letters home?”
“I don’t know, Peggy,” Paula said earnestly. “I’ve been worried to death about it. I haven’t heard from Nancy for almost a month. You see, that’s why I ran out of money. My parents naturally didn’t want me to carry too much cash with me, so they arranged to send regular monthly checks to me at the cities I was supposed to visit. As soon as the checks came to the hotel, Nancy would send them to me in New York, I would sign them and mail them back, and Nancy would cash them in Europe. That way, the bank markings on the backs of the checks wouldn’t be from New York, but from Paris, or Milan or Rome or wherever Nancy was. Then Nancy would send me a money order. The whole process only took about a week by air mail, and it worked fine for a while.”
“It sounds complicated, but it makes sense,” Peggy said. “That is, as much sense as it could make, once you had decided to do a foolish thing. But what went wrong?”
“I don’t know,” Paula repeated miserably. “All of a sudden the money stopped coming, and I didn’t get any letters from Nancy. At that point, I didn’t know what to do. I’m convinced that Nancy either must have had an accident, or else she’s ill, because I know that I can trust her. She must be unable to send mail. I’m scared! I would have quit the show and gone to Europe to find out, but by then I didn’t have any money left. My father’s London office probably could locate her right away, but I didn’t want to call my parents and tell them, because then no good at all would have come of the whole affair. I just kept hoping each day that I’d hear from Nancy. And meanwhile, opening night was coming closer, and I thought that if I could just hold out until then—and until I saw the notices in the papers—I could tell my parents, and maybe they’d understand.”
“Well, maybe so,” Peggy said, “but, to tell you the truth, Paula, I doubt it. They’ll surely understand your desire to prove yourself, but I can’t imagine that they’ll appreciate the way you chose to do it.”
Paula nodded, looking unhappier every minute.
“What do you think I ought to do, Peggy?”
“I think you ought to call them right now and tell them you’re all right. Then you can explain what you’ve done, and see what they say.”
“No! No, Peggy! I know you’re right, but I also know what they’d do! They would come right to New York, and they’re unable to travel anywhere without being recognized and followed by reporters and photographers. And once the newspapers get hold of a story like this, it’ll be all over the place, and when opening night is over, I’ll still not know whether I was good or not—or if I made a splash because of my name and my publicity.”
“But you can’t keep them worrying any longer!” Peggy exclaimed.
“It’s not much longer, Peggy,” Paula pleaded. “We open in three days—just three more days! Then I’ll tell them!”
“I think you’re doing the wrong thing,” Peggy said, “but I suppose there’s no way I can force you to do otherwise. Of course ... I can always call them myself, but I’d rather you did it.”
“Please, Peggy! Promise me you won’t do that!” Paula begged.
“I ... I’ll think it over,” Peggy said. “I don’t want to make any promises before I think.”
Both girls sat in unhappy silence for what seemed like a long time.
“Paula,” Peggy began after a while, “I hope you’ll forgive me for—”
“Of course,” Paula interrupted. “There’s nothing to forgive. I know you were doing it for my own good. And if it hadn’t been for you—”
Peggy cut her off with an impatient nod. “Please don’t thank me for that,” she said. “As long as you know I was just trying to help. And all I want to know now is that we can keep on being friends.”
“You’re the best friend I’ve ever had,” Paula said solemnly, “and I don’t know why you even want to have anything to do with someone who’s acted as selfishly and inconsiderately as I have.”
“It’s because I want to meet your famous parents!” Peggy said, laughing.
For a moment Paula was taken aback, then she too burst out laughing. The surface strain of the meeting was broken, and in a much lighter mood, the two girls left the apartment for dinner and the night’s rehearsal.
But Peggy knew that it was only the surface that was smooth. Underneath, she still felt the strain of the last hour—of the last weeks. She had been asked to give her promise to Paula, and she had not done so. The decision was still to be made, and until it was, Peggy knew that she would not have a moment’s peace.
During rehearsal that night, and afterward, Peggy managed to have as little contact with Paula as possible. She felt that they were both talked out on the subject by now, and any further conversation would only serve to confuse the issue, rather than clarify it.
Shortly after midnight, when Mal dismissed the cast, Peggy, Amy, and Greta made a quick and unobtrusive exit and hurried back to the Gramercy Arms to discuss the matter with May Berriman.
May had been expecting a meeting this evening, and was waiting for the girls in the huge and friendly kitchen downstairs. Hot chocolate perfumed the air, and a tray of warm, freshly made cookies was set out on the long sawbuck table.
When the girls were seated, and the chocolate had been poured, Peggy repeated what Paula had told her. She finished by telling of Paula’s request that nobody contact her parents until after opening night.
“And did you agree?” May Berriman asked.
“No,” Peggy said uneasily. “I couldn’t. But I didn’t say that I would call them either. I told her that I would have to think it over.”
“What have you decided?” May asked, in a voice like a conscience.
“... I haven’t really come to a decision yet, May,” Peggy said. “I’ve been thinking about it all evening.”
“Amy? Greta? What do you think?” May Berriman pursued.
The girls shook their heads and looked at each other.
“It seems to me,” the old actress said with slow dignity, “that Peggy made her decision some days ago, even before the whole story was known.”
“What do you mean?” Peggy asked.
“I mean that I remember you saying that people were more important than plays. And that, I presume, goes for careers, too. People, and people’s feelings, are the most important thing in the world. I think that you’ve already decided to call Paula’s parents.”
“I haven’t decided yet,” Peggy answered. “Even though I agree that people and their feelings are the most important thing. You see, I have to consider Paula’s feelings, too, don’t I?”
“No,” May Berriman said firmly. “She’s been considering her own feelings long enough, and all of you have done nothing but help her to continue her foolishness. Maybe it’s because of my age, but I can’t consider her feelings anywhere near as important as the feelings of her parents. They haven’t heard from her for a month. The checks they sent haven’t been cashed. They probably are frightened to death, and I wouldn’t be surprised if they had the police forces in half the countries of Europe searching for Paula. I think it’s time somebody put a stop to it.”
The girls considered what May had said, and silently sipped their chocolate. Nobody cared to say anything, Amy and Greta each having decided individually that the final decision must come from Peggy.
It was a long time until the silence was broken.
“All right, May,” Peggy said. “I can’t argue with you, because I know you’re right. There’s nothing to do but call them, and now’s as good a time as any.”
She glanced at the tall grandfather clock in the corner. “It’s not quite ten o’clock in California now,” she said. “I’ll go upstairs and call.”
“But what if it’s an unlisted phone number?” Amy asked.
“Oh-oh,” said Peggy. “You’re right, of course, Amy. A famous star like Stacy Blair would never have a listed number. She’d be bothered to death.” She sighed impatiently. “Well, I’ll just have to send her a wire.”
“Wait a minute, Peggy,” May Berriman said suddenly. “I know someone who’s a close friend of the Andrews, and she’s right here in New York. Let me call her. She’s bound to know their number.”
May went up the stairs with surprising agility while the three girls waited in excited silence. She soon returned waving a slip of paper and announced dramatically, “I’ve got it!”
Peggy stood up and crossed the room. May handed her the slip on which the number was written. At the foot of the stairs, Peggy paused and said, “I’ll be back in a few minutes. Please wait up for me, will you?”
“You couldn’t get us to bed now at gunpoint!” Greta said.
Peggy went upstairs and put through the call. The Andrews telephone was answered by a woman.
“Andrews residence,” she said crisply.
“I’d like to speak to Mrs. Andrews,” Peggy said.
“Who is calling, please?”
“My name is Peggy Lane. She doesn’t know me, but I’m a friend of her daughter’s, and I have some information about her that I know Mrs. Andrews would want to hear.”
“About Miss Paula? Tell me! Is she all right? Where—?”
“Yes, yes, she’s all right,” Peggy said, somewhat impatiently. “Now, please, won’t you call Mrs. Andrews to the phone?”
“I’m sorry, Miss Lane,” the voice at the other end said, “but Mr. and Mrs. Andrews aren’t here.”
“When do you expect them back?” Peggy asked.
“I don’t know. They’re in New York now, on their way to Europe, if they haven’t left already. I believe they plan to catch a plane tonight.”
“Tonight! But ... what airline? How can I reach them if they haven’t left yet?”
“You might try the hotel in New York,” the maid said. “They had to stop over for plane connections, but I don’t know for how long. They always stay at the Plaza, and you might get them there.”
“Thank you,” Peggy said hurriedly. “I’ll call them right—”
“But wait!” the maid interrupted. “Tell me about Miss Paula! Where is she? Has she had an accident? What—?”
“She’s right here in New York!” Peggy cried. “And I can’t talk more now! I have to stop her parents before they fly off to Europe! Thank you—good-by!”
Peggy hurriedly hung up before the anxious woman could continue her questioning. Swiftly thumbing through the phone book, she picked out the number of the Plaza and dialed.
“I’m sorry,” a smooth clerkish voice answered, “but Mr. and Mrs. Andrews have already checked out.”
“When?” Peggy asked. “What time?”
“About a half hour ago,” the voice said calmly. “I believe they left for the airport.”
“I know,” Peggy said excitedly. “But which airline? Do you know, or is there any way you could find out?”
“One moment, please,” the voice replied. “Perhaps the bell captain knows.”
There was a clatter as the phone was placed on a marble surface, and Peggy waited nervously. In the background, she heard the dim noises of the hotel lobby, the thin sound of a dance tune, occasional small voices. For what seemed an endless stretch of time, she waited. At last, when it seemed that her nerves could stand not one moment more, she heard the phone being picked up.
“The bell captain says they were going to International Airways Terminal, miss,” the helpful voice said. “I’m sorry it took so much time, but I checked the doorman as well, to see if he overheard the taxi directions. Fortunately he did.”
“Thank you,” Peggy said fervently. “Thank you very much!” She rang off and then promptly dialed Randy.
A sleepy voice answered at the seventh ring. “Wha’?” Randy said.
“Randy, it’s Peggy. I’m sorry to wake you, but don’t stop to ask why. Just pull yourself together fast!”
“All right. Okay. I’m awake now,” Randy said. “What’s the trouble, Peggy?”
“I’ll explain later, when there’s time,” she said. “Right now, we haven’t a minute to lose. I want you to get dressed as fast as you can, and come right up here with the car. Make sure you have plenty of gas. I’ll be waiting.”
“But ... all right.” Randy said. “You don’t sound as if you’re kidding. I’ll see you in about ten minutes!” He hung up.
Peggy ran down to the kitchen.
“I’m afraid we’ve talked about things for too long,” she said dismally, “and acted a little too late. If only I had made up my mind an hour sooner!”
“What’s wrong?” Amy asked.
Peggy explained what had happened. “Now they’re on their way to Idlewild,” she concluded, “and I don’t know if we stand a chance of reaching them before they take off. Randy’s on his way here now, and we’re going to try to get there in time, even if it means getting a police escort or the worst speeding tickets they hand out! Mr. and Mrs. Andrews have over half an hour’s head start.”
“I think you have a good chance of making it,” May said calmly, “without exceeding the speed limits. If you are stopped by a policeman, you’ll lose more time than if Randy drives properly. Besides, their head start isn’t as great as you think it is. The airlines always make passengers arrive at least a half-hour before flight time, and most people allow even more time than that, in case of traffic delays. Still ... I admit, you haven’t got too much time to stand around talking.”
“Randy said he’d be here in ten minutes,” Peggy said, “and it’s just about that now. I’d better go. Keep your fingers crossed.” She darted up the stairs.
The two girls and May Berriman looked at each other.
“I suggest,” May Berriman said with an air of finality, “that we switch from cocoa to coffee. I think it’s going to be a long night, and I, for one, have no intention of trying to sleep until it’s all over.”
Peggy struggled into her coat and stepped out onto the front stoop of the Gramercy Arms just in time to see Randy’s sleek old English automobile turn the corner and pull up with a squeal of brakes in front of the steps.
She ran down the steps, wrenched open the door and slid in next to Randy.
“Idlewild Airport,” she gasped. “As fast as you can without getting stopped!”
“But—”
“No but’s,” she interrupted. “Let’s go!”
Randy put the big car smoothly into motion, turned east and headed for the Franklin D. Roosevelt Drive.
“We’re going to the International Airways Building,” Peggy said. “Do you know where it is?”
“Yes,” Randy answered. “And now that you’re settled down and have your breath back, do you mind telling me what’s happening?”
“It’s Paula,” Peggy said. “Paula’s mother is Stacy Blair, the movie star, and she’s going to Europe to hunt for Paula because she doesn’t know she’s right here in New York and we have to stop them before the plane leaves, and—”
“Wait a minute,” Randy interrupted. “Who thinks who’s in Europe and whom do we have to stop? You mean that Paula’s going to Europe to find her mother, or Paula’s mother is going to Europe to find Paula?”
“That’s right,” Peggy said. “I mean, the last thing you said is right. Paula’s mother and father are on their way to Idlewild now to catch a plane for Europe. They think Paula’s there. It’s simple.”
“It’s the most complicated piece of simplicity I’ve ever heard,” Randy commented. “Now why don’t you start from the beginning and tell it slowly and clearly? It’s not going to affect the time it takes to get to Idlewild, so you might as well relax.”
Of course it wasn’t simple, as Peggy realized once she tried to explain the whole affair. It was necessary to tell Randy how she found out about Paula, and what Paula had been trying to accomplish, and how she had found out that Paula’s parents were on their way. By the time she had finished telling it, they had left Manhattan behind them, and were speeding along the express highways of Long Island.
Every so often, coming to the top of one of the low rolling hills that make up the gigantic sandbar that is Long Island, Peggy could see the lights and towers of Manhattan, seeming never to drop much farther behind. She had, for a moment, the nightmare sensation of running, running, running with every possible effort, and getting nowhere at all.
Fortunately, the highways were nearly deserted at this late hour, and Randy was able to make good time. The powerful engine under the long hood of the big English car purred with a low, well-tuned sound as they raced through the night, past the darkened windows of houses and garden apartments. The speedometer needle quivered at the sixty mark, and Peggy kept glancing nervously behind her, expecting at any moment to see the flashing red light and hear the warning siren of a pursuing police patrol car, but none came.
Once they passed a lurking police car, waiting with darkened lights to catch a speeder, but Randy’s driving, though fast, was steady and unobtrusive. The patrol car stayed parked in the field alongside the road.
Finally, Peggy made out the searchlights of the airport, far ahead of them, and then the general glow in the sky that marked the landing strips, public buildings, lounges, and airline ticket offices.
As they approached the airport, Randy broke the silence. “I’ll drive straight to the International Airways Building,” he said, “and I’ll put the car in the employees’ parking lot. The regular parking lot takes a little more time, especially if we have to wait for a ticket. We can go right in from the employees’ lot, and worry about getting a ticket later.”
“How do we go about finding Mr. and Mrs. Andrews when we get there?” Peggy asked. “We don’t even know what plane they’re taking.”
“We shouldn’t have any trouble finding out about that,” Randy said. “I’m sure that even International Airways doesn’t have more than one plane bound for Europe at this time of night. We’ll look at the flight schedule board, and then head for the gate. At least there’s no problem about recognizing Paula’s mother when we do find her. She has one of the most famous faces in the world, I guess.”
By now they were on the approach road to Idlewild Airport, which looked like something out of a science-fiction movie. The highways curved in symmetrical patterns, crossing over and under each other, and arched over with slim, modern lamps. The airline terminal buildings, brightly lighted, were each different from the other, and different, too, from any buildings that Peggy had ever seen. One looked like a giant glass-and-steel mushroom; others, in the most modern shapes, defied simple description. The International Airways Building, one of the largest, was a long, square, crystal box, with soaring bridges and terraces connecting it to other buildings.
Randy drove under one of these bridges past the front entrance of the building, swung sharply to the right, and pulled the car into the parking lot reserved for pilots. Before anyone could come to question them, he and Peggy were out of the car, running for the entrance.
Inside, in sharp contrast to the deserted highways and sleeping landscape that they had just roared through, the terminal was alive with hurrying people. Loud-speakers were crackling with announcements, porters carried baggage in all directions, people stood in knots waiting for planes to leave or for planes to arrive. Peggy’s head swam with the excitement.
“This way!” Randy said, and grabbed her by the hand. He led her through a maze of people to a counter at the far side of the room. Behind the counter was a smartly uniformed young woman posting information on a large blackboard.
“Miss,” Randy called, “could you please tell me if there’s a plane leaving for Europe—or scheduled to leave for Europe—in the next few minutes?”
The girl smiled, stepped away from the blackboard which she had been obscuring, and pointed. “Take a look,” she said. “One left for Ireland about five minutes ago. Another takes off for Lisbon in ten minutes. Rome, fifteen minutes. Paris ... let’s see ... not for another half-hour. That enough for you?”
“Oh dear!” Peggy said. “We’ll never find them this way! Miss, we’re looking for some people who are probably scheduled to leave on one of those planes, but we don’t know which. Perhaps you can help us?”
“The General Agent has all the passenger lists,” the girl said. “You’ll find his office on the third floor, and I’m sure that you can get the information you want there.”
“But....” Peggy began.
“It’s quite simple,” the girl said efficiently. “Take the elevator to your left, and the General Agent will have your friends paged on the public address system....”
“Paged!” Peggy gasped.
“Oh, boy, are we stupid!” Randy said. “We should have done that in the first place, instead of taking this mad dash out here! Or we should have done that, too, or had the girls do it....”
“But there’s no time for that now!” Peggy said. “They might be boarding a plane this very minute!” She turned again to the now puzzled girl. “Maybe you’ve seen them,” she began. “We’re looking for—”
“I’m sorry,” the girl said primly, “but I’m not allowed to give any information about passengers, even if I do know their names. Which I never do.”
“We’re looking for Mr. and Mrs. Dean Andrews,” Peggy went on, ignoring the girl’s disclaimer. “She’s Stacy Blair, the famous movie—”
“Stacy Blair!” the girl exclaimed. “Well, why didn’t you say so in the first place? Of course I’ve seen her! How could anyone miss? Why, I never—”
“Has she left yet?” Randy interrupted.
“Not yet,” the girl said, annoyed at being cut off. “She’s scheduled to take the Lisbon plane that leaves in eight minutes. But if you’re looking for an autograph, you don’t have a chance. I tried myself, and she didn’t even look at me. She’s in some sort of a bad mood, and won’t talk to people. A lot of the girls and passengers tried, but—”
“Lisbon! Gate fifteen!” Peggy read from the notice board. “Thanks!” she called back to the uniformed girl as she and Randy hurried for the exit that led to the passenger loading gates.
They dashed past the gate attendant with a hurried explanation that they just had to see somebody off. Before he could stop them, they were racing down the long corridor past the numbered passenger gates. Through the broad windows, they could see a large jet plane, its door opened and a boarding ramp being wheeled up to its side. Through the trap below the plane, they saw luggage being loaded.
“That must be it!” Randy panted.
“Attention, please!” rasped the loud-speaker. “Your attention, please! Flight number two-oh-seven for Lisbon now taking on passengers at gate fifteen! Gate fifteen! Will all passengers for Lisbon please go to gate fifteen....”
“Good!” Peggy gasped. “We’re ahead of them! All we have to do is wait at the gate and we’re sure to see them!”
They slackened their pace somewhat, as they saw that nobody was at the loading gate but a uniformed airline official who was waiting to inspect the passengers’ tickets before letting them board. As they pulled up breathlessly at the railing, the man smiled.
“You didn’t have to rush,” he said. “We’re just boarding now, and we won’t be taking off for another ten minutes or so.”
“Oh, we’re not flying,” Peggy explained. “We just wanted to be here first so that we wouldn’t miss some people we want to see.”
“Oh, seeing off some friends,” the uniformed man said. “You must really be fond of them to come out at a late hour like this just for the fun of waving good-by!”
“Well, you might say that,” Randy said, reluctant to give away the real purpose of their visit.
“If you wait right here, you can’t miss them,” the man smiled. “In fact, here come the first ones now.”
Looking down the long corridor, Peggy and Randy saw a knot of passengers approaching at a leisurely pace. None of them seemed, even at this distance, to be Stacy Blair. Peggy cast a puzzled look at Randy.
“They’ll probably be along in a minute or two,” he said reassuringly. “I guess it’s only the new travelers who hurry to be the first on board.”
They stood quietly by as the passengers checked in, one by one, offering their tickets for inspection to the uniformed official. As each passenger passed through the gate, the inspector checked off his or her name against a master list on his little standing desk.