John Creasey - The Toff In Town

“Itinerant entertainer,” said Rollison gravely. His head still ached, but he was pre-occupied by this information and by what he had already been told about Allen.

“How do you get hold of such people?” he asked.

Hedley shrugged his shoulders.

“Somebody always knows somebody,” he said vaguely. “One of us might hear of an unusual turn, or a friend might mention one. Of course, P.R.O.’s and publicity agents help—although they put one across us now and again!”

Judging from his expression, Wardle disapproved of that comment.

Take next Saturday,” Miss Myall said, referring to her copy of the list. “We’ll start with a wandering artist—a man who paints country-inn signs. Then we go on to a young Danish couple who are in England on a holiday—one of these hospitality-in-return-for-hospitality stunts; we’ll probably put on the two people who’ve been staying in Denmark as guests of the Dane’s parents. Then we’ve Billy and Jill Lundy, who are in a new film—comics,” she added with a sniff. “Then there’s Toni, the Italian tenor——”

“We’ll never get him to stand far enough away from the mike, he’ll blast our heads off.” Hedley complained.

That can be controlled,” Wardle put in quickly.

“Trouble is, Toni will blast off before Dick can twiddle the control,” said Hedley. “That’s the lot, except for the man we’ve mentioned—young Allen.”

“And how did you get them all?” asked Rollison.

“Miss Myall was staying in a Hampshire pub last week and the wandering artist war doing the sign, so she roped him in,” said Hedley. “The Lundys are a promising couple and we like a bit of light relief—some of the turns get a bit heavy, the mike scares ‘em, you see. Toni happens to arrive in London this week, and a singing turn always goes down well, so we got in touch with his manager. The Danes are a follow-up, we’ve done something like this once or twice each holiday season. Allen—how did we get on to Allen, after all?” He looked at Miss Myall.

“Pauline Dexter,” said Miss Myall promptly.

Rollison looked blank.

“A regular artiste ,” said Wardle. “You ought to listen to your radio occasionally, Roily.”

“I’m all for low comedy and Appointment With Fear. ”

“I wouldn’t say that Pauline Dexter’s a regular artiste ,” said Miss Myall, judicially. “She has broadcast in several of the regular programmes, but isn’t a first-rate broadcaster. She’s being groomed for the films, I believe.”

“Ought to do well,” remarked Hedley.

Miss Myall bent upon him a dark look.

“Possibly,” she said. “She was in Town a few months ago and looks in every now and again. She came along last week to say that she could put us on to Allen. It’s a bit old as news goes, but it’s still got a lot of human interest. Life among the cannibals and all that.”

The Burmese are not cannibals,” Wardle informed her.

They aren’t far short, from what I hear of some of the tribes,” retorted Miss Myall. “You did Allen’s stuff yesterday, didn’t you, Mark?”

“Yes,” said Hedley. “Pretty good, strong stuff, too.”

“So you do a script beforehand,” said Rollison. “How do you go about that with a man who hasn’t broadcast before?”

That’s where the difficulty comes in,” said Hedley. “We couldn’t put them up to speak impromptu. It might be a Communist or a Fascist or anyone with a bee buzzing in his bonnet. We can fade ‘em out pretty sharply, of course, but we don’t want the programme to fall down. So they have a script. We have a man reading the script while it’s being spoken into the mike, so that if there were any serious deviation, we could fade out. Not that we ever have to,” he added.

“But how do you prepare the script?” asked Rollison. “Do you write it for them?”

“Now come, Roily!” protested Wardle.

“Not exactly,” said Miss Myall. “We have them here for a chat. They nearly always talk freely, because they love the idea of broadcasting—the few shy ones soon get used to it when Mark switches on his charm! And, generally, when the story is told we’ve enough copy for a twenty minute broadcast. That has to be condensed into three minutes. That’s where we come in.”

“So you write the script from the story you’ve been told?”

“Not necessarily, and certainly not always,” said Hedley. “Some people are professional writers—or stage or film stars— and know exactly what they want to say. They write their own script and we vet it. Sometimes the others make a pretty good job of preparing their own script, and provided they don’t try to slip in any glaring publicity stuff and are prepared to keep it down in length, we don’t interfere. Now supposing we were preparing a script for yo u ——” he added casually, and without moving an eyelid. “We’d lead in through the interviewer—Bill Wentworth, say, and Bill would start something like this: ‘ Probably no man in England knows as much about crime, except of course detectives, as the Hon. Richard Rollison, who ’ s in the studio with us to-night! ’

“And then you would say,” said Miss Myall, who for some strange reason was writing shorthand notes, “I have met a few bad men one way and another, mostly in the East End! ”

“ And Bill would say, ‘ Mostly, or all? ’ ” said Hedley. “And you would answer: ‘ Oh, there are just as many crooks in the West End as the East End, but I ’ ve met most of mine in the East ’ . ”

“And something about liking East Enders,” chimed in Miss Myall.

“We’d bring in “The Toff” somewhere,” said Hedley obligingly.

“And mention Scotland Yard—or would you prefer to leave them out?” asked Miss Myall, looking at him keenly. “I mean, Bill could ask you your opinion of the police, how you think the force could be improved, and——”

“I can see I shall have to have a stab at writing this epic myself,” said Rollison. “It may be possible to improve the Yard, but I’m not up to it. I wonder——”

“ Will you write a script?” demanded Miss Myall, eagerly.

“We’ll gladly put you in on Saturday week,” said Hedley. “We’ve never had a private detective before.”

“Or whatever you call yourself,” said Miss Myall.

“We can do with something a bit lively the week after this,” went on Hedley enthusiastically. “It won’t take much time, and you’ve a broadcasting voice—hasn’t he, Mr. Wardle?”

“Possibly,” said Wardle dryly.

“Oh, if he talked as he’s been talking now, it would come over as if he’d been broadcasting all his life,” declared Miss Myall. Hedley was equally eager; and for the first time Rollison realised that both of them really lived in their jobs. Next Saturday’s was the 400th edition of In Town To-night and yet they brought to the 401st an enthusiasm as great as to a new venture.

“Do come!” urged Hedley.

“May I think it over?” asked Rollison, who hadn’t the heart to say “no” out of hand.

“Write your own script,” offered Miss Myall, grandly. “We’ll just vet it.”

“I say, ” said Hedley, suddenly swayed by a new and brilliant notion, “could you bring one of the crooks with you?”

“I think perhaps we had better stick to the point,” broke in Wardle, not reprovingly but because he had a rigid mind. “Is there anything else you’d like to know, Roily?”