Breezy fiddled with his cards and said: “I’m licked to hell, Syd.”
“For the love of Mike! What’s the tragedy this time?”
“Everything. I’ll crack if it goes on. Honest, I’m shot to pieces.”
“It’s your own show. I’ve warned you. You look terrible.”
“And how do I feel! Listen, Syd, it’s this stunt to-night. It’s his lordship. It’s been a big mistake.”
“I could have told you that, too. I did tell you.”
“I know. I know. But we’re booked to capacity, Syd.”
“It’s cheap publicity. Nothing more nor less and you know it. Pandering to a silly dope, just because he’s got a title.”
“He’s not all that bad. As an artist.”
“He’s terrible,” said Skelton briefly. “I know the number’s crazy and full of corn but it’ll get by. It’s not that, old boy, it’s him. Honest, Syd, I think he’s crackers.” Breezy threw his cards face down on the table. “He’s got me that nervy,” he said. “Listen, Syd, he’s — he hasn’t said anything to you, has he?”
“What about?”
“So he hasn’t. All right. Fine. Don’t take any notice if he does, old man.”
Skelton leant back in his chair. “What the hell are you trying to tell me?” he demanded.
“Now don’t make me nervous,” Breezy implored him. “You know how nervy I get. It’s just a crazy notion he’s got. I’ll stall him off, you bet.” He paused. Skelton said ominously, “It wouldn’t be anything about wanting to repeat this fiasco, would it?”
“In a way, it would, Syd. Mind, it’s laughable.”
“Now, you get this,” Skelton said and leant across the table. “I’ve stood down once, to-night, to oblige you, and I don’t like it and I won’t do it again. What’s more it’s given me a kind of unpleasant feeling that I’m doing myself no good, working with an outfit that goes in for cheap sensationalism. You know me. I’m quick-tempered and I make quick decisions. There’s other bands.”
“Now, Syd, Syd, Syd! Take it easy,” Breezy gabbled. “Forget it, old boy. I wouldn’t have mentioned anything only he talked about chatting to you himself.”
“By God,” Skelton said, staring at him, “are you trying to tell me, by any chance, that this old so-and-so thinks he’d like my job? Have you got the flaming nerve to…”
“For crisake, Syd! Listen, Syd, I said it was crazy. Listen, it’s going to be all right. It’s not my fault, Syd. Be fair, now, it’s not my fault.”
“Whose fault is it then?”
“Carlos,” said Breezy, lowering his voice to a whisper. “Take it easy, now. He’s next door, having a drink with Caesar. It’s Carlos. He’s put the idea in the old bee’s head. He wants to keep in with him on account the girl can’t make up her mind and him wanting the old bee to encourage her. It’s all Carlos, Syd. He told him he was wonderful.”
Skelton said briefly what he thought of Rivera. Breezy looked nervously towards the door. “This settles it,” Skelton said and rose. “I’ll talk to Carlos, by God.” Breezy clawed at him. “No, Syd, not now. Not before the show. Keep your voice down, Syd, there’s a pal. He’s in there. You know how he is. He’s thrown a temperament once tonight. Geeze,” cried Breezy, springing to his feet, “I nearly forgot! He wants us to use the other routine in the new number, after all. Can you beat it? First it’s this way and then it’s what-have-you. He’s got me so’s I’m liable to give an imitation of a maestro doing two numbers at once. Gawd knows how his lordship’ll take it. I got to tell the Boys. I as near as damn it forgot, I’m that nervy. Listen, you haven’t heard what’s really got me so worried. You know what I am. It’s that gun. It’s such a hell of a thing, Syd, and his lordship’s made those blanks himself and, by God, I’m nervous. He’s dopey enough to mix the real things up with the phony ones. They were all mucked up together in a bloody drawer, Syd, and there you are. And he really points the thing at Carlos, old boy, and fires it. Doesn’t he now?”
“I wouldn’t lose any sleep if he plugged him,” said Skelton with violence.
“Don’t talk that way, Syd,” Breezy whispered irritably. “It’s a hell of a situation. I hoped you’d help me, Syd.”
“Why don’t you have a look at the gun?”
“Me? I wouldn’t know. He wouldn’t let me near it. I tell you straight, I’m scared to go near him for fear I start him up bawling me out.”
After a long pause, Skelton said: “Are you serious about this gun?”
“Do I look as if I was kidding?”
“It’s eight minutes to eleven. We’d better go across. If I get a chance I’ll ask him to show me the ammunition.”
“Fine, Syd. That’d be swell,” said Breezy, mopping his forehead. “It’d be marvellous. You’re a pal, Syd. Come on. Let’s go.”
“Mind,” Skelton said, “I’m not passing up the other business. I’ve just about had Mr. Carlos Rivera. He’s going to find something out before he’s much older. Come on.”
They passed through the office. Rivera, who was sitting there with Caesar Bonn, disregarded them. Breezy looked timidly at him. “I’m just going to fix it with the Boys, old man,” he said. “You’ll enter by the end door, won’t you?”
“Why not?” Rivera said acidly. “It is my usual entrance. I perform as I rehearse. Naturally.”
“That’s right. Naturally. Excuse my fussiness. Let’s go, Syd.”
Caesar rose. “It is time? Then I must felicitate our new artist.”
He preceded them across the vestibule where crowds of late arrivals still streamed in. Here they encountered Félicité, Carlisle and Edward. “We’re going in to wish George luck,” said Félicité. “Hullo, Syd. Nice of you to let him have his fling. Come on, chaps.”
They all entered the band-room, which was immediately behind the dais end of the restaurant and led into the band alcove. Here they found the Boys assembled with their instruments. Breezy held up his hand and, sweating copiously, beamed at them. “Listen, boys. Get this. We’ll use the other routine, if it’s all the same with the composer. Carlos doesn’t feel happy about the fall. He’s afraid he may hurt himself on account he’s holding his instrument.”
“Here!” said Lord Pastern.
“It’s the way you wanted it, Lord Pastern, isn’t it?” Breezy gabbled. “That’s fine, isn’t it? Better egzzit altogether.”
“I faint and get carried out?”
“That’s right. The other routine. I persuaded Carlos. Everybody happy? Swell.”
The Boys began to warm up their instruments. The room was filled with slight anticipatory noises. The double-bass muttered and zoomed.
Skelton strolled over to Lord Pastern. “I had to come in and wish the new sensation all the best,” he said, looking hard at him.
“Thank yer.”
“A great night,” Caesar Bonn murmured. “It will be long remembered.”
“Would this be a loaded gun?” Skelton asked and laughed unpleasantly.
The revolver lay, together with the sombrero, near the drums. Lord Pastern took it up. Skelton raised his hands above his head. “I confess everything,” he said. “Is it loaded?”
“With blanks.”
“By cripes,” said Skelton with a loud laugh, “I hope they are blanks.”
“George made them himself,” said Félicité.
Skelton lowered his right hand and held it out towards Lord Pastern, who put the revolver into it.
Breezy, at a distance, sighed heavily. Skelton broke the revolver, slipped a finger-nail behind the rim of a cartridge and drew it out.
“Very nice work, Lord Pastern,” he said. He spun the cylinder, drawing out and replacing one blank after the other. “Very nice work indeed,” he said.
Lord Pastern, obviously gratified, embarked on a history of the revolver, of his own prowess as a marksman, and of the circumstances under which his brother-in-law had presented the revolver to him. He pointed out the initials scratched under the butt. Skelton made a show of squinting down the barrel, snapped the revolver shut and returned the weapon to Lord Pastern. He turned away and glanced at Breezy. “O.K.,” he said. “What are we waiting for?” He began to heighten the tension of his drums. “Good luck to the new act,” he said and the drum throbbed.