“Don’t worry, Mr. Butcher,” cooed Paula. “I shall.”
Lew glared. “Is it on the level?”
And Ellery said: “Did she... did she mention me?”
“Yes to you, no to you.” The Boy Wonder sat back comfortably. “Now, boys, what’s the panic about?”
“I’m dying,” howled Lew, “and he cracks wise!”
“It’s a cinch,” argued the publicity man, “this marriage knocks the feud for a loop, Butch. Where’s your publicity build-up now? If they had to get hitched, blast it, why couldn’t they wait till the picture was released?”
“Look,” said the producer patiently, getting to his feet and beginning to walk around. “What’s our story? The story of four people in a romantic conflict. Jack and Blythe as the central figures. Why?”
“Because they’re crazy,” yelled Lew. “This proves it.”
“Because, you simpleton, they’re deeply in love. You’re doing a love story, gentlemen, although neither of you seems aware of it. They love, they break off, they become bitter enemies, and after twenty years they suddenly fall into a clinch.”
“It’s illogical,” complained Ellery.
“And yet,” smiled the Boy Wonder, “it’s just happened. Don’t you see what you’ve got? The natural wind-up of your picture! It follows real life like a photostat. After a generation of clawing at each other’s throats, they’ve made up.”
“Yes, but why?”
“How should I know the motivation? That’s your job, and Lew’s. You’re writers, aren’t you? What’s the gag? What’s the answer to this romantic mystery? What do you think you men are being paid for?”
“Wow,” said Vix, staring.
“As for you, Sam, you’ve got an even bigger publicity angle now than the feud.”
“They’ve made up,” said Vix reverently.
“Yes,” snapped Butcher, “and every movie fan within arm’s-length of a newspaper or fan mag will wonder why the hell they did. There’s your line, Sam — crack down on it!”
The publicity man slapped the desk. “Sure — why did they clinch after twenty years’ scrapping around? See the picture and find out!”
“Now you’ve got it. You talk about holding up their marriage until the picture’s released. Nuts! They’re going to be spliced right away, and to the tune of the loudest ballyhoo you’ve ever blasted out of this studio.”
“Leave it to me,” said Vix softly, rubbing his hands.
“We’ll make it a super-marriage. Shoot the works. Brass bands, high hats, press associations... It’s a colossal break for the production.”
“Wait,” whispered Lew. “I’ve got an idea.” He rubbed his nose viciously.
“Yes?”
“Everybody out here puts on the dog the same way when they take the sentence. We’ve got to do it different. The preacher, the ceremony don’t mean nothin’; it’s the build-up that gets the headlines. Why not put reverse English on the marriage?”
“Spill it, you tantalizing slug!”
“Here’s the gag. Offer ’em the use of Reed Island for the honeymoon.”
“Reed Island?” frowned Ellery.
“I’ve got a place there,” explained Butcher. “It’s just a hunk of rock in the Pacific — southwest of Catalina — fishing village there. Go on, Lew.”
“That’s it!” cried Lew. “You can have ’em flown down. Just the two of ’em — turtle-doves flying off into the setting sun, to be alone with lo-o-ove. But — before they take off, what happens? They’re hitched right on the field! We can use old Doc Erminius, the Marryin’ Parson. You’ll have a million people at the airport. There’s more room on a flying field than in a church.”
“Hmm,” said the Boy Wonder. “It has its merits.”
“Hell, I’ll fly ’em down in my own crate,” grinned Lew. “I’ve always thought I’d look swell in a g-string and a bow-and-arrow. Or Sam here could do it.”
“Say,” chuckled Vix, “the screwball’s got something. Only I got a better idea. How about getting Ty Royle to pilot them? Son Forgives Father, Plays Cupid to Famous Film Duo. He can fly like a fool, and that’s a sweet ship he’s got.”
“That’s it,” said the Boy Wonder thoughtfully. “We can really go to town on a stunt like that. Dignified, too. They want to be alone. Going to spend their honeymoon on famous producer’s hideaway estate in lonely Pacific, far from the maddening crowd. Newspapers, for God’s sake stay away... Yes, they won’t! Reed Island will look like Broadway during the Lindy reception. Lew, it’s in.”
Lew seized a bottle. “To the bride!”
“Lemme out of here,” muttered Vix, and he scrambled out.
“Pardon the small still voice,” said Ellery, “but aren’t you boys being a little optimistic? Suppose our friends the lovebirds refuse to be exploited? Suppose Ty Royle frowns on his eminent father’s hatchet-burying ritual?”
“Leave the details to me,” said Butcher soothingly. “It’s my job to worry. Yours is to whip that story into shape. I want an adaptation okayed by the time they get back; if possible, the first sequence of the script ready. Get going.”
“You’re the boss,” grinned Ellery. “Coming, Lew?”
Lew waved the bottle. “Can’t you see I’m celebratin’ the nup-chu-als?”
So Ellery set out on his quest alone.
After a few telephone calls he headed his rented coupe towards Beverly Hills. He found the Royle estate near the grounds of the Los Angeles Country Club — an enormous castellated pile in the mediaeval English manner, faithful even unto the moat.
The portals gaped, and flunkies seemed nonexistent; so Ellery followed his ears and soon came to an upper hall from which the raucous noises of a small but brisk riot were emanating. There he found the missing servants, grouped at a door in various attitudes of excited and pleasurable eavesdropping.
Ellery tapped an emaciated English gentleman on the shoulder. “Since this seems to be a public performance,” he drawled, “do you think there would be any objection to my going in?”
A man gasped, and the Englishman colored, and they all backed guiltily away. “I beg pawdon. Mr. Royle—”
“Ah, Louderback,” said Ellery. “You are Louderback?”
“I am, sir,” said Louderback stiffly.
“I am happy to note,” said Ellery, “that your mastiff quality of loyalty is leavened by the human trait of curiosity. Louderback, stand aside.”
Ellery entered a baronial room, prepared for anything. Nevertheless, he was slightly startled. Bonnie Stuart sat campfire fashion on top of a grand piano, gazing tragically into her mother’s calm face. On the other side of the room Jack Royle sat sipping a cocktail while his son raced up and down the hearthstone flapping his arms like an agitated penguin.
“—won’t stand for it,” moaned Bonnie to her mother.
“Darling, you won’t stand for it?”
“—hell of a note,” said Ty. “Dad, are you out of your mind? It’s... it’s treason!”
“Just coming to my senses, Ty. Blythe, I love you.”
“I love you, Jack.”
“Mother!”
“Dad!”
“Oh, it’s impossible!”
“—even make me set foot in this house,” cried Bonnie. Blythe rose from the piano bench and drifted dreamy-eyed towards her fiancé. Bonnie jumped down and began to follow her. “Even that’s a concession. Oh, mother darling. But I wouldn’t, only Clotilde said you’d come here to visit that... that man, and—”
“Do you have to marry her?” pleaded Ty. “After so many years? Look at all the women you could have had!”
“Blythe dear.” Jack Royle rose, too, and his son began a second chase. Ellery, watching unobserved and wide-eyed, thought they would soon need some one to direct traffic. They were weaving in and out without hand-signals, and it was a miracle no collisions occurred.