Darling must have heard it from a set near by, because he rushed at the youths and banged two of their heads together. Other people kicked and punched at them, and they turned and ran for their lives.
“It doesn’t do to be impetuous,” Hip cried. “There’s some way to go yet. We’ve only narrowed the number down to 6803. But from here on, watch any man with black hair, blue eyes, early thirties, business suit, sun-tanned complexion, and—here comes another clue—he works right in the heart of the city. How about that?”
Steve said, “Hey, that’s a big cut, down to 3200.”
“Right in the city,” Hip cried, “and he’s worth maybe £100,000 to you or you or you. Oh, I can see you rushing in by the thousands, now—all you ladies from the suburbs. And I’ll tell you this. If you don’t get your man you will get value in the city. If you don’t win you’ll certainly save.”
Erl said, “The city stores must have bought participation today. But the rush shouldn’t trouble us much. They won’t be buying suits.”
And Steve growled, “They’ll buy anything, if they think he’s close. And I tell you, I’ve got a feeling.”
Erl felt his spine prickle. Steve was a lot bigger and harder than he. Erl played it cool, shrugged and said, “The more we sell, the more bonus. I’m going to circulate. It’s no use hiding.”
“See you,” Steve said, and almost put out his hand, but changed the direction and put it in his pocket and turned away.
Those two women were moving back towards suits, and more people were arriving by escalator. In no time Erl was in the centre of a crowd, selling suits like hot cakes, with two men from other departments sent in to help him. But by the grapevine he learned it was the same in socks, shoes, underwear, and sports goods. People in the crowd had to rely on intuition, and many who looked at Erl rejected him and went to another department, or to other stores.
There was a hush as the screens showed Hip Jones about to give another clue, and suddenly then Melanie slipped through the tight circle of bodies and reached Erl’s side.
“We’re all in the city now,” Hip Jones cried. “And it could be you, Arthur Lonigan of Lonigan and Sons.” This was a killer, and the crowd shrieked with laughter. Even Erl laughed. The cameras had gone smashing through a window into an office where the boss was being held by his staff, ten people evidently willing to share the prize. Lonigan was shouting, “I’ll fire every last one of you.”
And Hip cried, “You do that, Mr Lonigan, because it isn’t you. Our man today never wears glasses, and I see a pair on your desk.” There was an instant melee in Lonigan’s office, and the cameras dwelt on it just long enough for laughs and then cut away.
“They were taking a silly risk, weren’t they?” Hip cried. “For we still have 2500 candidates, or so. There’s plenty of time. Hey, I’ve got something here, wouldn’t you like to have?” And he showed the back of a photograph. “That’s right, I’ve got his picture here.”
“Erl, I’m so afraid,” Melanie said.
“You shouldn’t be here. Please go home. There’s nothing you could do.”
“Steve’s still in it too, isn’t he?”
He was most upset because she was there. “Steve’s used to it,” he said. “He’s been close before. Do go home.”
“Make way for Insur!” a man called at the back of the crowd, and Erl saw the opportunity. “I won’t sign unless you go,” he said.
“All right, dear, you know best.” Melanie stepped back and went into the parting the Insur man had made in the crowd, but she did not get far, although everyone was very nice. Some of the women patted her, and others took out their handkerchiefs and dabbed.
“Sign here,” the Insur man told Erl. “Let’s see, it’s down to 2000 isn’t it? There’s such a mob in town, or I’d have found you when the odds were better. The premium’s—let’s see—I’ll write a receipt.”
“Did you get Steve Barclay?” Erl asked him.
“He’s having a rough time, but I’ll get him in a minute,” the man said.
“They ought to give more clues at this stage,” Erl said. “It’s sadistic to drag it out.”
“Well, they have to give us time to get around, for one thing. You wouldn’t want to miss on your Insur, would you? Anyway, it’s more exciting.”
“I suppose so,” said Erl. The screens were showing crowd scenes from various parts of the city. It was certainly exciting, and these shots created much indecision among the people around Erl. Even he felt it. Some of the candidates on the screens made his pulse jump with certainty.
But, after all, he was employed to sell suits. “What about you, madam?” he asked a fat woman with green glasses. “What size is your husband?”
“Insignificant, honey. You got anything for an insignificant man?” she said, and the crowd laughed.
Erl persisted. He took a suit from the rack, and held it in front of her. “It’s in the new style. You wouldn’t know it’s the same man.”
“I should buy him a new suit?” the fat woman said. “Honey, if I win today, I’ll buy me a whole new husband. Then for sure he won’t be the same man.” She was about to go on, but something on the screens caught everyone’s attention.
It was Hip with an Invig Sudden Death jackpot. That meant there would be another contest in the afternoon, running right up to the other channel’s night show, “You Bet Your Life.”
“Here it is, then!” Hip cried. “Are you in Central Stores? Because our man is. Don’t make any mistakes now, remember all the clues—and don’t forget the penalties. There are fifteen possibles in Central Stores—and please, good people, don’t wreck the joint.”
Fifteen? Erl fought his way to a counter, and jumped onto it, trying to sight Steve. But Steve was in a bigger crowd than Erl. There were only the two of them on that floor. People were fighting to hold Erl’s legs, hitting and pushing and shouting at one another. They pulled him down into the mass of gaping faces with, he was sure, Melanie’s among them.
“He’s in suits,” they screeched, taking it from Hip Jones. Erl fought his way upright, shouting, “There’s two of us.”
Then he saw that Steve had got onto a counter, with a heavy steel coat-hanger in his hand. He was threatening them with it, and none had a right to touch Steve until he was named, if it were to be he.
The crowd was growing every moment. Steve made a wild jump over the nearest heads, and the crowd opened to let him fall on his feet. He was big, and the hanger was heavy. He ran to the big windows, with all of them surging after him, and he smashed the glass with one blow and climbed through, or started to, but they got him and pulled him back, cutting him badly. He still had the hanger, and flailed around with it, sending them back. Nearly everyone thought it was Steve because Steve thought so, but a few dozen diehards clung to Erl.
“I’m going to tell you which one in suits,” Hip cried on the screen. “But wait for it, good people. Don’t make any hasty mistakes, the penalties are terrible if you do.”
Erl braced himself, and Hip cried, “It’s the big fellow, Steve Barclay.”
Then there were terrible screams.
Erl read next day that Steve took three with him, and hurt many more. That was silly. The game was necessary, a scientific outlet, everyone knew that. And if it was your turn, just too bad. The fat woman with the green glasses won the £100,000. No one bothered to find out whether she bought a new husband. There was another contest and another winner in the afternoon.
But in the store, bruised and bleeding, Erl was not quite so philosophical in the heat of the moment. He shook off the last of those around him and looked for Melanie.