Scoop-Evelyn-Waugh [9]
The bells of St. Bride's were striking twelve when William reached Copper House. He found Mr. Salter in a state of agitation. "Oh dear, oh dear, you're late, Boot, and Lord Copper himself has asked for you twice. I must go and see if he is still accessible." William was left standing in the passage. Metal doors snapped in and out: "Going up," "Going down," cried the Caucasian lift girls; on all sides his colleagues in the great concern came and went, bustling past him � haggard men who had been up all night, elegant young ladies bearing trays of milk, oily figures in overalls bearing bits of machinery. William stood in a daze, fingering the stiff seams of his new suit. After a time he heard himself addressed: "Hi, you," said a voice, "wake up." "If only I could," said William. "Eh?" "Nothing." The man speaking to him was exactly the type William recognized as belonging to the film he had seen in Taunton: a short, shock-headed fellow in shirt sleeves, dicky and eye-shade, waistcoat pocket full of pencils, first finger pointing accusingly. "You. You're the new man, aren't you?" "Yes, I suppose I am." "Well, here's a chance for you." He pushed a typewritten slip into William's hand. "Cut along there quick. Take a taxi. Don't bother about your hat. You're in a newspaper office now." William read the slip. "Mrs. Stitch. Gentlemen's Lavatory Sloane Street." "We've just had this phoned through from the policeman on duty. Find out what she is doing down there. Quick!" A lift door flew open at their side. "Going down," cried a Caucasian. "In there." The door snapped shut; the lift shot down; soon William was in a taxi making for Sloane Street. There was a dense crowd round the public lavatory. William bobbed hopelessly on the fringe; he could see nothing above the heads except more heads, hats giving way to helmets at the hub. More spectators closed in behind him; suddenly he felt a shove more purposeful than the rest and a voice said, "Way, please. Press. Make way for the Press." A man with a camera was forging a way through. "Press, please, Press. Make way for the Press." William joined in behind him and followed those narrow, irresistible shoulders on their progress towards the steps At last they found themselves at the railings, among the policemen. The cameraman nodded pleasantly to them and proceeded underground. William followed. "Hi," said a sergeant, "where are you going?" "Press," said William, "I'm on the Beast." "So am I," said the sergeant. "Go to it. She's down there. Can't think how she did it, not without hurting herself." At the foot of the steps, making, for the photographer, a happy contrast to the white tiles about it, stood a little black motor car. Inside, her hands patiently folded in her lap, sat the most beautiful woman William had ever seen. She was chatting in a composed and friendly manner to the circle of reporters and plain-clothes men. "I can't think what you're all making such a fuss about," she said. "It's simply a case of mistaken identity. There's a man I've been wanting to speak to for weeks and I thought I saw him popping in here. So I drove down after him. Well, it was someone quite different but he behaved beautifully about it and now I can't get out; I've been here nearly half an hour and I've a great deal to do. I do think some of you might help, instead of standing there asking questions." Six of them seized the little car and lifted it, effortlessly, on their shoulders. A cheer rose from the multitude as the jet back rose above the spikes of the railings. William followed, his hand resting lightly on the running board. They set Mrs. Stitch back on the road; the police began to clear a passage for her. "A very nice little story," said one of William's colleagues. "Just get in nicely for the evening edition." The throng began to disperse; the policemen pocketed their tips; the cameramen scampered for their dark rooms. "Boot. Boot," cried an eager, slightly peevish voice. "So there you are. Come back at once." It was Mr. Salter. "I came to fetch you for Lord Copper and they told me you had gone out. It was only by sheer luck that I found where you had gone. It's been a terrible mistake. Someone will pay for this; I know they will. Oh dear, oh dear, get into the cab quickly."