Queens Full Read Free

achieved the mezzanine landing and paused there to recuperate. Ellery glanced at Dullman, and Dullman nodded. They released him. It was a mistake.
    Ellery grabbed in vain. “ Catch him! ” But both Scutney and Roger stood there, stunned. Manson, still smiling, toppled backward between them.
    Fascinated, they watched the star of The Death of Don Juan bounce his way step after step down the long marble staircase until he landed on the lobby floor and lay still.

ACT I. Scene 3.
    They went straight from the hospital to Dullman’s room at the Hollis. Dullman sat down at the telephone.
    â€œLong distance? New York City. Phil Stone, theatrical agent, West Forty-fourth Street. No, I’ll hold on.”
    â€œStone.” Scutney was hopping about the room. “I don’t know him, Archer.”
    â€œSo you don’t know him,” the New Yorker grunted. “Phil? Arch Dullman.”
    â€œSo what do you want?” Ellery could hear Stone’s bass rasp distinctly.
    â€œPhilly boy,” Dullman said.
    â€œPlease, Archie, no routines. It’s been an itch of a day, and I was just going home. What’s on your mind?”
    â€œPhil, I’m on a spot up here—”
    â€œUp where?”
    â€œWrightsville. New England.”
    â€œNever heard. Can’t be a show town. What are you, in a new racket?”
    â€œThere’s a stock company here just getting started. I made a deal for Mark Manson with this producer to do Death of Don Juan .”
    â€œWhat producer?”
    â€œScutney Bluefield.”
    â€œWhatney Bluefield?”
    â€œNever mind! Opening’s tomorrow night. Tonight Manson falls down a staircase in the hotel and breaks the wrist and a couple fingers of his right hand, besides cracking two ribs.”
    â€œOld lushes never die. That’s all?”
    â€œIt’s plenty. There might even be concussion. They’re keeping him in the hospital twenty-four hours just in case.”
    â€œSo what?” The agent sounded remote.
    â€œThe thing is, they’ve taped his ribs and put a cast on his forearm and hand. He won’t be able to work for weeks.” A drop of perspiration coursed down Dullman’s nose and landed on the butt of his cigar. “Phil—how about Foster Benedict?”
    Stone’s guffaw rattled the telephone.
    â€œFoster Benedict?” Scutney Bluefield looked astounded. He leaped to Dullman’s free ear. “You get him, Archer!”
    But Ellery was watching Rodge Fowler. At the sound of Benedict’s name Roger had gripped the arms of his chair as if a nerve had been jabbed.
    Dullman paid no attention to Scutney. “Well, you hyena?”
    Stone’s voice said dryly, “Might I be so stupid as to ask if this Bluefield and his company are pros?”
    Arch Dullman spat his cigar butt, a thing of shining shreds, onto the carpet. “It’s an amateur group.”
    â€œLook, crook,” the agent boomed. “This backwoods Sam Harris wants a replacement for Manson, he’s got to contact me, not you. He’s got to satisfy Equity, not you. You still there, Archie?”
    â€œI’m still here,” Dullman sighed. “Here’s Bluefield.”
    Scutney was at the phone in a flash. Dullman picked up the butt and put it back in his mouth. He remained near the phone.
    â€œScutney Bluefield here,” Scutney said nervously. “Do I understand, Mr. Stone, that Foster Benedict is available for a two-week engagement in The Death of Don Juan , to start tomorrow night?”
    â€œMr. Benedict’s resting between engagements. I don’t know if I could talk him into going right back to work.”
    â€œHow well does he know the part?”
    â€œFoster’s done that turkey so many times he quacks. That’s another reason it might not interest him. He’s sick of it.”
    â€œHow much,” Scutney asked, not without humor, “will it take to cure