The Four of Hearts Read Free Page A

Worcestershire, and tomato juice the First Secretary hauled the debaters into old Sigmund’s pre-Butcher lavatory, wheedled them into undressing, pushed them respectfully under the needle-shower, turned on the cold water, and retired under a barrage of yelps to telephone the trainer in the studio gymnasium.
    They emerged from the lavatory an hour later full of tomato juice and the piety of newly converted teetotallers, looking like a pair of corpses washed up on shore. Ellery groped for the nearest chair and wound his arms about his head as if he were afraid it was going to fly away.
    â€˜What happened?’ he moaned.
    â€˜I think the house fell in,’ said the producer. ‘Howard, locate Lew Bascom. You’ll probably find him shooting craps with the grips on Stage 12.’ The First Secretary vanished. ‘Ow, my head.’
    â€˜Alan Clark will massacre me,’ said Ellery nervously. ‘You fiend, did you make me sign anything?’
    â€˜How should I know?’ growled the Boy Wonder. Then they looked at each other and grinned.
    For a time there was the silence of common suffering. Then Butcher began to stride up and down. Ellery closed his eyes, pained at this superhuman vitality. He opened them at the crackle of Butcher’s voice to find that remarkable gentleman studying him with a sharp green look. ‘Ellery, I want you back on the payroll.’
    â€˜Go away,’ said Ellery.
    â€˜This time, I promise, you’ll work like a horse.’
    â€˜On a script?’ Ellery made a face. ‘I don’t know a lap dissolve from a fade-in. Look, Butch, you’re a nice guy and all that, but this isn’t my racket. Let me crawl back to New York.’
    The Boy Wonder grinned. ‘I could really care for a mug like you; you’re an honest man. Hell, I’ve got a dozen writers on this lot who’ve forgotten more about scripts than you’ll know in a million years.’
    â€˜Then what the devil do you want me for?’
    â€˜I’ve read your books and followed your investigations for a long time. You’ve got a remarkable gift. You combine death-on-rats analysis with a creative imagination. And you’ve got a freshness of viewpoint the old-timers here, saturated in the movie tradition and technique, lost years ago. In a word, it’s my job to dig up talent, and I think you’re a natural-born plot man. Shall I keep talking?’
    â€˜When you say such pretty things?’ Ellery sighed. ‘More.’
    â€˜Know Lew Bascom?’
    â€˜I’ve heard of him. A writer, isn’t he?’
    â€˜He thinks he is. He’s really an idea man. Picture ideas. Gets ‘em in hot flushes. Got his greatest notion – Warner’s bought it for twenty-five thousand and grossed two million on it – over a poker table when he was so plastered he couldn’t tell an ace from a king. The magnificent slug-nut sold the idea to another writer in the game in payment of a hundred-dollar debt … Well, you’re going to work with Lew. You’ll do the treatment together.’
    â€˜What treatment?’ groaned Ellery.
    â€˜Of an original he’s just sold me. It’s the business. If I turned Lew loose on it solo, he’d come up with the most fantastic yarn you ever saw – if he came up with anything at all, which is doubtful. So I want you to work out the plot with him.’
    â€˜Does he know you’re wishing a collaborator on him?’ asked Ellery dryly.
    â€˜He’s probably heard it by this time; you can’t keep anything secret in a studio. But don’t worry about Lew; he’s all right. Unstable, one of Nature’s screwiest noblemen, brilliant picture mind, absolutely undependable, gambler, chippy-chaser, dipsomaniac – a swell guy.’
    â€˜Hmm,’ said Ellery.
    â€˜Only don’t let him throw you. You’ll be looking for him to buckle down to work and he’ll