Part 47 (1/2)
There was row upon row of small kine tubes, each showing the dark interior of a cell. Below each was a row of pilot lights, all dark.
On his desk was a large bank of push b.u.t.tons, a speaker, and a microphone. And beside the push b.u.t.ton set-up was a ledger containing a list of names with their cell numbers.
I found Marian Harrison; pushed her b.u.t.ton, and heard her ladylike snore from the speaker. A green lamp winked under one of the kine tubes and I walked over and looked into the darkened cell to see her familiar hair sprawled over a thick pillow.
I went to the desk and snapped on the microphone.
”Marian,” I said. ”MARIAN! HEY! MARIAN HARRISON!”
In the picture tube there was a stir, then she sat up and looked around in a sort of daze.
”Marian, this is Steve Cornell, but don't--”
”Steve!”
”--cry out,” I finished uselessly.
”Where are you?” she asked in a whisper.
”I'm in the con room.”
”But how on Earth--?”
”No time to gab. I'll be down in a rush with the key. Get dressed!”
”Yes, Steve.”
I took off in a headlong rush with the 'Hotel Register' in one hand. I made the third floor and Marian's cell in slightly more than nothing flat, but she was ready when I came barging into her room. She was out of the cell before it hit the backstop and following me down the hall towards her brother's room.
”What happened?” she asked breathlessly.
”Later,” I told her. I opened Phillip Harrison's cell. ”You go wake up Fred Macklin and tell him to come here. Then get the Macklin girl--Alice, it says here--and the pair of you wake up others and start sending 'em up stairs. I'll call you on the telltale as soon as I can.”
Marian took off with the key and the register and I started to shake Phillip Harrison's shoulder. ”Wake up!” I cried. ”Wake up, Phillip!”
Phillip made a noise like a baby seal.
”Wake up!”
”Wha--?”
”It's Steve Cornell. Wake up!”
With a rough shake of his head, Phillip groaned and unwound himself out of a tangle of bedclothing. He looked at me through half-closed gla.s.sy eyes. Then he straightened and made a perilous course to the washstand where he sopped a towel in cold water and applied it to his face, neck, and shoulders. When he dropped the towel in the sink, his expression was fresher and his eyes were mingled curiosity and amazement.
”What gives?” he asked, starting to dress in a hurry.
”I busted out, slugged Scholar Phelps, and took over the master control room. I need help. We can't keep it long unless we move fast.”
”Yeah man. Any moving will be fast,” he said sourly. ”Got any plans?”
”We've--”