The Early Ayn Rand

[There is the distant sound of a police siren approaching. SERGE looks up nervously. The others pay no attention]

TONY: You won't give me a piano! Nobody's going to give me anything ever again! I think I can get a job at Gimbel's, and I will, and I'll save three dollars a week, and in a year I'll have a piano — a good, secondhand piano of my own!... But I like you, Helen.

HELEN: Yes. Forgive me.

SERGE: Mrs. Breckenridge!... What has happened? HELEN: We don't know, Serge.

TONY: What's the difference?

SERGE: But who did it?

TONY: Who cares?

[Doorbell rings. TONY opens the door. GREGORY HASTINGS enters. He is a man in his early forties, toll, suave, distinguished, and self-possessed. He enters calmly, he speaks quietly, as naturally and undramatically as possible— without overdoing it. He enters, stops, looks at HELEN]

HASTINGS: Mrs. Breckenridge?

HELEN: Yes.

HASTINGS: [Bowing] Gregory Hastings.

HELEN: How do you do, Mr. Hastings.

HASTINGS: I am truly sorry, Mrs. Breckenridge, that I should have to be here tonight.

HELEN: We'll be glad to help you in any way we can, Mr. Hastings. If you wish to question us —

HASTINGS: A little later. First, I shall have to see the scene of —

HELEN: [Pointing] In the garden... Tony, will you show —

HASTINGS: It won't be necessary. I'll keep my men out of your way as much as possible. [Exits Left]

TONY: This is going to be interesting.

SERGE: But... you are inhuman!

TONY: Probably. [INGALLS enters, coming down the stairs] INGALLS: Was that Greg Hastings?

TONY: Yes. The police.

INGALLS: Where are they?

TONY: [Pointing to garden] Sniffing at footprints, I guess.

SERGE: There will not be any footprints. There will not be anything. It is going to be terrible.

INGALLS: How do you know there won't be anything, Serge?

SERGE: There never is in a case like this.

INGALLS: You never can tell. [Pulls the Courier out of his pocket] Anyone here want the evening paper that Serge was nice enough to bring us?

TONY: [Taking the paper] Does the Courier have any comic strips? I love comic strips. [Turns the paper to the fanny page] They don't have "Little Orphan Annie," though. That's my favorite — "Little Orphan Annie."

HELEN: [Looking over his shoulder] I like "Popeye the Sailor."

TONY: Oh, no! Annie's better. But Popeye has his points — particularly when they bring in Mr. Wimpy. Mr. Wimpy is good.

HELEN: Lord Plushbottom is good, too.

TONY: Lord Plushbottom is from another strip.

SERGE: That's what I drive the three-quarters of an hour for!

HELEN: Oh, yes, Serge, wasn't there some story you wanted to read?

SERGE: There was! But there isn't! Not a word in the damn paper about the Soviet Culture and Friendship Society!

TONY: And not even "Little Orphan Annie" or "Popeye the Sailor."

[FLEMING comes down the stairs. He is sober and walks calmly, steadily. There is an air about him as if he were holding his head up for the first time in his life. His clothes are still disreputable, but he is shaved and his tie is straight]

FLEMING: Steve, you won't — by any chance — need a janitor down at the laboratory?

INGALLS: No. But we will need an engineer.

FLEMING: A has-been engineer?

INGALLS: No. A shall-be engineer.

FLEMING: [Looks at him, then in a low voice:] Steve, you're —

INGALLS: — a cold-blooded egoist. I've never been called anything else. I wouldn't know what to do if I were. Let it go at that.

FLEMING: [Nods slowly, solemnly. Then sits down and picks up part of the newspaper] The police are out there in the garden. Guess they'll want us all here. INGALLS: Yes, it won't be long now.

SERGE: [Walks to sideboard, pours himself a drink] Do you want a drink, Mr. Fleming?

FLEMING: [With slow emphasis] No, thank you.

SERGE: [Swallows a stiff drink in one gulp. Then:] The laboratory — who will run it now?

INGALLS: I will.

SERGE: And... what is to happen to the invention?

INGALLS: Ah, yes, the invention. Well, Serge, only two men knew the secret of that invention — Walter and I. Walter is dead.

SERGE: He wanted to give it to mankind.