Read Online Murder Must Advertise by Dorothy L. Sayers - Free Book Online

from sight. The former restriction bore hardly upon Miss Meteyard and the copy-department typists, whose cigarettes were, if not encouraged, at least winked at in the ordinary way by the management. Miss Parton had been further upset by a mild suggestion from Mr. Hankin that she was showing rather more arm and neck than the directors of Brotherhoods, Ltd., would think seemly; out of sheer perversity, she had covered the offending flesh with a heavy sweater, and was ostentatiously stewing and grumbling and snapping the head off every one who approached her. Mr. Jollop, who was, if anything, slightly more captious than Mr. Toule, had arrived particularly early for the weekly Nutrax conference, and had distinguished himself by firmly killing no less than three advertisements which Mr. Toule had previously passed. This meant that Mr. Hankin had been obliged to send out his S O S nearly a month earlier than usual. Mr. Armstrong had toothache, and had been exceptionally short with Miss Rossiter, and something had gone wrong with Miss Rossiter's type-writer, so that its spacing was completely unreliable. [Pg 50]
    To Mr. Ingleby, perspiring over his guard-books, entered the detested form of Mr. Tallboy, a sheet of paper in his hand.
    “Is this your copy?”
    Mr. Ingleby stretched out a languid hand, took the paper, glanced at it and returned it.
    “How often have I got to tell you blasted incompetents,” he demanded amiably, “that those initials are on the copy for the purpose of identifying the writer? If you think my initials are DB you're either blind or potty.”
    “Who is DB anyway?”
    “New fellow, Bredon.”
    “Where is he?”
    Mr. Ingleby jerked his thumb in the direction of the next room.
    “Empty,” announced Mr. Tallboy, after a brief excursion.
    “Well, have a look for him,” suggested Ingleby.
    “Yes, but look here,” said Mr. Tallboy, persuasively, “I only want a suggestion. What the devil are the Studio to do with this? Do you mean to say Hankin passed that headline?”
    “Presumably,” said Ingleby.
    “Well, how does he or Bredon or anybody suppose we're going to get it illustrated? Has the client seen it? They'll never stand for it. What's the point in laying it out? I can't think how Hankin came to pass it.”
    Ingleby stretched his hand out again.
    “Brief, bright and brotherly,” he observed. “What's the matter with it?”
    The headline was:
    ––!
IF LIFE'S A BLANK
TAKE NUTRAX
    “And in any case,” grumbled Tallboy, “the Morning Star won't take it. They won't put in anything that looks like bad language.” [Pg 51]
    “Your look-out,” said Ingleby. “Why not ask 'em?”
    Tallboy muttered something impolite.
    “Anyway, if Hankin's passed it, it'll have to be laid out, I suppose,” said Ingleby. “Surely the Studio–oh! hullo! here's your man. You'd better worry him. Bredon!”
    “That's me!” said Mr. Bredon. “All present and correct!”
    “Where've you been hiding from Tallboy? You knew he was on your tail.”
    “I've been on the roof,” admitted Bredon, apologetically. “Cooler and all that. What's the matter. What have I done?”
    “Well, this headline of yours, Mr. Bredon. How do you expect them to illustrate it?”
    “I don't know. I left it to their ingenuity. I always believe in leaving scope to other people's imagination.”
    “How on earth are they to draw a blank?”
    “Let 'em take a ticket in the Irish Sweep. That'll larn 'em,” said Ingleby.
    “I should think it would be rather like a muchness,” suggested Bredon. “Lewis Carroll, you know. Did you ever see a drawing of a muchness?”
    “Oh, don't fool,” growled Tallboy. “We've got to do something with it. Do you really think it's a good headline, Mr. Bredon?”
    “It's the best I've written yet,” said Bredon enthusiastically, “except that beauty Hankie wouldn't pass. Can't they draw a man looking blank? Or just a man with a blank face, like those 'Are these missing features yours?'