modulation of her mood as she demanded, How much did he offer you?
I've told you more than once that I don't know anything about pictures, Ambrose replied, evading this question. I'm not going to write for anybody. I'm going to Santa Fe.
There you are . . . Imperia waved her hand to emphasize how obvious it all was. . . . Griesheimer's got him. How much did he offer you?
I don't see that it matters, Ambrose replied. I'm going to Santa Fe.
It was the turn of Ringrose to groan. It's worse than I thought, he exclaimed. Griesheimer surely has got him.
He hasn't! Ambrose almost shrieked.
Do you swear it? Imperia demanded.
He hasn't, Ambrose repeated doggedly.
The star's face brightened.
Perhaps, she said, he's telling the truth. Then it isn't too late, isn't it? We'll take you to Schwarzstein after all.
I won't wait three weeks, Ambrose declared stubbornly. I'm going to Santa Fe.
But you promised, she reminded him. Then to Ringrose: Do you suppose Lee would see him earlier?
