"I meant what I said," Allen said.
"You did?" Luddy laughed. "Naturally you meant it.
You're the boss." He was shaking. "You really weren't kidding?"
Collecting her coat, Mrs. Frost moved toward the door. "I'd like to look over your Agency while I'm here. Do you mind?"
"Not at all," Allen said. "I'd be glad to show it to you. I'm quite proud of it." He opened the door for her, and the two of them walked out into the hall. Luddy remained in the office, a sick, erratic look on his face.
"I don't care for him," Mrs. Frost said. "I think you're better off without him."
"That wasn't any fun," Allen said. But he was feeling better.
CHAPTER 3
In the hall outside Myron Mavis' office, the Telemedia workers were winding up their day. The T-M building formed a connected hollow square. The open area in the center was used for outdoor sets. Nothing was in process now, because it was five-thirty and everybody was leaving.
From a pay phone, Allen Purcell called his wife. "I'll be late for dinner," he said.
"Are—you all right?"
"I'm fine," he said. "But you go ahead and eat. Big doings, big crisis at the Agency. "I'll catch something down here." He added, "I'm at Telemedia."
"For very long?" Janet asked anxiously.
"Maybe for a long, long time," he said, and hung up.
As he rejoined Sue Frost, she said to him, "How long did Luddy work for you?"
"Since I opened the Agency." The realization was sobering: three years. Presently he added: "That's the only person I've ever let go."
At the back of the office, Myron Mavis was turning over duplicates of the day's output to a bonded messenger of the Committee. The duplicates would be put on permanent file; in case of an investigation the material was there to examine.