Gunning-Forbes’s glasses sparkled with fury. The school­teachers and bank clerks stared in bewilderment. Hutchins caught June Veeber’s eye and smiled lasciviously. Charles took deep breaths of cigarette smoke. Froulish droned on.

‘Deep in the grass, a cheap farce, glass weeps for Tom Thumb, a bum’s dumb chum. That’s the end of that part,’ Froulish con­cluded. His audience returned to life. Drooping heads came upright.

‘Well, if that’s the preamble, what about the story? Why don’t you outline the plot?’ demanded Gunning-Forbes.

‘Outline the what?’ sneered Froulish. He seemed itching for a quarrel with the old man.

‘The plot. Outline the plot and then read us a few extracts to show how your characters are developed.’

‘Don’t make me laugh, I’ve got a split lip,’ said Froulish con­temptuously. Opposition had braced his fibres: thanks to its tonic effect he was alert, happy, even gay. Gone was the usual neurotic unrest and gloom; he was a living proof that every man is biologically equipped with marvellous reserves of power to be called on when defending what he really believes in. Charles, from his corner, saw the transformation and was humbled, thinking of Betty’s ferocious defence of her mate. So much, so much that he had never guessed at!

‘Nevertheless, Mr. Froulish,’ June Veeber cut in frostily, before the brawl could develop any further, ‘do read us some more. Couldn’t you pick some passage that illustrates a central theme or tendency of the book?’

‘Now you’re talking,’ replied the novelist, who was quite docile so long as the word ‘plot’ was not uttered. ‘I’ll just explain the central situation. Six people are trapped in a lift between two floors of a skyscraper—a musician, a surgeon, a charwoman, a conjurer and his female assistant, and a hunchback carrying a small suitcase.’

‘Containing some sandwiches, I hope,’ chuckled the local curate. ‘They’re bound to get hungry before long.’

‘You can fill in the details for yourself,’ said Froulish, not realizing that the man imagined himself to be joking. ‘Where was I? Yes, these six are in the lift. Part of the book consists of a series of flashbacks, every one twice the length of the average novel, over the previous life of each of them. Not their physical lives, just the psychic currents that flowed through them. It’s expressed chiefly through patterns of imagery.’

‘God help us,’ said Gunning-Forbes loudly.

‘Meanwhile,’ Froulish went on, ‘they’re trying to send a message to the chief electrician, who lives in the basement, to do something about getting the lift going. At least, there’s a door marked “Chief Electrician”, but no-one’s ever seen it open or seen anyone go in or out. Messages have to be written in a ritual code and slipped under the door.’