"Why too bad? What's it have to do with--" "Children make the bust sag. You're probably too firm to get into our costumes. Take 'em out." "What!" "Take 'em out. Let me see them. If they're not too high we won't have any problems." "Are you kidding?" "Come on, come on, Robin. Take 'em out." "You're crazy." "This is a pictorial medium," Sachs explained patiently. "You've got to audition three-dimensionally. Now don't waste my time, Robin. We've pulled the Nolan costumes already and I've got to find the women to fit them." The phone rang. Sachs picked it up, meanwhile snapping his fingers impatiently at Robin's bust. "Yes? Not now. I'm busy." He flipped the phone and caught it neatly on the cradle. "Took three lessons from W. C. Fields," he smiled, then brayed: "'_Master Copperfield, under the impression that your peregrinations in this metropolis have not as yet been extensive, and that you might have some difficulty in penetrating the arcana of the Modern Babylon...._' Come on, Robin. Come on. Get 'em out." There was a knock on the door. "Go away," Sachs called. The knocking was repeated. "'_Here's a knocking indeed!_'" Sachs intoned in Shakespearean diapason. He snatched up the desk lamp and began to hobble. "Lantern business. '_If a man were porter of hell-gate, he should have old turning the key. Knock, knock, knock! Who's there i'th' name of Belzebub?_'" "Jake Lennox. I've got to see you. Won't take a minute." "Wait," Sachs told Robin. He put down the lamp and called: "Come in. I'm starting the clock." Lennox entered the brain room and was surprised to see Robin. He greeted her and Sachs, then said: "This won't take long, but I'm afraid it'll have to be in private. Do you mind, Robin?" "No. It's a pleasure," Robin said through her teeth. She stalked out of the office and slammed the door. "Something?" Lennox asked Sachs. "Temperament," Sachs answered wearily. He picked up the phone. "Tell the actress to wait in the reception room." He hung up. Lennox took out the photostats and thrust them at Sachs. "Read these," he said sharply. Sachs glanced at the photostats casually, five seconds to each letter, then slouched to his desk chair and slumped into it, regarding Lennox with tired eyes. "I said read them," Lennox snapped. "I've read them," Sachs answered. "I have a photographic memory." He quoted random lines from the letters, then smiled patiently. "Satisfied?" It occurred to Lennox that Sachs must have examined the letters in Blinky's safe at another time. That killed the shock value and there was no point in calling his bluff. "They're written to you, aren't they?" "I don't like your Sunday drama spot, Jake. The Philip Nolan. It's weak." "Stay with the threats, will you? They're no drama spots." "'_Damn the United States. I wish that I would never hear the name again._' Dolly in to close-up. Yes. Your scene's out of focus. There's a value missing." "Focus on the letters. Who's threatening you?"