The lease, with a prodigious speed hitherto unknown at
Slossons', had been drawn up, engrossed and executed. The Piccadilly
Circus land was his for sixty-four years.
"And I've got the old Chapel pulled down for nothing," he said to
himself.
He was rather happy as he wandered about amid the brilliance of the
Empire Promenade. But after half an hour of such exercise and of vain
efforts to see or hear what was afoot on the stage, he began to feel
rather lonely. Then it was that he caught sight of Mr. Alloyd, the
architect, also lonely.
"Well," said Mr. Alloyd, curtly, with a sardonic smile. "They've
telephoned me all about it. I've seen Mr. Wrissell. Just my luck! So
you're the man! He pointed you out to me this morning. My design for
that church would have knocked the West End! Of course Mr. Wrissell
will pay me compensation, but that's not the same thing. I wanted the
advertisement of the building.... Just my luck! Have a drink, will
you?"
Edward Henry ultimately went with the plaintive Mr. Alloyd to his
rooms in Adelphi Terrace. He quitted those rooms at something after
two o'clock in the morning. He had practically given Mr. Alloyd a
definite commission to design the Regent Theatre. Already he was
practically the proprietor of a first-class theatre in the West End of
London!
"I wonder whether Master Seven Sachs could have bettered my day's work
to-day!" he reflected as he got into a taxi-cab.
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