Suddenly, he had a desire to pray.
A door close by was labeled
He opened the door and went in, groping his way past an oxygen tent and an iron lung. In the semidarkness he found a clear space where he knelt.
The floor was a good deal harder on his knees than the broadloom he was used to. It seemed not to matter. He clasped his hands in supplication and lowered his head.
Strangely, for the first time in many years, he could find no words for what was in his heart.
Dusk, like an anodyne to the departing day, was settling over the city.
Soon, Peter McDermott thought, the night would come, with sleep and, for a while, forgetfulness. Tomorrow, the immediacy of today's events would begin receding. Already, the dusk marked a beginning to the process of time which, in the end, healed all things.
But it would be many dusks and nights and days before those who were closest to today's events would be free from a sense of tragedy and terror. The waters of Lethe were still far distant.
Activity - while not a release - helped the mind a little.
Since early this afternoon, a good deal had occurred.
Alone, in his office on the main mezzanine, Peter took stock of what had been done and what remained.
The grim, sad process of identifying the dead and notifying families had been completed. Where the hotel was to aid with funerals, arrangements had began.
The little that could be done for the injured, beyond hospital care, had been put in hand.
Emergency crews - fire, police - had long since left. In their place were elevator inspectors, examining every piece of elevator equipment the hotel possessed. They would work into tonight and through tomorrow.
Meanwhile, elevator service had been partially restored.
Insurance investigators - gloomy men, already foreseeing massive claims - were intensively questioning, collecting statements.
On Monday, a team of consultants would fly from New York to begin planning for replacement of all passenger elevator machinery with new.
It would be the first major expenditure of the Albert Wells-Dempster-McDermott regime.
The resignation of the chief engineer was on Peter's desk. He intended to accept it.
The chief, Doc Vickery, must be honorably retired, with the pension befitting his long years of service to the hotel. Peter would see to it that he was treated well.
M. Hebrand, the chef de cuisine, would receive the same consideration. But the old chefs retirement must be accomplished quickly, with Andre Lemieux promoted to his place.
On young Andre Lemieux - with his ideas for creation of specialty restaurants, intimate bars, an overhaul of the hotel's entire catering system - much of the St. Gregory's future would depend. A hotel did not live by renting rooms alone. It could fill its rooms each day, yet still go bankrupt. Special services - conventions, restaurants, bars were where the mother lode of profit lay.
There must be other appointments, a reorganization of departments, a fresh defining of responsibilities. As executive vice-president, Peter would be involved much of the time with policy. He would need an assistant general manager to supervise the day-to-day running of the hotel. Whoever was appointed must be young, efficient, a disciplinarian when necessary, but able to get along with others older than himself. A graduate of the School of Hotel Administration might do well. On Monday, Peter decided, he would telephone Dean Robert Beck at Cornell. The dean kept in touch with many of his bright ex-students. He might know such a man, who was available now.
Despite today's tragedy, it was necessary to think ahead.
There was his own future with Christine. The thought of it was inspiring and exciting. Nothing between them had been settled yet. But he knew it would be. Earlier, Christine had left for her Gentilly apartment. He would go to her soon.
Other - less palatable - unfinished business still remained. An hour ago, Captain Yolles of the New Orleans Police had dropped into Peter's office.
He had come from an interview with the Duchess of Croydon.
