“You’re silly. Come on over.” She hung up.
He found the police still active on Wilsey Street. They had barricaded the street at the far end and were preparing to do the same at the Main Street end. Most of the stores along the block were closed to business, their interiors vacant. All the parking spaces along the entire block were unused; he was one of the very few persons there not in uniform.
Climbing the stairs to Dr. Saari’s office he puzzled over it. She called out to him from the inner room.
“In here, Chuck. Make yourself at home. I’ll be ready in a jiffy.”
“Hi, Elizabeth. What’s going on down in the street?”
She shook her head and continued clearing the desk. He stood beside her, toying with the telephone.
“The cops are roping it off,” he explained more fully. “And the stores are closed.”
“Oh, that. The sergeant said something about making some tests. In secrecy. He’s clearing the block. I imagine business is closed for the remainder of the day.”
“The chamber of commerce won’t like that. But why?”
“I really couldn’t say, Chuck. Ask the sergeant.”
He crammed his hands into his coat pockets and considered her answer. It wasn’t satisfactory. She could have told him she didn’t know why, and instead, she had implied that she couldn’t tell him. Wouldn’t tell him, perhaps. A crumpled envelope in his pocket met his fingers.
He jerked it out and looked at his phone number. She glanced down at it.
“Another one? Still searching for the jokester?”
“Another one, and it’s no joke, Elizabeth. This one doesn’t match with the letter, either. Somebody mailed me my own number for a reason, a better reason than just wasting a postage stamp. I think maybe it’s a warning, but if so, it doesn’t make much sense. I’m positive the redhead didn’t see me in the window.”
“You said someone called and pretended to have the wrong number.”
“I wish I knew whether or not it was pretense.”
Idly he picked up her telephone and dialed the number typed on the wrinkled envelope. Across the hall in his office the phone began to ring. He moved to replace the receiver when suddenly there was a click. The other phone continued ringing. Surprised, he held the phone away from his face, staring at it.
Elizabeth Saari was watching him, uncomprehending. He put a quick finger to his lips, motioning for silence.
He placed the instrument in her hand, turned, and sped across the hall to his office. The ringing phone was loud through the door. Pushing it open, he rushed in. The office was empty. The bewildered detective paused, staring down at his phone. Abruptly he turned and walked back to the doctor’s office.
Taking the instrument from her, he placed it on the cradle. His own phone ceased calling him.
“I thought I heard a noise,” Elizabeth said.
“You did hear a noise. Somebody cut in on my wire like it was a party line, which it is not. Elizabeth, phone me when I get back to my office. I’ll hesitate a few moments before I answer. Listen for a click.”
“What shall I say?”
“Say anything you want to, but don’t make a break and tip my hand. Don’t mention anything about clicks.”
He crossed over to his own office for the second time. The phone began to ring as he crossed the threshold. He stood beside the desk until he had counted twenty aloud, and scooped up the receiver.
“Yes?”
Elizabeth’s voice came to him. “I understand fifty cents is the limit?” She said it gravely.
“The absolute ceiling,” he responded in like tone. “I’ll walk out if it’s a penny more.”
“Thank you,” she said. “I am ready.” She hung up.
He waited, but there was nothing. Reaching down, he gently tapped the bakelite receiver against the cradle base.
And was rewarded with a small click.
He hung up and joined Elizabeth. “I heard it, Chuck! The same click.”
He nodded. “Me too. Know what it is?”
It was her turn to nod. “I’ve seen it lots of times in the movies. Your phone has been tapped. But Chuck, that’s against the law!”
He laughed hollowly. “So is killing people. Let’s go eat.”
“I’m ready.” She picked up the inevitable black bag and locked the outer door behind them. “Did you mean that about the fifty cents?”
“Yup. A dollar and forty cents is all I’ve got until payday.”
“Which payday?”
“The twenty-fifth of the month. The insurance company sends me a check once a month.” He grinned without humor. “Thanks to Walter Alfred Channy — the Third — the check will be larger, this month.”
They descended to the street. It was empty of people except for them and three or four policemen. At the corner of Wilsey and Main he held up the rope barrier for Elizabeth to duck under. One of the patrolmen walked over.
“Hello, doctor.” The patrolman looked at Horne and put his tongue in his cheek. “Hello, sleuth. You people can’t come back in this afternoon.”
Elizabeth nodded without question.
Horne said, “Why not?”
“Orders. There’s going to be some investigating.”
“Yeah, but look here, I’m a detective.”
The patrolman regarded Horne carefully. “Well, I wouldn’t brag about it if I were you, sleuth.”
Elizabeth smiled carefully from the corners of her mouth and tugged at his arm.
“Come along, Chuck. You can’t answer that one.”
She piloted him across Main Street and up the block.
“We’ll have to hurry. The noon rush is gathering strength.”
“Take it easy,” he advised. “I know a babe in the Blue Mill. She saves me a table.”
“Charles Horne, I am not eating at the Blue Mill! There is a basement tearoom up this way.”
“What! A tearoom? Not on your life. You don’t catch me in no tearoom! I want something to eat.”
Elizabeth found them a corner table in the basement tearoom. She ordered two “Noon-day Specials” at forty-five cents each. Horne spent his time ogling the women at the adjoining tables until Elizabeth, uncomfortable under the returning frowns, kicked him sharply in the shin.
They parted an hour later, Elizabeth going to the garage that housed her car. She informed him that she had to make some calls and would probably spend the balance of the afternoon at the hospital. She had made arrangements with the telephone operator to switch office calls to her.
Horne headed for Wilsey Street at a swift pace. He found a large crowd of curious citizens hanging on the ropes, looking up the street towards the crater. Additional patrolmen stood behind the ropes, facing the crowd.
Peering over the shoulders of those in front of him, Horne was disappointed. Between him and the crater were two automobiles, nose-to-nose in the middle of the street, effectively blocking from sight whatever activity was taking place around the hole in the pavement. On the far side of the hole were parked two more automobiles, similarly placed, blocking the view of the smaller crowd at the upper end of the block. Between the four cars, around the crater, was sketchily seen tense, swift movement. Horne caught sight of men in and out of police uniform.
Edging out of the mob, he struck off for the mouth of the alley in the middle of the block, an alley which ran parallel to Wilsey Street and would allow him to enter by the rear door of his office building. When he reached the alley mouth he took one look at the policeman who stood there and kept right on going. He circled the block and approached the north end of the alley. Another policeman was on guard. Looking down the alley towards his building he saw two others, prowling around.
Once again on Wilsey Street, this time at the opposite barrier which held back the smaller crowd, he met the Finn.