“Who in hell are you?� bellowed a third and huskier voice. “And what do you mean by calling my wife darling?�
Click! All three wires were shut off by one lightning swirl of Daisy’s fingers.
She sat aghast. The third voice had most assuredly been Phil’s—Philip Caleb Vanbrugh’s. What had she done? What hadn’t she done? Then she became aware of a buzzing call.
“Clavichord Arms,� she said primly in reply as she sought to rally her shaky nerves.
“That the house operator?â€� harshly demanded the husky voice. “I called up my apartment—Apartment 60—a minute ago, and my wife was talking over the phone. What number was she talking to?â€�
“What apartment did you say?� asked Daisy.
“Sixty!�
“Apartment 60 hasn’t had a call this morning,� solemnly answered Daisy, her throat tightening under the grip of outraged conscience. “Nor it hasn’t sent in one, either.�
“I’d swear that was my wife’s voice,â€� growled the man. “I couldn’t place the man’s. But it was my wife’s, all right. And—â€�
“It may ’a’ been Sarah Bernhardt’s voice, for all I know,� snapped Daisy. “But it didn’t come from Apartment 60. Not any calls have been turned in from there since I came on.�