“Yes, the old scoundrel. There, he’s finished!”
“What was it about?”
“Just kicking to some one down in Maiden Lane, because Judge Hazel, of the District Court, has overruled the board of appraisers and imposed a ten per cent. ad valorem duty on natural pearls coming in.”
“But his voice—Jim, you have got to learn to imitate that voice.”
“And then what?”
“Then cut in, presumably from Ottenheimer’s own house, and casually ask, say, Phipps, the second salesman, and head of the shipping department, just what your safe-combination happens to be. It has slipped your memory, you see?”
“And Phipps, naturally, in such a case, will ring up Central and verify the call.”
“Not necessarily. At the first call from him we shall cut his wire!”
“Which cuts us off, and gives us away, as soon as a special messenger can deliver a message and a lineman trace up the trouble.”
“Then why cut him off at all? If that’s too risky, should the worst come to the worst, we can tell Central it’s a case of crossed wires, bewilder her a bit, and then shut ourselves off.”