Clo was almost incapable of thinking; but she was vaguely aware that the accent was slightly foreign. "Yes," she ventured. "It's Kit."
"Nice thing you are! I've been trying to get you the last ten minutes. Thought your room was next door to his. Couldn't you hear your own 'phone from Petes'?"
"I've just come in," said Clo.
"You're late. Anything wrong? Your voice sounds sort of queer."
"I've got chewing gum in my mouth," said Clo "What do you want to say to Pete?"
"I want to know if he's got the papers."
Clo's blood rushed to her head. This looked like a wonderful chance to tap a secret, if she didn't lose it by giving the wrong answers. Beverley Sands' whole future might depend upon the next few minutes.
"Hold the line a second or two," she said. She needed to think.
If she replied that Peterson had the papers, embarrassing questions might be asked. If she said that he hadn't, the man at the telephone might end the conversation before she had learned enough to help Angel. "I'll try hedging," she decided, and began again with a tentative "Hello!" For an instant there was no response, and Clo was sick with fear lest she had been cut off. But luck was with her. The foreign-sounding voice began again: "Well, is Pete there this time?"
"No," said the girl. "Pete is—packing. He wants me to say it isn't much after ten. He's expecting to get the papers any minute now."