"Well, I sure would tell the police, Henty,—or Captain Converse. He's the fellow to see."
"You may tell me now, gentlemen, if it is your pleasure," said a quiet, peculiar whisper from the doorway; and the two occupants of the room sat petrified with astonishment.
The two young men had been seated comfortably with their feet on the flat-topped desk between them; one, it appeared, had been pursuing the somewhat exacting undertaking of coloring a meerschaum pipe, upon which he bestowed many a solicitous glance. The other puffed nervously at a cigarette.
"I believe you and your friend were discussing the very matter that brought me here," Converse began pleasantly, advancing into the room. "I couldn't help overhearing something of what you were saying, and I should like to talk with that young lady—Miss Carter, didn't I hear you say?"
One young man now arose abruptly, and after proffering the Captain his chair, departed.
Converse sat down. His stolid composure was not without a suggestion of affability, which was perhaps the more effective by reason of its being reserved rather than brought into play.
"First of all, Mr. Henty, when a receiver is taken down from its hook, Central pretty soon asks what number is wanted, don't she?"
"Well—yes."
"And whatever's going on at the other end of the line—whether some one asks for a number or not—is pretty likely to be heard, isn't it?"
Henty nodded.