Mort and Mike gave me grateful glances.
"You get ridda that wise guy," Mike said, "and we'll never ferget it!"
"Go to it, chumly," Mort said, "and if you lose that louse, we'll make it up to you!"
I went over to the booth and, stepping inside, took the receiver from the hook. I had a jovial, let's-be-friends opener all ready.
"Hello, pal," I said amiably.
The voice that came to my ears was distinctly unlike what I'd expected. I don't quite know how or why it sounded so strange and eerie, but it did. It was a man's voice, coming over the wire the way long distance calls used to sound before they got transmission technique down pat.
"Hello there," said the voice. "Have they arrived yet?"
It wasn't the voice of a drunk. And if it were that of a practical joker, the poker-faced quality of it was perfect acting. It sounded earnestly, eagerly serious.
"You mean Adolf and Benito?" I asked. I was willing to play ball for a few minutes if it brought results. Besides, I was curious.
"Yes."