“Something new in ’phones, Ray?” she asked.
“They fixed it yesterday. It’s a resistance. The man told me that somebody who was talking into a ’phone during a thunderstorm had a bad shock, so they’re fitting these things as an experiment. It makes the instrument heavier, and it’s ugly, but——”
Slowly she put the receiver down and stooped to look at the attachment.
“It’s a detectaphone,” she said quietly. “And all the time we’ve been talking somebody has been making a note of our conversation.”
She walked to the fireplace, took up a poker and brought it down with a crash on the little box. . . .
Inspector Elk, with a pair of receivers clamped to his head, sat in a tiny office on the Thames Embankment, and put down his pencil with a sigh. Then he took up his telephone and called Headquarters Exchange.
“You can switch off that detectaphone to Knightsbridge 93718,” he said. “I don’t think we shall want it any more.”
“Did I put you through in time, sir?” asked the operator’s voice. “They had only just started talking when I called you.”
“Plenty of time, Angus,” said Elk, “plenty of time.”
He gathered up his notes and went to his desk and placed them tidily by the side of his blotting-pad.