“Give me Mr. Millman—Mr. Charles Millman,” he requested hurriedly.
The hotel operator answered him. It was impossible. A guest could not be disturbed at that hour. It was against the rules, and Dave Henderson was pleading hoarsely into the phone.
“Give me Millman! Let me speak to him! It's life and death!”
“I—I can't.” The operator's voice, a girl's, was hesitant, less assured.
“For God's sake, give me Millman—there's a life at stake!” Dave Henderson cried frantically. “Quick! For God's sake, quick!”
“Wait!” she said.
It seemed a time interminable, and then a drowsy voice called:
“Hello! What's wanted?”
“Is that you, Millman?” Dave Henderson asked wildly. “Millman, is that you?”
“Yes,” the voice answered.