"Tell you what," he said, "that servant knows you. I'll make the connection, say I want to see Cokesbury on business, and if I get him, hand on the receiver to you."
We fixed it that way, went into a hotel, and I stood at the door of the booth while Babbitts got the house. Standing at his elbow I could see he was up against the same proposition as I had been. He finally had to say he wanted to see Mr. Cokesbury about renting Cokesbury Lodge.
He turned to me with his hand over the mouthpiece and said:
"He's there and he won't come."
"Has the servant gone to get him?"
"Yes. He wouldn't say whether his boss was home or not, but his willingness to take the message gave him away. Now stand close and if it's a new voice I won't say a word, just get up and let you slide into my place." He started and turned back to the instrument. "Yes. What?" I could see a look of surprise come over his face. "Soon? You don't know—in a few days. Hasn't any idea of renting. Thanks. That's all—good-bye."
He hung up and turned to me:
"It was the servant. Cokesbury hasn't any intention of renting and is leaving for Europe."
"For Europe!" I cried out. "When?"
"The man didn't know exactly. He said he thought in a few days."