Borglund half rose from his chair to watch the dial. It stopped at the fourteenth floor. Borglund sank back with a grin. Gifford Morton’s room was on the tenth. Evidently this man was not paying a visit there.
The sound of the telephone operator’s voice suddenly attracted Borglund’s attention. The girl was speaking in an excited tone.
“You want the police?” she questioned. “Room 1048? Can you wait until I notify Mr. Hurley… Yes… Oh, I see. Thank you. I shall notify him right away—”
Borglund was staring straight ahead as he rose again from his chair. The number that the girl had given was Gifford Morton’s room!
Hooks thumped his right fist against his open left hand. He had sensed that something was wrong, but he had been waiting. Now, perhaps, he had delayed too long.
It was not his job to interfere with Carpenter’s game; but it was his task to see that all went well.
Hooks cast a shrewd glance about the lobby. Questioning eyes met his gaze. As each well-dressed mobster caught the signal Hooks made a slight upward gesture with his thumb. He saw the gangsters rise one by one and saunter toward the elevator.
“Manager’s office?” The girl was speaking again. “Is Mr. Hurley there?… Yes, I must speak to him — trouble in 1048. They want the police… No, they asked for the police, not the house detective… All right, I’ll call headquarters — connect you with them, Mr. Hurley—”
The girl plugged in a switch, and then answered a light that appeared on the switchboard.
“You want Mr. Borglund?” she questioned. “I can have him paged—”