"Sure thing," replied Delmuth. "I would enjoy one."
Benson arose and obtained a box of cigars from a table drawer. He paused, reached to the wall, and turned on the switch that controlled the wall brackets. This illuminated the portion of the room where he was standing, and he glanced at the box in his hands.
"These are the right ones," affirmed Benson. "I want you to try these Havanas, Delmuth."
He sat down in his accustomed chair and proffered the box of cigars. There was nothing in the old man's action to indicate that he might have noticed anything unusual.
But when he took a cigar himself, he lifted two, and then dropped one. It was a prearranged signal. Delmuth gave an imperceptible nod.
As the old man laid the box aside, the telephone bell rang. Benson answered it, spoke a few words, and hung up the receiver.
"Someone calling the wrong number," was his comment. "I thought maybe it was the call that I expected."
Delmuth, sitting by the window, was listening to the old man's comment. His ears failed to detect a slight noise that came from nearby.
"Well," said Delmuth, "I think I must be going. Glad to have seen you again, Benson."
"Wait a moment!" exclaimed the old man. "I haven't given you those addresses I promised. Here. I'll write them out for you."