"Uh-huh. Sort of."
"Who are they?"
"Who are they? Clare and Connie?"
"Yes. What about them?"
"Well, that's their names, Clare and Connie," the girl said. "That's all I know."
"But what do they do?" Fleetwood said, trying it another way. "Have you ever heard?"
"Oh," the girl said. "They're telephone operators. They come in here all the time."
"Telephone operators?" Fleetwood did his best to digest this patently indigestible piece of information. No matter how he chewed it it still didn't fit with what had just happened. He drummed his fingers on the counter for a moment. "Are you sure you couldn't be mistaken?" he asked. "It couldn't be that maybe they work for some sort of investigator or the government, could it?"
"Oh, no," the girl said positively. "Why should they do that?"
"Well," Fleetwood said, watching her closely, "I overheard them talking just now, and they were saying something about following someone called Fleetwood Cassidy."