This little passage made me downright hot, and I suppose it showed in my face when I looked at the detective again.
"Wh-what's the matter?" he stammered.
"They refuse to identify you."
He became still paler and clammier if that were possible. "Let me—let me call them," he stammered.
I shoved the instrument towards him and waited. When he got his number he fell all over himself trying to explain. "Who is this, Dixon?—Oh, Jones. Jones—for God's sake!—this is Atterbury. Square me, can't you? This guy Enderby—I mean Mr. Enderby's got me sewed up in his office. He's got me covered—for God's sake, square me! Or I'm a goner!"
He shoved the instrument towards me. I kept one hand on my gun, inwardly I was shaking with laughter. "This is Enderby again," I said into the transmitter. "Now you have the situation. What about it?"
"I know you!" cried the brash voice, now thoroughly scared. "I've got your name and number. If anything happens to our man we've got you dead to rights."
"Sure," I said laughing. "You identify him, then?"
"Sure, I do! And if anything happens to him——"
"That's all I wanted to know," I said. "Good-bye." And this time I did the hanging up.