"Here's a phone. Go ahead and use it, but don't try any funny stuff."
In spite of his headache, Tom's brain was racing. What to do now? He shut his eyes and screwed up his face in an expression of pain, pretending to be still groggy while he stalled for time to figure out his next move.
"How can I get Mirov out of jail?" Tom faltered.
"You figure it out!" the man snarled. "And you'd better get results if you want to stay healthy!"
Through half-slitted eyes, Tom noted the telephone number printed on the dial. Evidently his captor had not thought to remove it from the instrument. A lucky break!
If only, Tom thought, he could devise some way to transmit the number to Ames without arousing his captor's suspicion—the phone's location could then be traced!
What about some sort of double-talk code? For instance, Tom told himself, keep slipping numbers into the conversation in order to transmit the digits of the telephone number. Would Ames catch on?
The number shown was BArwick 3-7156. BA on the dial would be the same as "2, 2."
"Come on! Quit stalling!" the man said threateningly.
"How can I dial with my hands tied?" Tom objected.