"Shopton," Tom replied. "I just drove in for a haircut." With a chuckle, he added, "Haven't had one in three months. That's a whole week longer than I usually go!"
Would Ames understand that by "week" he meant seven days?... "It's the best I can do," Tom thought.
"Look, skipper, are you sure you want Mirov let out?" Ames said slowly. "I still think it's unwise."
"Consider it an order!" Tom snapped. "This is one thing I insist upon, Harlan. Shouldn't take more than five or six hours, should it, even if he has to wire the Brungarian Embassy to put up bail?"
"It can probably be handled faster than that—if he has any friends around town," Ames said.
Tom took the cue. "Could be," he replied meaningfully.
Tom's captor snatched the phone away and slammed it back on the hook. "All right, smart boy! That's enough!" he growled, glaring at Tom.
Back at Enterprises, Ames hung up thoughtfully. Tom's reply to his last question about Mirov having "friends around town" had convinced Ames that the young inventor was a prisoner, speaking under duress. Moreover, it had seemed as if someone else's breathing was faintly audible in the background, close to the phone.
But what message had Tom tried to convey?
As a routine security-department precaution, Ames's phone was connected to a recorder which automatically taped all calls. Now, while he pondered the problem, Ames pressed a foot-treadle switch to play back the conversation.