There he spent a long and seemingly unproductive hour going over the calls from the Gotham exchange, which included the New Queen’s Mall, for the previous Tuesday.
Over Goddard’s private wire had gone numerous messages before Trafford had called Blaisdell’s studio; and in the late afternoon, when Horace’s continued absence had caused alarm, there were fully a score of numbers registered before Goddard himself had summoned McCarty.
Orbit’s telephone, too, had been busy, with the caterer, decorator, florist and a musical agency, in connection with the function of the afternoon. Three messages to the coal dealer and innumerable others followed, presumably sent by guests until the evening was far advanced.
Only four calls had been sent from the Bellamy house and they appeared to have been made by the lady herself, for they were to modiste, hairdresser, perfumer and a prominent department store.
Parsons’ telephone had been connected with a foreign consulate, several charitable societies and a banking house, while the Sloane household had communicated with Doctor Allonby, a drug store, an agency for male nurses, the office number of a noted financier, and several residence numbers of equally well-known persons.
McCarty copied one or two numbers from each list and sallied forth to verify them, but, although the afternoon was long, twilight had not yet come when he returned to his rooms and entered cautiously.
They had not been intruded upon on this occasion, but he remained only long enough to secure the page torn from the encyclopædia and then slipped out again through the teeming rain to the fire house which domiciled engine company 023.
Dennis was matching nickels with Mike in the dormitory and reaping a rich harvest, but he hastily promised the loser his revenge later and slid down the pole to join McCarty.
“I’ve looked for you all afternoon!” he declared reproachfully, adding: “You’ve news! I can see it in the eye of you and I might have known something would start whilst I was out of it!”
“There’s nothing new,” McCarty responded quietly. “I’ve a queer notion in my head, but it’s too sickening to spring even after all we know has happened, till I get hold of something to back it up. Parsons ’phoned for me this morning—the old gentleman himself—and told me the truth about what was missing since Wednesday night, which was no news. He said it was clever, the way you’d disconnected the inside alarm arrangement—”