As he waited, Joe laid down the receiver and returned to the table for the robot. He brought it back to the bed, sat down, placed it in his lap, and swiftly typed out: BARBARA'S ADDRESS.
A gruff voice rattled faintly from the receiver. "Hello? Hello, who's this?"
There was a swirling blue glow and a click. Beneath the lens, at the top of the keyboard, was Barbara's address.
Joe picked up the receiver. "My name is Joe Linger," he said. "Sir, I don't know your name, but I thought I ought to see you. It's about something your daughter has become involved in without her knowledge. I thought you ought to know—"
"What?" The voice spoke sharply. "What're you talking about?"
"I'd rather not discuss it over the 'phone," Joe replied nervously. "Could I come over to see you, personally?"
"Why—um, ah—why, yes!" A hard edge crept into the voice. "Perhaps you'd better!"
Joe felt a wave of relief. "I'll be there in fifteen minutes," he promised.
He was five minutes early. He parked the sleek, yellow convertible in the driveway and climbed out. He looked dapper and well-groomed in his dark, expensive suit as he went up the front steps and rang the doorbell. The round, gleaming globe of the robot was tucked under his arm.
The door was opened by a tall, stocky man with iron-gray hair. He raked Joe with a sharp, piercing gaze. "You're Mr. Linger?"