He went over to the instrument. “What d’you want to say to the bloke with the long name?”
“Say that Richard Hannay is detained at the A.P.M.”s office in Claxton Street. Say he’s got important news—say urgent and secret news—and ask Mr Macgillivray to do something about it at once.”
“But ’Annay ain’t the name you gave.”
“Lord bless you, no. Did you never hear of a man borrowin’ another name? Anyhow that’s the one I want you to give.”
“But if this Mac man comes round ’ere, they’ll know ’e’s bin rung up, and I’ll ’ave the old man down on me.”
It took ten minutes and a second pound note to get him past this hurdle. By and by he screwed up courage and rang up the number. I listened with some nervousness while he gave my message—he had to repeat it twice—and waited eagerly on the next words.
“No, sir,” I heard him say, “’e don’t want you to come round ’ere. ’E thinks as ’ow—I mean to say, ’e wants—”
I took a long stride and twitched the receiver from him.
“Macgillivray,” I said, “is that you? Richard Hannay! For the love of God come round here this instant and deliver me from the clutches of a tomfool A.P.M. I’ve got the most deadly news. There’s not a second to waste. For God’s sake come quick!” Then I added: “Just tell your fellows to gather Ivery in at once. You know his lairs.”
I hung up the receiver and faced a pale and indignant orderly. “It’s all right,” I said. “I promise you that you won’t get into any trouble on my account. And there’s your two quid.”