Now is the Winter of our discontent Made glorious Summer by this sun of York.
For the Superintendent had scarcely squeezed his big body into the telephone box when he became aware of a mixup on the line; a querulous voice was saying:
"I insist on being put through. I am speaking from Mr. Fenley's bank, and it is monstrous that I should be kept waiting. I've been trying for twenty minutes——"
Buzz. The protest was squelched.
"Are you there?" came the calm accents of the Assistant Commissioner.
"Yes, sir," said Winter.
"Any progress?"
"A little. Oddly enough, you are in the nick of time to help materially. Will you ring off, and find out from the exchange who 'phoned here two minutes ago? I don't mean Fenley's Bank, which is just trying to get through. I want to know who made the preceding call, which was effective."
"I understand. Good-by."