“And pray, who is Miss Minnie Schultz?” Brent asked, with mock gravity. Peters seemed delighted to impart to us his knowledge of the lady.
“She worked fer the ’phone company—night operator, until they let her out fer listenin’ in. Nice girl Minnie is, but my goodness how she does love ter chat with a body.”
“I think I understand it now,” Brent said, straightening up in his chair. “She knew about the call to the Lodge that night and told you. Is that it?”
“Right you are, young man!” Peters said, admiringly. He seemed to puff his pipe extra hard over this morsel of gossip.
“Between us four gentleman,” the fellow continued, “’n I know it won’t go no further, Minnie told me as how she wuz the very operator thet handled the call. It wuz from Montreal Central Office ’n she sez thet she told them she wuz positive Mr. McClintick wudn’t be at the Lodge.
“She rung and rung ’n no answer came, o’ course, ’n she sez she told Montreal so. Then Montreal comes back at her ’n sez that their party wud like to speak ter Minnie herself.
“She sez she heard the man’s voice, very excited like, ’n thet he told her she must get McClintick at the Lodge and thet there must be someone there. When she sez there isn’t, he sez McClintick alwuz cum ter the Lodge fer thet night on account of it’s being his wife’s anniversary or something.
“’N Minnie, being the clever girl she is, smells a rat, ’n sez to the man, ‘I don’t know anything about it,’ ’n he screams back at her, ‘Well, I ought to know somethin’ about it, fer I’m his son!’
“Minnie sez, ‘Who?’ She’s frozen, she gits such a shock, but the feller rings right off and Montreal tells her she should excuse the call.”
“What does Miss Minnie think of it?” Tom asked, plainly excited.