"If she did—she wasn't saying. She said she had no idea on earth. Hadn't heard from her for months. Or seen her—naturally. I begged her—beseeched her—to give me any useful address. Any name. Any scrap of a suggestion—"
I picked up the phone. After ringing me, the Astolat switchboard operator had fallen back to sleep and I listened to the buzz for a long while before she plugged in—irritably. The number I gave wasn't in the book. But Hattie wouldn't be asleep—yet. Not unless she'd changed.
Viola answered and Hattie came on in a moment. "Hello, Phil. What's cooking? You and Gwen quarrel?"
Since waking, I hadn't thought about Gwen—or Yvonne. The question startled me. "Nope," I said. "Gwen, incidentally, has—has gone out for a bit with a friend of mine. Nice gal, Gwen. It's about my nephew, Paul."
"Oh. Is he there?"
"Yeah."
"Phil, that lad's in very bad shape."
"Yeah."
"I'm serious. I know men. He's apt to do—anything!"