The girl who answered the phone looked familiar. Malone suddenly remembered to check the time—it was just after nine. The girl stared at him. She did not look terribly old, but she was large and she had to be disguised. There seemed to be a lot of teeth running around in this case, Malone thought, between the burlesque stripper in Las Vegas and Miss Dental Display here in New York. Nobody, he told himself, could have collected that many teeth honestly.
"Psychical Research Society," she said. "Oh, Mr. Malone. Good morning."
"Sir Lewis," Malone said in a rush. "Sir Lewis Carter. I want to talk to him. Hurry."
"Sir Lewis Carter?" the girl said very slowly. "Oh, I'm sorry, Mr. Malone, but he won't be in at all today."
"Home number," Malone said desperately. "I've got to."
"Well, I can give you that, Mr. Malone," she said, "but it wouldn't do you any good, really. Because he went away on his vacation and when he does that he never tells us where. You know? He won't be back for two or three weeks," she added as an afterthought.
Malone said: "Oog," and thought for less than a second. "Somebody official," he said. "Got to talk to somebody official. Now."
"Oh, I can't do that either, Mr. Malone," the toothy girl said. "All of the executives already left on their vacation. They just left a skeleton force here at the office."
"They're all gone?" Malone said hollowly.