"Could I have sent the ransom to the wrong address?"
He pretended to be seized with doubt, whereupon Myra Nell exclaimed, quickly:
"Oh, not necessarily." Then, after a pause, "Norvin, how does a person get red ink off of her hands?"
"Use a cotton broker. Let him hold it this evening."
"I'd love to, but Bernie wouldn't allow it. It was his ink, you know, and I spilled it all over his desk. Norvin—is it really nougat?"
"It is, the most unhealthy, the most indigestible—"
"You duck! You may hold my gory hand for—Wait!" Blake heard a faint shriek. "Don't ring off. Something terrible—" Then the wire was dead.
"Hello! Hello!" he called. "What's wrong, Myra Nell?" He rattled the receiver violently, and getting no response, applied to Central. After some moments he heard her explaining in a relieved tone:
"Oh, such a fright as I had."
"What was it? For Heaven's—"