“But what are you doing? Reading?”
“As a matter of fact,” he said, “I happened to be cleaning an automatic revolver when you called up.”
“What a gay employment for Christmas night! Is that your idea of celebrating?”
“There happens to be nothing else for me to do tonight.”
“But there is. You are requested to make a call.”
“On whom?” he asked, quietly.
“On Mr. Drene.”
For a full minute he remained silent, although she spoke to him twice, thinking the connection might have been interrupted. Then his voice came, curiously altered:
“Who asked that of me?”
“Mr. Drene.”