“Excuse me,” he said to Mortimer, “I had forgotten I had to ring up Stanning!”
“Oh, dear,” said Mortimer from his place on the hearth rug where he was warming his coat tails in front of the fire, “isn’t that unfortunate? I wish I had known! Tut, tut, how annoying for you!”
The telephone seemed quite dead.
“I don’t understand!” said Desmond to Mortimer. “What’s annoying?”
“The telephone, my dear Bellward,”—Mortimer spoke in a pompous voice—“the telephone is the symbol of the age in which we live, the age of publicity but also of indiscretion. It is almost as indiscreet to have a telephone in your house as to keep a diary. Therefore, in view of our little party here this evening, to prevent us from being disturbed in any way, I took the liberty of... of severing the connection... temporarily, mind you, only temporarily; it shall be restored as soon as we break up. I have some small acquaintance with electrical engineering.”
Desmond was silent. Disappointment had deprived him for the moment of the power of speech. It was to be man to man then, after all. If he was to secure Mortimer and the rest of the gang that night, he must do it on his own. He could not hope for aid. The prospect did not affright him. If Mortimer could have seen the other’s eyes at that moment he might have remarked a light dancing in them that was not solely of Messrs. Pommery and Gréno’s manufacture.
“If I had known you wanted to use the instrument, my dear fellow,” Mortimer continued in his bland voice, “I should certainly have waited until you had done your business!”
“Pray don’t mention it,” replied Desmond, “you do well to be prudent, Mr. Mortimer!”
Mortimer shot a sudden glance at him. Desmond met it with a frank, easy smile.
“I’m a devil for prudence myself!” he observed brightly.