"Oh, I'm so glad! I was getting horribly nervous. How is he?"
"Good Heavens! I was afraid he might be. What do you think?"
"Of course I must trust you. But we must never let my wife know."
"I'll think about it and let you know."
"Quite likely. I'll go into that and let you know. She can't be absolutely alone anyway. There must be another some time."
"And what do you propose to do now?"
"You're sure it will be painless?"
"I wouldn't have him suffer for anything."
"Thank you very much. I shall tell my wife he died in his sleep. Good-bye."
What, I wonder, would you have made of that? Some telephone conversations are easy to construct, but this to me was a puzzle. What had Anderson been up to? It must be an awful moment, I have often thought as I read divorce and other cases, when a friend is suddenly turned into a witness; and I had the feeling that that might be my lot now. Those clever cross-examining devils, they can get anything out of you. If Anderson had known who was ringing him up he would probably (so I reasoned) have got me out of the room; but, having once started, he decided to brazen it out as the less suspicious way.