Another pause, a jumble of meaningless words, then a chuckle. God! Asa’s familiar chuckle!
“On duty. All O-O—all O—”
A light laugh, a sharp buzzing sound, a sigh, the faint tinkle of a bell, then silence!
Dunlap heard no click of a receiver being replaced on a hook. The line was apparently still open.
Still holding the receiver to his ear, the captain moistened his dry lips with the tip of his tongue. His free hand went involuntarily to his forehead in a vague uncertain gesture and came away damp with perspiration. Must he answer that ghost call? Must he speak to the thing that held the line.
When he at last spoke his voice was husky, a strange voice even to him:
“Who—who did it, Asa? Who—who—if you are dead—if this is you, Asa, tell me—who did it.”
Again that queer, unfamiliar buzzing sound. Then, from Old Tower Number Three, or from beyond the grave perhaps, came a faint, whispering, uncertain voice:
“He—he—it was....”
The voice ended in a gurgle.