Hopscotch

— 13 -

Both telephone booths had OUT OF ORDER placards on them. Ross motioned Ives into the first one at 4:55 and stepped into the adjoining booth. “Operator?”

“Yes sir. I’m all ready to institute your trace as soon as we get a ring on that line.”

“Fine.” Then he turned on the tape recorder and waited.

Ives obeyed instructions: he let it ring four times and then picked it up. Ross picked up simultaneously, watching Ives through the double glass.

“Hello?”

“Deposit eighty-five cents, please.”

The money bonged distantly; then Ives spoke: “Kendig?”

“Did our publishers go the price, Mr. Ives?”

“Yes. I’m happy to say I’ve got a sweet batch of contracts for you. In fact I even managed to-”

“Never mind, I’m in a hurry. Just answer my questions yes or no. Did those people from Washington get back to you again?”

“Yes.”

“Did you tell them the truth?”

“Yes.”

“Have all the publishers received the fifty-one pages? No sidetracked manuscripts?”

“Yes.”

“Good. Are they listening in on this call right now?”

“Yes.”

Ross gritted his teeth.

Then he heard Kendig laugh. “That’s fine, Mr. Ives. I’ll be in touch again.”

Click.

Ross tapped the cradle. “Operator? Operator?”

“Yes sir. We couldn’t trace the individual phone I’m afraid-there wasn’t time. But we’ve got the area code and we might have the town for you in a few minutes.”

“What’s the area code? Where was it?”

“Georgia, sir.”

Ross grinned. It was all fitting together now.