12:15 a.m. —To Watch by Night
Lieutenant Valcour refreshed his memory from the leather reference book and then dialled the number.
“ Mr. Thomas Hollander?” he said, when a man’s voice answered him. It was a smooth, soft voice, and he suspected that further words beyond the initial “hello” would reveal a Southern accent.
“Who is calling, please?” went on the voice, making the expected latitudinal revelation.
“I have a message from the home of Mr. Herbert Endicott for Mr. Thomas Hollander. Will you ask him to come to the phone, please?”
“One moment.”
“Certainly.”
Lieutenant Valcour drew stars on a scratch pad while he waited. He wondered idly what secret powers or hidden vices they would disclose if examined by a trained graphologist. He made quite a good star and drew exciting rays out from its points. That would undoubtedly show, he told himself, that he was a nosey, mean-spirited, and cold-hearted sleuth hound. What an infernal time it took to get Hollander to the telephone! Had the line gone dead? Ah …
“Yes?” It was a deeper voice, this time, and held no promise, or threat, of Southern softnesses.
“ Mr. Thomas Hollander?”