“Yes.”
“This is the home of Mr. Herbert Endicott, Mr. Hollander.”
“Yes?”
“And I am Lieutenant Valcour talking—of the police.”
The deadness of the wire became a pause of the first magnitude. Then:
“Well, Lieutenant, what’s it all about?”
“It is about Mr. Endicott, Mr. Hollander.”
“Yes?”
“Yes.”
Another pause.
“He’s dead?”
“Dead? Why no, Hollander. Were you expecting him to be?”
“What do you mean by ‘expecting him to be’? Certainly I wasn’t. Please come down to facts, Lieutenant.”
“I was about to. Mr. Endicott has suffered a heart attack brought on by some sudden shock. His condition is serious, and Dr. Worth, who is attending him, insists that some friend be at hand when Mr. Endicott recovers consciousness.”
“You mean”—the voice was speaking very carefully now—“in addition to Mrs. Endicott?”
“No, unfortunately Mrs. Endicott cannot be present.”
Again a pause, and then: