V
To begin all over again was a predicament which not infrequently occurred in Kestner's profession. It involved, as a rule, work that was neither romantic nor engaging. But he was compelled to accept it as part of the game. And in the end, out of the humdrum greyness of the commonplace arose the pillaring flame of the unexpected.
So it was with heightened spirits that Kestner slipped into a street-corner drug-store and for the third time in three hours called up his hotel and got Wilsnach on the wire.
"What have you picked up?" was Kestner's quick but casual demand.
"Not a thing," was the answer over the wire.
"And nothing has happened?"
"Nothing but two solid hours of Chopin nocturnes," was the plaintively disgusted reply. "And a neck-ache from wearing this helmet!"
"And you can get nothing now?"
"Not a sound—the lady, doubtless, having gone to bed."
"And not a caller, or a phone-call to the room?"
"Not one. I couldn't have missed it!"
"Good! I was afraid Sadie Wimpel might double back with those plates. But Sadie knows her busi-
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