“I—I don’t know.”
Babbing slowed his pace. “My name ’s Thomas Oliphant,” he said. “We ’ll get a table near him. Then you go to the telephone and call up the office—one-seven-three-one Desbrosses—and get Chal Snider. Tell him I ’m in the dining-room here, and I want to be paged as Thomas Sullivan. Make him insist on the ‘Thomas.’ Don’t forget that. Tell him they ’ve paged me as Sullivan and I don’t answer. Then join me at the table. Sullivan ’ll stop the boy again. I ’ll break in on him. I ’m expecting a call. There ’s probably a mistake in the name. Thomas Sullivan for Thomas Oliphant. Do you understand? That ’ll give us an introduction to him. Where is he? Don’t point.”
They were at the dining-room door. “There he is. Over at that last window.”
“I see. I ’m your rich uncle from Kansas City. You ’re Barney Cook, my New York nephew. Go ahead and telephone. Get me a Tribune.“ And Babbing, refusing the
