Soames was not fully satisfied. He selected an evening when Mrs. Leroux was absent—and indeed she was absent almost every evening, for Leroux entertained but little. The cook and the housemaid were absent, also; therefore, to all intents and purposes, Soames had the flat to himself; since Henry Leroux counted in that establishment, not as an entity, but rather as a necessary, if unornamental, portion of the fittings.
Standing in the lobby, Soames raised the telephone receiver, and having paused with closed eyes preparing the exact form of words in which he should address his invisible employer, he gave the number: East 18642.
Following a brief delay:—
“Yes,” came a nasal voice, “who is it?”
“Soames! I want to speak to Mr. King!”
The words apparently surprised the man at the other end of the wire, for he hesitated ere inquiring:—
“What did you say your name was?”
“Soames—Luke Soames.”
“Hold on!”
Soames, with closed eyes, and holding the receiver to his ear, silently rehearsed again the exact wording of his speech. Then:—
“Hullo!” came another voice—“is that Mr. Soames?”
“Yes! Is that Mr. Gianapolis speaking?”
“It is, my dear Soames!” replied the sing-song
