perusing one of the morning papers which he had picked up from the table beside him.
Kestner had not read more than a quarter of a column before he let the paper drop in his lap, and sat listening, with his head a little on one side. Thinly but distinctly, along the thread of silk-covered copper which connected the receiver at his ear with the dictophone transmitter concealed behind the window-curtains in the room below, came the sound of a piano. Kestner, as he continued to listen, recognised the air. It was Rubinstein's Barcarole, and it was being extremely well played.
The piano-music continued, stopped, and began again. Then still again it stopped. Kestner, as he dropped his paper, caught the distinct and unmistakable sound of a door being closed.
Then came the sound of voices, thin but clear, over that connecting thread of copper. And with the opening words, Kestner knew it was Cherry Dreiser alias Sadie Wimpel alias Puggy Mason who was speaking.
"How's that for stealin' a base?" demanded the pert and slightly nasal voice of the shover for the Lambert counterfeiters. Her inquiry was followed by a chuckle of satisfaction.
"Are you sure you weren't noticed?" It was Maura Lambert's voice that sounded next, deeper and fuller-noted than the other woman's.
"Dead sure! I beat it up to the seventh floor; then I walked down three. An' when I meets a floor-skirt on the stairs I brush by with a Chilcoot stare that leaves her frozen to the marble!"
