Tom’s captor snatched the phone away and slammed it back on the hook.
“All right, smart boyl That’s enough!” he growled, glaring at Tom.
Back at Enterprises, Ames hung up thoughtfully. Tom’s reply to his last question about Mirov having “friends around town” had convinced TELEPHONE CODE 95
Ames that the young inventor was a prisoner, speaking under duress.
Moreover, it had seemed as if someone else’s breathing was faintly audible in the background, close to the phone.
But what message had Tom tried to convey?
As a routine security-department precaution, Ames’s phone was connected to a recorder which automatically taped all calls. Now, while he pondered the problem, Ames pressed a foot-treadle switch to play back the conversation.
Meanwhile, Tom and his captor waited tensely. From time to time the latter glanced at his watch. “Better hope that call does the trick, Swift,” he muttered.
“It’s the only hope you got of leavin’ here alive 1”
“How will you know if they’ve turned Mirov loose?” Tom asked. He was wondering if he might persuade his captor to let him make a second call.
“Don’t worry. Mirov knows how to contact me.”
Half an hour dragged by-then forty minutes. Suddenly the door buzzer rang sharply. The man jerked to attention, obviously startled. He glanced at Tom, then toward the direction of the sound, moistening his lips nervously.
“He must have been expecting just a phone call,” Tom decided.
The buzzer shrilled again. This time the man got up from his chair, gagged Tom hastily with a handkerchief, and went to the door.