Part 4 (1/2)

”That's right,” Mort declared. ”He said he was G.o.d's secretary, Gabriel, calling from Heaven for his boss. He said his boss wanted to talk to Hitler and Mussolini!”

I blinked. ”And what was G.o.d going to tell those lice?”

”To take it on the lam, or else!” Mike broke in.

”No fooling?”

”So help me!” Mort swore. ”What a loony. He went on to say--this fake Angel Gabriel--that his boss just wanted to tell those two jerks, Adolf and Benito, that enough was enough and they were dead ducks for sure.”

”What made this Gabriel from the nut house get so confidential all of a sudden?” I demanded. ”He wouldn't tell his business at all at first.”

”This'll kill you,” Mort said. ”The connection, like I say, kept getting fainter and fainter, and our goofy Gabriel said it was fading off and that we'd have to hand the message on to Hitler and Mussolini for his boss, if we couldn't bring the two jerks to the phone to hear it in person.”

”Did he bother to explain,” I asked, ”why he didn't call Adolf and Benito directly, if his boss wanted to tell them off?”

”So help me,” Mort declared, ”he did. He said that with the war all over our globe like it is, there was a lot of s.p.a.ce interference everywhere preventin' communication. He said he couldn't be choosy, and had to use any wire he could get through to. It happened to be ours. Can you beat it?”

I shook my head slowly. ”No,” I said, ”I can't. But what trick could he have used to stay on the phone indefinitely, connected right to your wire, even after you hung up on him each time?” And then, briefly, I explained the rest of my puzzle over that little item.

”If you can figure that out,” I concluded, ”we'll have to admit that, loony or not, he was nothing less than a mad genius.”

Mort shrugged. ”I'm no telephone man,” he said, ”but there must be some explana--” His sentence stopped abruptly, and he and Mike seemed to be looking over my shoulder.

I turned, to see an overall clad chap carrying a canvas toolbag just stepping through the door. He smiled cheerfully at the three of us.

”I'm the man from the telephone company,” he said amiably. ”I got here a little earlier today, missed you last night. Had to have the night elevator operator let me into your store. Hope you weren't too inconvenienced today.”

”What's it all about?” Mort demanded. ”What do you mean? You know about the loony?”

The telephone man had stopped by the booth. He was opening his tool bag. He looked up.

”Loony? No, I'm sorry, I don't know anything about any loony.”

”Who called himself the Angel Gabriel?” Mike broke in.

The telephone man smiled up at us in genial bewilderment.

”I'm sorry, gentlemen,” he said, ”I don't quite get the drift of all this. All I know is that I was in here last night to disconnect your telephone temporarily, and I'm back again tonight to return it to service. I saw your ”Out of Order” sign there, so I thought you'd expected me and knew all about it.”

Mort stepped forward. His face a curious picture of bewilderment and disbelief, he asked: