“But his voice—Jim, you have got to learn to imitate that voice.” “And then what?” “Then cut in, presumably from Ottenheimer’s own house, and casually ask, say, Phipps, the second salesman, and head of the shipping department, just what your safe-combination happens to be. It has slipped your memory, you see?” “And Phipps, naturally, in such a case, will ring up Central and verify the call.” “Not necessarily. At the first call from him we shall cut his wire!” “Which cuts us off, and gives us away, as soon as a special messenger can deliver a message and a lineman trace up the trouble.” “Then why cut him off at all? If that’s too risky, should the worst come to the worst, we can tell Central it’s a case of crossed wires, bewilder her a bit, and then shut ourselves off.” “I believe you’ve almost got it.” “But can you get anywhere near that voice?” “Listen, Frank; how’s this?” He drew in his chin, half-laughingly, and throwing his voice into a whining yet businesslike guttural, spoke through an imaginary transmitter to an imaginary Phipps. “That would never, never do!” cried the other, despairingly. “He’s a German Jew, if you have noticed—he sounds his w’s like w’s, and not like v’s, but he makes his _r_’s like w’s.” “Oh, I have it,” broke in Durkin, from a silent contemplation of his desk-’phone. “We’ll just release the binding-posts on our transmitter a little, and, let’s say, keep the electrode-bearing a trifle slack—fix things up, I mean, so that any voice will sound as tinny as a phonograph—decompose it, so to speak. Then, if necessary, we can lay it to the fact that the wires are out of order somewhere!” “Good, but when—when can we do it?” Durkin paced the room with his old-time, restless, animal-like stride, while Frances readjusted her receiver and restlessly took her seat in the wicker rocker once more. “This is Friday. That leaves Saturday night the only possible night for the—er—invasion. Then, you see, we get a whole day for a margin. First, we’ve got to find out exactly what time Ottenheimer himself leaves the place, and whether it’s Phipps, or some one else, who closes up, and just what time he does it.” “They close at half-past five on Saturdays. Ottenheimer has already made an engagement for tomorrow, about five at the Astor, with an importer, to doctor up some invoice or other.” “We could make that do; though, of course, any one in his office would be more likely to suspect a call from the Astor, being a public place. You must find out, definitely, this afternoon, just who it is closes up tomorrow. Then we must get hold of some little business detail or two, to fling in at him in case he has any suspicions.” “That shouldn’t be so very difficult. Though I do wish you could get something nearer Ottenheimer’s voice!”