.. she says that's the
secret. Good-bye! What am I?"
"Startled fawn," said Bean.
"Well, don't forget."
"I won't. I'll attend to my part all right."
He heard the fateful buzzing even before he opened the door of the
telephone booth. Breede was at it again. He walked coolly to his desk
for a note-book. Every one else in the office was showing nervousness.
He was the only man who could still the troubled waters. He would play
the waiting game; keep the future looking "bright and interesting."
Breede could do the rest.
"Buzz! Buzz-z-z-z! Buzz-z-z-z-z!" It sounded pretty vicious.
He entered Breede's room with his accustomed air of quiet service.
Breede did not glance at him. He began, as usual, to dictate before Bean
was seated.
"Letter T.J. Williams 'sistant sup'ntendent M.P. 'n' C. department C.
'n' L.M. rai'way Sh'-kawgo dear sir please note 'closed schej'l car
'pairin' make two copies send one don't take that an' let me have at y'r
earles c'nvenience--"
Apparently nothing at all had happened. He was at his old post, and
Breede did nothing but explode fragments of words as ever. No talk of
jail or betrayal of trust or of his morning's flagrant absence.
One might have thought that Breede himself played the waiting game. Or
perhaps Breede only toyed with him. He fastened his gaze on the criminal
cuffs. They were his rock of refuge in any cataclysm that might impend.
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