CHAPTER NINE
Breach In The WallThe dim and stuffy local crawled to a stop at sixteen minutes to nine. Gamadge hurried up the ramp and across the concourse to the nearest telephone. He called the Fenway number.
Mott Fenway answered. “Who is it? Who is it?” He sounded eager.
Gamadge replied in a kind of gobbling voice that astonished himself: “This is Charles Hendrix speaking, from the Vernon Club. Is this Mr. Mott Fenway?”
“Yes. Is this really Hendrix?”
“Himself.”
“You sound as if you had a bad cold, Hendrix.” The old gentleman chuckled.
“Touch of laryngitis. That bridge game, Fenway; could you join us tomorrow instead of Tuesday?”
“Tomorrow will suit me, old man.”
“Er—as soon after nine as I can get there.”
“You always were a punctual fellow.”
The chuckling laugh was in Gamadge’
