by Clee Garson
Mike and Mort at that moment.
It was a little after five o'clock, five-fifteen, to be exact,when--work or no work--the thing hit me. Bang! Like that I knew what'dbeen in the back of my mind.
How in the name of blazes had the telephone loony been able to stay onthat wire so indefinitely? Why hadn't the operator broken in to endthe connection each time Mort or Mike hung up? It seemed logical thatshe would have done so. The loony couldn't have just held onto thetelephone and been right on tap the moment Mort or Mike picked up thehook. The loony could have called them, of course, but it would havebeen impossible for him to be on hand every time they picked up thetelephone when it hadn't been ringing!
I left my typewriter, not even bothering to remove the page in it, andhurried out of the office. Downstairs I found the "cigar store"completely deserted except for Mike and Mort. The day's races wereover, and dice customers who were willing enough to roll cubes inoffice time, had headed homeward.
"Brother," Mort greeted me, "you were right and how!"
"About the loony--" I began.
"That's right," Mort said. "He was as loony a loony as I've ever heardof. We finally got rid of him."
"Got rid of him?" I blurted the question.
"Yeah," Mort nodded. "And I hope for good. He just faded off, abouthalf an hour after his voice began to get dimmer and dimmer, and thatwas that."
"But--" I began.
"And wait'll you hear who that bug thought he was."
"Gabby who?" I asked.
"Gabby, nuts. I messed it up the first time. He thought he wasGabriel, the _Angel_ Gabriel, no less!" Mort exclaimed, tapping theside of his head.
"The Angel Gabriel?" I echoed.
Mort nodded. "And guess who he was calling for?"
"Don't tell me," I said.
"That's right," Mort declared. "He said he was God's secretary,Gabriel, calling from Heaven for his boss. He said his boss wanted totalk to Hitler and Mussolini!"
* * * * *
I blinked. "And what was God 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 fakeAngel Gabriel--that his boss just wanted to tell those two jerks,Adolf and Benito, that enough was enough and they were dead ducks forsure."
"What made this Gabriel from the nut house get so confidential all ofa sudden?" I demanded. "He wouldn't tell his business at all atfirst."
"This'll kill you," Mort said. "The connection, like I say, keptgetting fainter and fainter, and our goofy Gabriel said it was fadingoff and that we'd have to hand the message on to Hitler and Mussolinifor his boss, if we couldn't bring the two jerks to the phone to hearit in person."
"Did he bother to explain," I asked, "why he didn't call Adolf andBenito directly, if his boss wanted to tell them off?"
"So help me," Mort declared, "he did. He said that with the war allover our globe like it is, there was a lot of space interferenceeverywhere preventin' communication. He said he couldn't be choosy,and had to use any wire he could get through to. It happened to beours. Can you beat it?"
I shook my head slowly. "No," I said, "I can't. But what trick couldhe have used to stay on the phone indefinitely, connected right toyour 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 besome explana--" His sentence stopped abruptly, and he and Mike seemedto be looking over my shoulder.
I turned, to see an overall clad chap carrying a canvas toolbag juststepping through the door. He smiled cheerfully at the three of us.
"I'm the man from the telephone company," he said amiably. "I got herea little earlier today, missed you last night. Had to have the nightelevator operator let me into your store. Hope you weren't tooinconvenienced today."
"What's it all about?" Mort demanded. "What do you mean? You knowabout the loony?"
The telephone man had stopped by the booth. He was opening his toolbag. 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 allthis. All I know is that I was in here last night to disconnect yourtelephone temporarily, and I'm back again tonight to return it toservice. I saw your "Out of Order" sign there, so I thought you'dexpected me and knew all about it."
* * * * *
Mort stepped forward. His face a curious picture of bewilderment anddisbelief, he asked:
"Wait a minute! You mean to say this telephone hasn't been connectedall day today?"
The telephone man nodded. "That's right. But I'm putting it back inorder now."
"We got calls over that phone today!" Mike asserted vigorously. "Itcouldn't have been disconnected."
The telephone man chuckled. "Good joke. You couldn't have received acall over this telephone. It would have been utterly impossible. Itwas completely disconnected." He went on tool sorting.
Mike was looking at Mort. Mort was looking at the telephone man. I waslooking at all three, and the telephone man was unconcernedly takingout wires from his bag.
"You--you aren't kidding?" Mort's voice came choked. "This was reallydisconnected?"
The telephone man shoved the booth a little to one side, grabbed somewires then visible beneath the booth, and pulled them forth. They wereall neatly severed, with the ends taped.
Mike and Mort were staring at the severed ends of the wires, then atone another.
"Mike," said Mort, "I think it is a good idea we should get drunk."
"My old lady," said Mike, "used to believe in this sort of stuff.Maybe she wasn't such a dope."
Mort nodded. "My old man, too."
Neither said a word to me. Neither spoke to the telephone man. Theyjust walked out, arm in arm, never looking back once, even at the cashregister.
I understand they got drunk that night. But I understand Mike kept hisulcer carefully under the explosive line, so that he passed theenlistment exams the following morning. Mort left his medicalstatements home, and of course a direct exam showed him nicely suitedfor the army. They were inducted by noon that day, and on their way tocamp by dinner time.
They left that sign on the door. The sign that puzzled so very manypeople, even to the "God Bless America" on it. For Mike and Mort wereas little known for their religious leanings as they'd been for theirpatriotic urgings.
Relatives of the two, I am told, disposed of the store's stock andequipment. Mort didn't discuss any of that in the short note he leftfor me before leaving with Mike.
"Dear Chum:
Of course when you get a message like we got, and are told to pass it along personally to the two jerks it was intended for, there's nothing else you can do. We'll see that it gets to Adolf and Benito--for Gabriel's boss.
Mort & Mike."
* * * * *
