Indeed, I scarce know anything that gives a lower view of man's intelligence than to overhear (as you thus do) one side of a communication.
"Central," said the attorney, "2241 and 584 B" (or some such numbers)--"Who's that ?--All right--Mr.Bellairs--Occidental; the wires are fouled in the other place--Yes, about three minutes--Yes--Yes--Your figure, I am sorry to say--No--I had no authority--Neither more nor less--I have every reason to suppose so--O, Pinkerton, Montana Block--Yes--Yes--Very good, sir--As you will, sir--Disconnect 584 B." Bellairs turned to leave; at sight of me behind him, up flew his hands, and he winced and cringed, as though in fear of bodily attack.

"O, it's you!" he cried; and then, somewhat recovered, "Mr.Pinkerton's partner, I believe?
I am pleased to see you, sir--to congratulate you on your late success." And with that he was gone, obsequiously bowing as he passed.
And now a madcap humour came upon me.

It was plain Bellairs had been communicating with his principal; I knew the number, if not the name; should I ring up at once, it was more than likely he would return in person to the telephone; why should not I dash (vocally) into the presence of this mysterious person, and have some fun for my money.

I pressed the bell.
"Central," said I, "connect again 2241 and 584 B." A phantom central repeated the numbers; there was a pause, and then "Two two four one," came in a tiny voice into my ear--a voice with the English sing-song--the voice plainly of a gentleman.

"Is that you again, Mr.Bellairs ?" it trilled.