The Black Angel by Cornell Woolrich Page B

remained unchanged.
    Then what was this?
    It could be death, I knew. And I dreaded the thought of tracking down a dead man. Or it could be a severance of relations. I hoped, of the two, to find it was that. One thing was sure: that line meant something, was there for a reason, had not just been drawn through it idly.
    It came due at its appointed time, and its appointed time was now, five-thirty of a porcelain-blue evening. Hours had gone by in the preparations leading up to it, preparations that could not be seen by the eye, gave no outward sign, could have been mistaken for silent pondering or absent-minded reverie, but were active within me nevertheless.
    At the very end, as the moment for it drew nigh, I drew nearer to it by degrees. The telephone, I mean. I walked back and forth before it, murmuring to myself, memorizing a lesson under my breath. Sometimes looking up at the ceiling, sometimes down at the floor, as I did so. Turning every few paces and retracing my steps. Back and forth, back and forth, whispering under my breath.
    â€œIf the voice is young, sort of vital, resonant, the opening wedge is: ‘You don’t know me, but I feel as though I know you; I’ve heard so much about you.’ Then go on from there. The key is flirtatious, coquettish.
    â€œIf the voice is dry, lifeless, worn out, the opening wedge is: ‘I have some information which I feel may interest you.’ The key is a suggestion of pecuniary or personal advantage.
    â€œIf the voice is brisk, businesslike, impersonal, then the best approach is likewise direct, impersonal, without shadings or overtones. ‘My name is so-and-so; I would like to speak to you personally for a few moments.’
    â€œIf the voice is indeterminate, cannot be analyzed, fits into none of these categories, then the third approach, the direct, businesslike one, is still the best.”
    I had stopped parading now. I had it memorized.
    I sat down before the instrument and braced myself, one hand stiffly to each end of the small table it sat on.
    I thought of him , as I did each time. “Wish me luck, darling; maybe this will be it.” I took a deep preparatory breath. The dial wheel oscillated beneath my finger, and my thoughts oscillated with it. “If the voice is young, vibrant——If the voice is dry, reserved——If the voice is businesslike——”
    â€œHello?” There wasn’t enough to tell by.
    â€œIs Marty there?”
    â€œMarty who?”
    â€œJust Marty.”
    â€œYou’ll have to give me the last name.”
    I’d known I would; I’d been afraid of that, but I didn’t have it to give.
    I parried evenly with the question I’d prepared myself. “Who is this I’m speaking to, please?”
    â€œThis is the desk of the St. Albans Hotel.”
    â€œOh——” So all the rehearsal had been wasted. “Well, I have no second name. I’m trying to reach someone whom I know only as Marty. Couldn’t you help me just from that? Couldn’t you tell me if you have anyone registered with you whose first name is Marty?”
    â€œI don’t see how,” he said rather ungraciously.
    In this, from beginning to end, there was to be no acceptance of defeat. I knew already it must be that way. My mind was made up. There would be no such thing as a refusal, a slight, a rebuff. Or rather, they would have no power to hinder me.
    â€œI don’t see how I can help you. I’m rather busy at the moment.”
    I made my voice pleasantly reasonable. “This is important to me. It’s not a frivolous matter. It’s a serious matter. If I come down there myself, instead of taking up your time on the phone, won’t you please try to help me trace this person?”
    His own voice relented. “If you drop in I can have someone look over the registers for you.”
    It was a pleasantly prosperous-looking place, a residential-type hotel.