Langston’s face was utterly still, but the creamy skin had gone a shade paler, and I had an odd impression she was having to fight for the composure she showed. She looked away.

“Is something wrong?” I asked.

“Oh,” she said. She shook her head and forced a smile. “No. I’m all right It’s just the heat.”

She turned the registration card round and looked at it. “San Francisco?” she said. “And how are you standing the heat, Mr. Chatham?”

“So you’ve been there?” I asked.

She nodded. “Once—in August. All I had was summer clothes, and I almost froze. But I loved it; I think it’s a fascinating city.” She reached back and took a key from one of the pigeonholes. “Take Number Twelve,” she said.

“I’d better pay you now,” I said. “How much is it?”

She started to reply, but the telephone rang. The effect on her was almost startling. She went rigid, as if she had been sluiced in the back with iced water, and just for an instant I could see the terror in her eyes. It was on the desk, just to the left of her. It rang again, shrilling insistently, and she slowly forced herself to reach out a hand and pick it up.

“Magnolia Lodge,” she said in a small voice.

Then the color went out of her face, all of it. She swayed, and I reached out across the desk to try to catch her, thinking she was about to fall, but she merely collapsed onto the stool behind it. She tried to put the receiver back on the cradle, but missed. It lay on the blotter with faint sounds issuing from it while she put her face down in her hands and shuddered.

I picked it up. I knew I had no business doing it, but it was pure reflex, and I already had a suspicion as to what I’d hear. I was right.

It was an unidentifiable whisper, vicious, obscene, and taunting, and the filth it spewed up would make you sick. I thought I heard something else, too, in the background. In a minute the flow of sewage halted, and the whisper asked, “Are you hearing me all right, honey? Tell me how you like it.”

I clamped a hand over the receiver and leaned over the desk. Touching her on the arm, I said, “Answer him,” and held the instrument before her.

She raised her head, but could only stare at me in horror. I shook her shoulder. “Go on,” I ordered. “Say something. Anything at all.”

She nodded. I removed my hand from the receiver.