"I'll call the cops!" Mike bellowed. "That's what I'll do!" He began to pace up and down. "I'll have that guy electrocuted!"
"I'm going out," Mort stormed, "and get the operator onna 'nother phone. I'll report that so-and-so, and they'll trace him down through the telephone company!"
He started for the door. Mike grabbed his arm.
"Waita minute!" he exclaimed. "We can't do that!"
Mort tore his arm from his partner's grasp. "What's stopping us?" he demanded.
"The State's Attorney's office!" Mike groaned. "Maybe it's a trap set by them skunks from the State's Attorney's office. Maybe it's the start of their telephone tracing of bookmakers!"
Sickly, Mort turned back. His face was still flushed, but three fourths of his steam was gone.
"Maybe you're right," he admitted. "And if so, what a helluva note this is!"
I couldn't hold back my curiosity any longe