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Reeve, Arthur B. (Arthur Benjamin), 1880-1936

"Guy Garrick"


Garrick seized me and pulled me down, a strong hint to be quiet.
Too surprised to remonstrate, since nothing happened, I waited,
breathless.
"Yes, but that is better than to be too late. Besides, we've got
to watch that Garrick," said another voice. "He might be around."
Garrick chuckled.
I had noticed a peculiar metallic ring in the voices.
"Where are they?" I whispered, "On the landing below?"
Garrick laughed outright, not boisterously, but still in a way
which to me was amazing in its bravado, if the tenants were really
so near.
"What's this?" I asked.
"Don't you recognize it?" he answered.
"Yes," I said doubtfully. "I suppose it's like that thing we used
down at the Old Tavern."
"Only more so," nodded Garrick, aloud, yet careful not to raise
his voice, as before, so as not to disturb the flat dwellers below
us. "A vocaphone."
"A vocaphone?" I repeated.
"Yes, the little box that hears and talks," he explained. "It does
more than the detectaphone. It talks right out, you know, and it
works both ways.


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