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Tilting her head to the side, she studied the shimmering featherweight cat's cradle of jewel-green ribbons that hung there. Wear it? What was it? She reflected, found her dressing gown in one of the suitcases, slipped it on, sat down before the ComWeb with the mysterious ribbon arrangement, and dialed Gaya's number. The Intelligence girl was in her cabin and obviously had been napping.
A member of the audience was requested to dial a number, and choose 5551-T, the letter T representing the exchange. This number the spectator dialed on the phone Mr. Grace carried. There was no sound but the clicking of the dial. Then, two seconds later, the loudspeaker spoke up clearly, in an almost human voice, "5551 T."
Might be useful as a spy, or for information though of course it's too late now to do anything, so the hell with it." He pulled a pistol-shaped hypodermic gun from the box and dialed a number on the side. "Now, if you'll roll her sleeve up I'll bring her back to life." He pressed the bell-shaped sterilizing muzzle against her skin and pulled the trigger.
Finding Gutchall's address in the directory, he lifted the telephone, and stretched his handkerchief over the mouthpiece. Then he dialed Police Headquarters. "This is Blake Hartley," he lied, deepening his voice and copying his father's tone. "Frank Gutchall, who lives at...take this down" he gave Gutchall's address "has just borrowed a pistol from me, ostensibly to shoot a dog. He has no dog.
Nelda was at the wheel, and Gladys, beside her on the front seat, raised a white-gloved hand in the thumbs-up salute. Rand gave it back, and watched the car swing around the house. Then he mopped his face with a wad of Kleenex and went over to the room-temperature thermostat, turning it down to sixty. Sitting down at the desk, he dialed Humphrey Goode's number on the private outside line.
Walters was staring at Rand in horror, saying nothing. Rand picked up the outside phone and dialed the same number he had called from the Rivers place that morning. "Is Sergeant McKenna about?... He is? Fine; I'd like to speak to him.... Oh, hello, Mick; Jeff Rand." McKenna chuckled out of the receiver. "Sort of slipped one over on you, didn't I?" he gloated.
Every time he now called his friend's cellular telephone number there was no answer. Seong Seob had a program that would instantaneously change letters into sound every time the computer dialed into a server but every time he e- mailed him there was no response. "So little did one know a person," he thought.
I'm going to call for an emergency session of the Grand Council this afternoon, and I'll want you sitting in on it; I want to talk to you about plans now." He considered for a moment. "There's too much of a crowd at O'Reilly's, now; come the church way." Breaking the connection, Cardon dialed again.
I doubt if there was anyone he could really call a friend, or to whom he could talk in full confidence." "Except possibly that bird you told ..." his father began, absently, when Hanlon interrupted with a whoop. "Hey, that's it!" He jumped up and ran to the visiphone, and dialed the zoo. "Bring that toogan of Bohr's back to Base!" "What, again?" the indignant curator asked.
Belsely, can get for us that none of the rest of us can get. That is, do the real-estate agent and the ice-cream man know each other, and in particular, are they friendly? He could ask around town without causing suspicion." "I'll ask him right now," Dr. Miller replied. He went to the telephone in the big farm kitchen and dialed. After a moment he said, "Clara?... Is Tim there?"
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