Evelyn Thompson yawned not too prettily as she lounged in front of the switchboard at the Hibiscus Hotel. Normally she was quite a pretty girl, but tonight her face was sullen, her lips poutiAg with discontent.

Still two and a half hours until midnight I Roger wouldn't wait. She knew darned well he wouldn't. Not for two whole hours. And there wasn't a chance in the world to get in touch with him and explain that things had gone haywire, that the other operator, who'd promised faithfully just that afternoon to relieve Evelyn at ten, so she could keep her date, had called up a while ago to say she had a headache and couldn't make it tonight.

A headache? Haw! And her voice all blurry with gin. Wait until she asked Evelyn for a similar favor. Just waiti That's all.

Evelyn yawned again and patted her open mouth delicately with flame-tipped fingers. Wouldn't be so bad if there was anything doing, but after nine o'clock at night at the Hibiscus in the off-season it was like running a switchboard in a morgue. Maybe there'd be half a dozen calls from partying rooms upstairs for more ice and soda before she went off at midnight. And that'd be all. For that, Evelyn had to sit here and miss her date with Roger.

And he'd be sore as the devil about it. This was distinctly not the proper point in her relationship with Roger to keep him waiting two hours with no explanation at all. She'd worked it so carefully up to now. Playing him along just enough-giving in to him a little more each date, but withdrawing into dignity just in time so now she really did have him all hot and bothered and worked up to the point where tonight A light flashed on the board in front of her. She stopped yawning and sat a little more erect and leaned forward negligently to plug in the connection. Room 360. That was Mr. Drood. "Drooling Drood," they called him. Not that he was so bad, but he did sort of seem to drool when he looked at a girl. Because his face was pufiEy and pink and always sweaty, and his full lips always looked wet.