Vaguely he did, thought Rollison, but he made a non-committal noise, and allowed Selly to go on:

“Mr. Rollison, are you expecting a visit from a friend from Arizona?”

“From where?” asked Rollison, startled again. “From Tucson, Arizona.”

“I’m afraid I have to say that I’m not,” replied Rollison. “I’m not expecting a visitor from anywhere in America, and I don’t think I know anyone in Tucson —or Arizona, for that matter.” He wondered why a news-paperman should call to ask such a question, but news-papermen were strange creatures with insatiable appetites for new twists and angles, so he did not wonder deeply. “Why do you want to know?”

“Are you sure you don’t know anyone from Tucson, Arizona?” Selly sounded acutely disappointed. “I am positive,” insisted Rollison.

“This man’s name is Loman — L-O-M-A-N. Is he a friend of yours?”

“Not,” answered Rollison, feeling wide awake for the first time, “unless he has changed his name. Why do you think I know a Mr. Loman?”

“He said that he knew you,” Selly answered.

“Oh,” said Rollison, baffled. “And is he on the way to see me, do you say?”

“Yes,” replied the newspaperman, and he paused. Rollison had a feeling that he was going to ask again ‘You’re sure you don’t know the man’ but thought better of it. “Well, thank you,” Selly went on. “Goodbye, sir.”

He rang off.

Rollison put down his receiver, still puzzled and more than a little frustrated. Selly might at least have told him more about this Loman from Arizona. He was contemplating the wall without really seeing it when Jolly appeared again. Jolly was half a head shorter than Rollison, an elderly man who had sad-looking, dark brown eyes, deep lines all over his face and a dewlap which had become wizened; he had the general appearance of a man who had once been fat but, after much self-sacrifice, had become thin; and dyspeptic. He had served Rollison since his schooldays, and these men were close friends.