Very Cold for May

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Jake Harrison picked up his hat and coat from the cloakroom attendant and was walking across the lobby of the Saxon Club when he heard his name called. He turned as a blue-uniformed page hurried to his side.

“Call for you, Mr. Harrison. A Mr. Noble.”

Jake hesitated and in that fraction of time a good deal of his amiability departed. Finally, he said, “Okay, thanks,” and went over to the bank of phones beside the elevator.

Before lifting the receiver he checked through the events of the day in an attempt to guess what Noble wanted him for; but the day had been without incident, neither more nor less frantic than usual.

Shrugging, he lifted the phone and told the club operator he was on the line. She asked him to wait a moment and he heard a click as the connection was made. Then Gary Noble’s voice blasted into his ear.

“Jake? How soon can you get down to the office?”

“Oh, hell,” Jake said.

“Jake, I wouldn’t bother you if it wasn’t important.”

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