condensed master

Will Bonner
Don looked at it. "It's a Melbourne number, it should be easy. I know just the
person wiv the "know how" to do it. I fink I can get him now - actually he's in the
office down below." Will didn't have long to wait before Don thrust a piece of
paper in his hand as he passed. It had an address in Donvale written on it.
"Thanks Don, I owe you one."
"Don't fink anyfink of it."
During the course of the day Will applied for a sick day off on Monday. There
was never any problem getting a day off in a government establishment that was
officially due. It was Friday, giving him the weekend to sort himself out. On
Saturday Will bought a street guide, and during the quiet of Sunday morning drove
out to Donvale and located the address. He remained in his car some distance
away and observed, not wanting to be recognized.
What appeared to be an office, with the front window partially painted, to
prevent anyone from looking directly inside, was nestled amongst a small group of
rural type shops. The name painted in the centre of the white section matched the
address on the envelope. There was plenty of places he could park on Monday
out of sight, but still close to the office. If it was just somewhere to take phone
calls Will would have wasted his time, but he had to take the chance.
On Monday morning Dorothy left as usual around 8 o'clock to catch a train
into the city, and Will wasted no time in getting underway with the thought that Ed
would more than likely be either at the address or perhaps collecting messages
during the early part of the morning. As he drove past the shop he couldn't believe
his eyes. There was Ed's car parked outside! Will's heart started pounding, and
after parking, he contemplated sitting for awhile to gain his composure, but the
thought of missing Ed galvanized him into action.
The car was still there thank heavens! Hesitating for a second, Will pushed
open the front door. The office was of medium size with a large old-fashioned
desk in the centre of the room and sundry upright chairs placed around in no
particular order. A corridor leading to the rear and a small telephone exchange
console, indicated that there could be other offices in the building.
Seated at the console, engaged in conversation on the telephone, was an old
man dressed in a khaki shirt with rolled up sleeves and braces, which were holding
up a pair of well worn, heavy duty, belted trousers. His hair was completely grey,
and his face and arms, tanned and wrinkled. He placed the telephone back on it's
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