After putting the phone down he realised, of course, that he had forgotten to find the chisel before getting into the bath. Jean was going to be cross enough already. If she discovered that he had made the mess while cutting the cancer off with her special scissors she would be incandescent.
The chisel, however, was in the cellar, and the cellar was a long way away.
He wondered whether he had remembered to put the phone down.
Then he wondered whether he had got around to remembering his address before putting the phone down. Assuming that he had indeed put the phone down.
They could trace calls.
At least they could in films.
But in films you could make someone pass out by squeezing their shoulder.
He caught sight of himself in the hall mirror and wondered why a crazy, old, naked, bleeding man was standing next to their phone table.