"Fancy
not answering a bell! They must hear it pealing away. Still, you have the
telephone. Why not ring up Scotland Yard direct?"
Dredlinton, dazed now with terror, took his fingers from the bell and
snatched up the telephone receiver. All the time his eyes were riveted
upon his companion's, their weak depths filled with a nameless horror.
"Quick!" he shouted down the receiver. "Scotland Yard! Put me straight
through to Scotland Yard!--Can you hear me, Exchange? I am Lord
Dredlinton, 1887 Mayfair. If I am cut off, ring through to Scotland
Yard yourself. Tell them I am in danger of my life! Tell them to rush
here at once!"
"Yes, they had better hurry," Wingate said tersely.
Dredlinton pulled down the hook of the receiver desperately.
"Can't you hear me, Exchange?" he shouted. "Quick! This is urgent!"
"Really," Wingate remarked, "the telephone people seem almost as
negligent as your servants."
The receiver slipped from the hysterical man's fingers. He collapsed into
a chair and leaned across the table.
"What does it mean?" he demanded hoarsely. "No one will answer the bell.
I seem to be speaking through the telephone to a dead world."
"If you really want some one, I dare say I can help you," Wingate
replied. "The telephone was disconnected by my orders, as soon as you had
spoken to Phipps' rooms.
Pages:
178
179
180
181
182
183
184
185
186
187
188
189
190
191
192
193
194
195
196
197
198
199
200
201
202