"We can't risk even a match; it could be seen from the street," he said
brusquely, as he fumbled around for a moment in the darkness. "Ah--here
it is!" He lifted a telephone receiver from its hook, and gave a number.
Burton caught him quickly by the arm.
"Good Lord, man, what are you doing?" he protested anxiously. "That's
Mr. Maddon's house!"
"So I believe," said Jimmie Dale complacently. "Hello! Is Mr. Maddon
there? . . . I beg pardon? . . . Personally, yes, if you please."
There was a moment's wait. Burton's hand was still nervously clutching
at Jimmie Dale's sleeve. Then:
"Mr. Maddon?" asked Jimmie Dale pleasantly. "Yes? . . . I am very sorry
to trouble you, but I called you up to inquire if you were aware that
your rubies, and among them your Aracon, had been stolen? . . . I beg
pardon! . . . Rubies--yes. . . . You weren't. . . . Oh, no, I am quite
in my right mind; if you will take the trouble to open your safe you
will find they are gone--shall I hold the line while you investigate?
. . . What? . . . Don't shout, please--and stand a little farther away
from the mouthpiece." Jimmie Dale's tone was one of insolent composure
now. "There is really no use in getting excited. . . . I beg pardon? . . .
Certainly, this is the Gray Seal speaking. . . . What?" Jimmie Dale's
voice grew plaintive, "I really can't make out a word when you yell like
that.
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