The wires ran through the sill close to the corner of
the wall--tiny fragments of wood, as from an auger, were still on the
sill--and here was a small particle of wire insulation that, those
sensitive finger tips proclaimed, was FRESH.
A cold thrill ran through Jimmie Dale; and there came again that
sickening sense of impotency in the face of the malignant, devilish
cunning arrayed against him, that once before he had experienced, that
night. He had thought to forestall them--and he had been forestalled
himself! This could only have been done--they had had no interest in
him before then--while they held him at the Crime Club, while he was
spending that two hours in the car! Was that why they had taken so long
in coming? Was that why the car had stopped that time--that those with
him might be told that the work here had been completed, and he need no
longer be kept away?
He edged away from the window, and, as cautiously as he had come,
retraced his steps across the cellar and up the stairs--and then, the
possibility of being heard from without gone, he broke into a run. There
was no need to wonder long what those wires meant. They could mean only
one of two things--and the Crime Club would have little concern in his
electric light! THEY HAD TAPPED HIS TELEPHONE. The mains, he knew,
ran into the cellar from the underground service in the street.
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