He was
racing like a madman now. How long ago, how many hours ago, had they
done that! Great Scott, SHE was to have telephoned! Had she done so? Was
the game, all, everything, she herself, at their mercy already? If she
had telephoned, Jason would have left a message on his desk--he would
look there first--afterward he would waken Jason.
He gained the door of his den on the first landing, a room that ran the
entire length of one side of the house from front to rear, burst in,
switched on the light---and stood stock-still in amazement.
"Jason!" he cried out.
The old butler, fully dressed, rubbing and blinking his eyes at the
light, and with a startled cry, rose up from the depths of a lounging
chair.
"Jason!" exclaimed Jimmie Dale again.
"I beg pardon, sir, Master Jim," stammered the man. "I--I must have
fallen asleep, sir."
"Jason, what are you doing here?" Jimmie Dale demanded sharply.
"Well, sir," said Jason, still fumbling for his words, "it--it was the
telephone, sir."
"The--TELEPHONE!"
"Yes, sir. A woman, begging your pardon, Master Jim, a lady, sir, has
been telephoning every hour or so, and she--"
"YES!" Jimmie Dale had jumped across the room and had caught the other
fiercely by the shoulder. "Yes--yes! What did she say? QUICK, man!"
"Good Lord, Master Jim!" faltered Jason. "I--she--"
"Jason," said Jimmie Dale, suddenly as cold as ice, "what did she say?
Think, man! Every word!"
"She didn't say anything, Master Jim.
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