Nothing at all, sir--except to
keep asking each time if she could speak to you."
"Nothing else, Jason?"
"No, sir."
"You are SURE?"
"I'm sure, Master Jim. Not another thing but that, sir, just as I've
told you."
"Thank God!" said Jimmie Dale, in a low voice.
"Yes, sir," said Jason mechanically.
"How long ago was it since she telephoned last?" asked Jimmie Dale
quickly.
"Well, sir, I couldn't rightly say. You see, as I said, Master Jim, I
must have gone to sleep, but--"
They were staring tensely into each other's face. The telephone on the
desk was ringing vibrantly, clamourously, through the stillness of the
room.
Jason, white, frightened, bewildered, touched his lips with the tip of
his tongue.
"That'll be her again, sir," he said hoarsely.
"Wait!" said Jimmie Dale tersely.
He was trying to think, to think faster than he had ever thought before.
He could not tell Jason to say that he had not yet come in--THEY knew he
was in, it would be but showing his hand to that "some one" who would
be listening now on the wire. He dared not speak to her, or, above all,
allow her to expose herself by a single inadvertent word. He dared not
speak to her--and she was here now, calling him! He could not speak
to her--and it was life and death almost that she should know what had
happened; life and death almost for both of them that he should know all
and everything she could tell him.
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