oor.

A man's foot had been inserted into the opening. "What's the matter,
Chloe?"

"Good Lawd, Mis' Bella--we done been raided!" burst out the maid as the
door flew wholly open.

Halsey staggered back. "A detective!" he exclaimed.

"Oh, what shall I do!" wailed Mrs. Noble. "My husband will never
forgive me if this becomes known."

Bella was as calm as a good player with a royal straight flush.

"I've caught you at last," fairly hissed Drummond. "And you, too, Mrs.
Dunlap. Watson, I overheard something about some stock. Let me see it.
I think it will interest International Surety as well as Exporters and
Manufacturers."

Through the still open door Constance had darted across the hall to her
apartment.

"Not so fast," cried Drummond. "You can't escape. The front door is
guarded. You can't get out."

She was gone, but a moment later emerged from the darkness of her
rooms, carrying the oak box.

As she set it down on the card table, no one said a word. Deliberately
she opened the box, disclosing two spools of wire inside. To the
machine she attached several head pieces such as a telephone operator
wears. She turned a switch and the wire began to unroll from one spool
and wind up on the other again.

A voice, or rather voices, seemed to come from the box itself. It was
uncanny.

"Hello, is this Mrs. LeMar?" came from it.

"What is it?" whispered Halsey, as if fearful of being overheard.

"A telegraphone," replied Constance, shutting it off for a moment.

"A telegraphone? What is that?"

"A machine for registering telephone conversations, dictation, anything
of the sort you wish. It was invented by Valdemar Poulsen, the Danish
Edison. This is one of his new wire machines. The record is made by a
new process, localized charges of magnetism on this wire. It is as
permanent as the wire itself. There is only one thing that can destroy
them--rubbing over the wire with this magnet. Listen."

She had started the machine again. Whose voice was it calling Bella?
Constance was looking fixedly at Drummond. He shifted uneasily.

"How much is he in for now?" pursued the voice.

Halsey gasped. It was Drummond's own voice.

"Two hundred and fifty shares," replied Bella's voice.

"Good. Keep at him. Don't lose him. To-night I'll drop in."

"And your client will make good?" she anxiously.

"Absolutely. We will pay five thousand dollars for the evidence that
will convict him."

Constance's little audience was