What am I to do?" he groaned aloud.

"Take unkie's advice and go bye-bye," suggested Iff. "Otherwise I'd be
obliged if you'd rehearse that turn in the other room. I'm going to
sleep if I have to brain you to get quiet."

Staff stopped as if somebody had slapped him: the telephone bell was
ringing again.

He flung himself across the room, dropped heavily into the chair and
snatched up the receiver.

A man's voice stammered drowsily his number.

"Yes," he almost shouted. "Yes--Mr. Staff at the 'phone. Who wants me?"

"Hold the wire."

He heard a buzzing, a click; then silence; a prolonged _brrrrp_ and
another click.

"Hello?" he called. "Hello?"

His heart jumped: the voice was Miss Searle's.

"Mr. Staff?"

It seemed to him that he could detect a tremor in her accents, as if she
were both weary and frightened.

"Yes, Miss Searle. What is it?"

"I wanted to reassure you--I've had a terrible experience, but I'm all
right now--safe. I started--"

Her voice ceased to vibrate over the wires as suddenly as if those same
wires had been cut.

"Yes?" he cried after an instant. "Yes, Miss Searle? Hello, hello!"

There was no answer. Listening with every faculty at high tension, he
fancied that he detected a faint, abrupt sound, like a muffled sob. On
the heels of it came a click and the connection was broken.

In his anxiety and consternation he swore violently.

"Well, what's the trouble?"

Iff stood at his side, now wide-awake and quick with interest. Hastily
Staff explained what had happened.

"Yes," nodded the little man. "Yes, that'd be the way of it. She had
trouble, but managed to get to the telephone; then somebody grabbed
her--"

"Somebody! Who?" Staff demanded unreasonably.

"I don't really know--honest Injun! But there's a smell of garlic about
it, just the same."

"Smell of garlic! Are you mad?"

"Tush!" said Mr. Iff contemptuously. "I referred poetically to the fine
Italian hand of Cousin Arbuthnot Ismay. Now if I were you, I'd agitate
that hook until Central answers, and then ask for the manager and see if
he can trace that call back to its source. It oughtn't to be difficult
at this hour, when the telephone service is at its slackest."

[Illustration: He fancied that he detected a faint, abrupt sound, like a
muffled sob

_Page 176_]

X

DEAD O' NIGHT

Beneath a nature so superficially shallow that it shone only with the
reflected lustre of the more brilliant per