inine voice that set my
pulses tingling. "Oh, it is you, Maurice; I'm so glad. We rang you up
from Chelsea, but could get no answer. You won't know who it is
speaking; it is I, Anne Pendennis!"

CHAPTER VI

"MURDER MOST FOUL"

"I'm speaking from Charing Cross station; can you hear me?" the voice
continued. "I've had a letter from my father; he's ill, and I must go to
him at once. I'm starting now, nine o'clock."

I glanced at the clock, which showed a quarter to nine.

"I'll be with you in five minutes--darling!" I responded, throwing in
the last word with immense audacity. "_Au revoir_; I've got to hustle!"

I put up the receiver and dashed back into my bedroom, where my cold
bath, fortunately, stood ready. Within five minutes I was running down
the stairs, as if a sheriff and posse were after me, while Mrs. Jenkins
leaned over the hand-rail and watched me, evidently under the impression
that I was the victim of sudden dementia.

There was not a cab to be seen, of course; there never is one in
Westminster on a Sunday morning, and I raced the whole way to Charing
Cross on foot; tore into the station, and made for the platform whence
the continental mail started. An agitated official tried to stop me at
the barrier.

"Too late, sir, train's off; here--stand away--stand away there!"

He yelled after me as I pushed past him and scooted along the platform.
I had no breath to spare for explanations, but I dodged the porters who
started forward to intercept me, and got alongside the car, where I saw
Anne leaning out of the window.

"Where are you going?" I gasped, running alongside.

"Berlin. Mary has the address!" Anne called. "Oh, Maurice, let go;
you'll be killed!"

A dozen hands grasped me and held me back by main force.

"See you--Tuesday!" I cried, and she waved her hand as if she
understood.

"It's--all right--you fellows--I wasn't trying--to board--the car--" I
said in jerks, as I got my breath again, and I guess they grasped the
situation, for they grinned and cleared off, as Mary walked up to me.

"Well, I must say you ran it pretty fine, Maurice," she remarked
accusatively. "And, my! what a fright you look! Why, you haven't shaved
this morning; and your tie's all crooked!"

I put my hand up to my chin.

"I was only just awake when Anne rang me up," I explained
apologetically. "It's exactly fifteen and a half minutes since I got out
of bed; and I ran the whole way!"

"You look like it