Carton nodded and sent his stenographer to get a new one.
"Just a minute, please," cut in Kennedy. "Mr. Carton will be here in a few moments, now."
Carton took the telephone and placed his hand over it, until, with a nod from Kennedy as he affixed the machine, he answered.
"Yes—this is the District Attorney," we heard him answer. "What? Rubano? Why you can't talk to him. He's a convicted man. Here? How do you know he's here? No—I wouldn't let you talk to him if he was. Who are you, anyway? What's that—you threaten him—you threaten me? You'll get us both, will you? Well, I want to tell you, you can go plumb—the deuce! The fellow's cut himself off!"
As Carton finished, a peculiar smile played about Rubano's features. "I expected that, but not so soon," he said quietly. "New York'll be no place for me, Mr. Carton, after this. You've got to keep your word and smuggle me out. South Africa, you know—you promised."
"I'll keep my word, Rubano, too," assured Carton. "The nerve of that fellow. Where's Kennedy?"
We looked about. Craig had slipped out quietly during the telephone conversation. Before we could start a search for him, he returned.
"I thought there was something peculiar about the voice," he explained. "That was why I wanted a record of it. While you were talking I got your switchboard operator to connect me with central on another wire. The call was from a pay station on the west side. There wasn't a chance to get the fellow, of course—but I have the voice record, anyhow."
Dopey Jack's confession occupied most of the evening and it was late when we got away. Carton was overjoyed at the result of his pressure, and eager to know, on the other hand, whether Kennedy had made any progress yet with his study of the photographs.
I could have told him beforehand, however, that Craig would say nothing and he did not. Besides, he had the added mystery of the new phonograph cylinder to engross him, with the result that we parted from Carton, a little piqued at being left out of Craig's confidence, but helpless.