"Sherburne, you say?" he repeated. "H. Morgan Sherburne?"
Apparently the voice at the other end of the wire replied rather peevishly, for Kennedy endeavored to smooth over the delay. We waited impatiently as he reiterated the name. Why was he so careful about it? The moments were speeding fast and Mrs. Seabury found the suspense terrific.
"Must pay—we'll never get anything on you?" Craig repeated after a few moments further parley. "Very well. I am commissioned to meet you there in ten minutes and settle the thing up on those terms," he concluded as he clapped the regular receiver back on its hook with a hasty good-by and faced us triumphantly.
"The deuce I won't get anything. I've got it!" he exclaimed.
Judson Seabury was too stunned by the revelation that he had a cancer to follow clearly the maze of events.
"That," cried Kennedy, rising quickly, "is what is known as the telescribe—a new invention of Edison that records on a specially prepared phonograph cylinder all that is said—both ways—over a telephone wire. Come!"
Ten minutes later, in a cab that had been waiting at the door, we pulled up at the Vanderveer.
Without a word, leaving Judson Seabury and his wife in the waiting cab, Craig sprang out, followed by me, as he signaled.
There was Sherburne, brazen and insolent, in the cafe as we entered, from a rear door, and came upon him before he knew it, our friend, Dunn, whom we had met in the lobby, hovering concealed outside, ready to come to our assistance.
In a moment Kennedy was at Sherburne's elbow, pinching it in the manner familiar to international crooks.