"Well — yes. What is it? What's wrong?"
The voice grew even softer. "Sir, you've got to come over here. Somebody's got to come over here. There's a man in the house. A burglar. I saw him climb in through the winder."
Score another for psychic fits!
"Listen, Mrs. Propper. Can you hear me? Right! Go down and wake up Mr. Fane, Mr. Hubert Fane…"
"I wouldn't stir out of this room," said the voice passionately, "not if you was to give me all the money in the Bank of England."
"But where are you speaking from?"
"I'm speaking from my bedroom. There's an extension telephone here. Oh, sir, for God's sake send the big doctor over here. Or come yourself. I wouldn't go near them nasty police, after what they said to me today, not if you was to give me—"
"Right. I'll come straight away. But somebody's got to let me in."
There was a fierce, whispered colloquy with an even more frightened Daisy.
"When you get here," muttered Mrs. Propper, who was gratifyingly quick-witted as a conspirator, "give three rings on the doorbell — one, two, three — so's we'll know it's you. Then we'll run downstairs and let you in."