An answer was almost too much to expect of the most kindly fate. But it was true there was no harm in trying. Dimitri was gone, and the snuffbox too. The situation, despite Chief Reilly’s jovial acceptance of it, was taking on a serious character.
Sim was just about to ask if the state police should not be notified, when the phone in the store rang shrilly. They could hear it, for the booth door had been left open.
Arden jumped up. For a fleeting second she looked at her companions as though to plead with some unseen force that this call should bring results. Then she dashed inside with no thought of appearance. When she emerged from the booth this time her chums knew she had met with some success. Her face wreathed in smiles she burst out:
“We’ve got an answer!”
“Oh, what?”
“Tell us!”
“It was the telegraph manager again,” Arden reported. “The boy finally located our man, and we owe a dollar and a quarter. It took a little longer than was expected.”
“Pooh! Only an extra quarter!” exclaimed Sim.
“But did they deliver the telegram?” asked Terry.
“Yes, of course. To Serge Uzlov, and he wired an answer.”