The trepidation with which he waited brought all his New York memories back.
Her voice. “Hulloa! Yes. This is Miss Jodrell.”
He was at a loss for words. He couldn’t bring himself to tell her across the wire. While he hesitated, he heard her receiver hung up.
He was certain of himself now. He was shaking like a leaf. If her voice could thrill and unnerve him when her body was absent, this must be more than passion.
He sat down till he had grown quiet, then jumping into a taxi he told the man to drive quickly. He could have walked the distance in little over five minutes; but after so much delay, every second saved was an atonement. As he whirled out of the Strand into the courtyard of the Savoy, Big Ben was booming for nine.
For the second time that day he passed his card across the desk. “I want Miss Jodrell.”
The clerk handed him back his card. “She’s left.”
“But she can’t have. I’ve had her on the phone within half an hour.”
“I’m sorry, sir. I wonder she didn’t tell you. You must have spokes with her the last minute before she left. She caught the nine o’clock boat-train from Charing Cross to Dover.”
He went faint and reached out to steady himself. “From Charing Cross! Why, I’ve just come from there. We must have passed. We——”