Dredlinton pulled down the hook of the receiver desperately.
"Can't you hear me, Exchange?" he shouted. "Quick! This is urgent!"
"Really," Wingate remarked, "the telephone people seem almost as negligent as your servants."
The receiver slipped from the hysterical man's fingers. He collapsed into a chair and leaned across the table.
"What does it mean?" he demanded hoarsely. "No one will answer the bell.
I seem to be speaking through the telephone to a dead world."
"If you really want some one, I dare say I can help you," Wingate replied. "The telephone was disconnected by my orders, as soon as you had spoken to Phipps' rooms. But—now you are only wasting your time."
Dredlinton had rushed to the door, shaken the handle violently, only to find it locked. He pommelled with his fists upon the panels.
"Come, come," his companion expostulated, "there is really no need for such extremes. You want something, perhaps? Allow me."
Wingate crossed the room, rang the bell three times quickly, and stood in an easy attitude upon the hearth rug, with his hands behind his back.
"Let us see," he said, "whether that has any effect or not."