LING CHU RETURNS
Tarling dropped the telephone receiver on its hook and had sunk into a chair with a groan. His face was white—whiter than the prisoner's who sat opposite him, and he seemed to have gone old all of a sudden.
"What is it?" asked Whiteside quietly. "Who was the man?"
"Stay," said Tarling. "Stay. He has Odette! It's awful, awful!"
Whiteside, thoughtful, preoccupied; Milburgh, his face twitching with fear, watched the scene curiously.
"I'm beaten," said Tarling—and at that moment the telephone bell rang again.
He lifted the receiver and bent over the table, and Whiteside saw his eyes open in wide amazement. It was Odette's voice that greeted him.
"It is I, Odette!"
"Odette! Are you safe? Thank God for that!" he almost shouted. "Thank God for that! Where are you?"
"I am at a tobacconist's shop in——" there was a pause while she was evidently asking somebody the name of the street, and presently she came back with the information.