The telephone rang again.
“Answer it, will you?” growled Doyle.
“All right.”
Flash took the receiver from its hook. He was informed by the hotel operator that long distance was calling. As he relayed the message to Doyle, the latter leaped from bed and seized the instrument.
“That must be Clewes!”
Doyle talked for several minutes and then hung up the receiver.
“Get dressed!” he said curtly. “We’re clearing out of here. And we haven’t much time.”
“What’s up?”
“We move again. Clewes says to let the Melveredge pictures slide. Arrangements can’t be made with the authorities.”
“A new assignment?”