"Scanlon speaking," said he, briefly.
There came a gasping, breathless little exclamation of relief in his ear.
"Oh, Bat, I'm glad you're there. I'm very glad!" The voice was full and vibrant; it had a rare quality of resonance that even the telephone could not stifle.
"What, Nora! Is that you?" The big athlete was plainly surprised.
"Yes, it's Nora," replied the voice. "Foolish Nora Cavanaugh, who is always in some sort of trouble. I had left word that I must not be worried by this matter, because I have my work to think of, and the constant ringing at the door-bell and telephoning was wearing me out. And just now, Bat, it occurred to me that you would be sure to have heard of this dreadful thing, and have been one of those turned away."
Scanlon's face was one of mystification and concern.
"Nora," said he, "why this rush of folks at your front door, and who were they?"
"The reporters have never stopped since early morning; and the police have been here a half dozen times."
"The police!" Bat's voice rose with a sudden sharpness that caused the red-haired boy to jump. "What do you mean by——?"
But the full, beautiful voice checked him.