With a piece of iron-bar he deliberately smashed a pane of glass. Then inserting his hand through the jagged pane he shot back the window-catch. It was then an easy matter to gain admittance.
He lifted the receiver of the telephone, and in less than a minute and a half he had secured a trunk-call to Thalassa Towers.
"Hallo!" exclaimed a faint and indistinct voice.
"That Harborough?" inquired Bobby. "Beverley speaking."
"No, I'm Claverhouse, old bean," was the reply. "Why this activity on the Sabbath morn? Anything wrong?"
"Yes," replied Beverley. "Jack's missing—Jack Villiers. Eh? what's that? No, I didn't say—Oh! Dash it all, they've cut me off."
He replaced the receiver and again rang up the exchange, demanding peremptorily why the interruption had occurred.
"You must have cut yourself off," replied the operator. "Stand by."
Bobby "stood by" for another five minutes—minutes that passed with leaden feet.
"There's no reply," came the matter-of-fact voice of the exchange operator. "This is Andover speaking."