"'Good Lord!' said the first speaker, 'that means a loss of—' and then I was cut off. I thought I'd better come over in person instead of trusting to the wire."
"And you didn't recognize either speaker?"
"No. But I discovered at the office that rooms 610 and 612—the suite I saw that detective coming out of—are occupied by a Mr. Jones, of New York, who arrived three days ago. I'll bet anything you please that you'll hear from Bloc & Company within twenty-four hours, and that the occupant of those rooms at the Hotel Buller is Willis Marsh."
Big George began to mutter profanely. "It looks like they had us, and all because Fraser's tongue is hung in the middle."
"All the same, we'll fight it out," said Emerson, grimly. "If I can raise that money in Tacoma—" Again the telephone bell buzzed noisily.
"Bloc & Company," predicted Cherry, but for once she was wrong.
"A call from Tacoma," said Boyd, the receiver to his ear; "it must be the Second National. They were not to let me know till to-morrow." Through the open door of the adjoining room his words came distinctly, while the others listened in tense silence.
"Hello! Yes! This is Boyd Emerson." Then followed a pause, during which the thin, rasping voice of the distant speaker murmured unintelligibly.
"Why not? Can't you give me a reason? I thought you said—Very well.
Good-bye."
Emerson hung up the receiver carefully, and with the same deliberation turned to face his companions. He nodded, and spread his hands outward in an unmistakable gesture.