A dull throb of fright pulsed through him.
“You say you are not afraid of him, Leroy.”
“No!” he said with an oath, “I am not. Go ahead!”
She unhooked the receiver. After a second or two her low, even voice sounded. There came a pause. She rested one elbow on the walnut shelf, the receiver tight to her ear. Then:
“Mr. Quarrier, please.... Yes, Mr. Howard Quarrier.... No, no name. Say it is on business of immediate importance.... Very well, then; you may say that Miss Vyse insists on speaking to him.... Yes, I'll hold the wire.”
She turned, the receiver at her ear, and looked narrowly at Mortimer.
“Won't he speak to you?” he demanded.
“I'm going to find out. Hush a moment!” and in the same calm, almost childish voice: “Oh, Howard, is that you? Yes, I know I promised not to do this, but that was before things happened!... Well, what am I to do when it is necessary to talk to you?... Yes, it is necessary!... I tell you it is necessary!... I am sorry it is not convenient for you to talk to me, but I really must ask you to listen!... No, I shall not write. I want to talk to you to-night—now! Yes, you may come here, if you care to!... I think you had better come, Howard.... Because I am liable to continue ringing your telephone until you are willing to listen.... No, there is nobody here. I am alone. What time?... Very well; I shall expect you. Good-bye.”
She hung up the receiver and turned to Mortimer:
“He's coming up at once. Did I say anything to scare him particularly?”