She got Curlie on the wire. He was back from his trip. She read the note.
“But would you go there to-night?” he asked.
“With you, yes. To-morrow may be too late.”
“O.K. Meet me at the west entrance of the 12th Street Station.”
“I’ll be there.”
She hung up. Five minutes later her car slid out of the driveway and went gliding down the boulevard.
CHAPTER XXXIV
THE PASSING OF THE VOICE
A strangely tense bit of drama was being enacted in that hunting lodge in the north woods.
Johnny, you will recall, had turned on the radio. For a space of three minutes they listened to a familiar tune. Then, as Johnny held up his watch, pointing to the hour of ten, the place grew so silent that the far-away throb of an outboard motor seemed strangely loud.
“The Voice!” Johnny announced huskily.