They turned, dumbfounded, shaken with incredulous, mad hope. But whence came it? Where was it? Christina stirred and slid to her feet; her dress went whispering across the room; the men, not daring to leave their posts, knew she must be feeling along the rear wall and still through the darkness the telephone rang. Then she gave a low cry—a narrow door in the glass paneling had slipped sideways so that she stretched her hands into a kind of pantry; the instrument's shrill call was now directly in her ears—"It's Nicola!"
The three questioning whispers sprang at her at once.
"He wants to speak to Mr. Ten Euyck."
Blankness answered. The ringing became more impatient.
"Take the message."
But no message was to be had. Nicola's party was at the boathouse, in great trouble, in danger—never mind what! He wanted to speak to Mr. Ten Euyck. "He says, 'Get him to pass me his word to shelter us or what will you give—what will you give for news of Nancy Cornish?'"
"Tell him I, Kane, 'll buy his news."
Christina dropped back against the wall. "When he has spoken to Mr. Ten Euyck."
Perhaps, in the helpless pause, the glassy face taking aim behind the shutter smiled to itself in the dark. Before they had time to try if the wire connected only with the boathouse, a single shot sprang from across the drive.
There was a sharp crack and splintering, a hot puff on Christina's cheek, and the shattered telephone hung crazily on the wall. The besieging force had misinterpreted what seemed the reinforcement of the world and used its best marksman. Having done so it was content and reassumed its patient crouching. "Rifles!" cried the sheriff. "And yet they don't attack!"