“No answer,” said Exchange.
Mr. Carver rubbed his nose irritably and glanced up at the clock. Then he lifted the instrument again.
“Give me Hertford 906,” he said.
In five minutes the call was signalled.
“Miss Ardfern—Carver speaking, I’m very, very sorry—got you out of bed, did I—so sorry! What time did Tab leave—half-past eight—you don’t say so? Oh yes, he’s all right—gone to the office—oh yes, he does some Saturday nights. Don’t worry—not at all. Only he promised to call—can’t trust love-smitten young men, eh—certainly I’d call you if there was anything wrong.”
He put the instrument back and looked up at the clock. Then he pressed a bell. The sergeant who answered was dressed as if he expected to go out into the storm at any moment.
“Men ready—good. Pitts Hotel; two men to each en
