I stood up; he stared me over again and started for the door but caught at my telephone on the stand in the corner. It is an extension of one of the instruments downstairs and the bell is below; but it can be plainly heard in my room, especially at night. It had not even jingled, I’m sure. So Jerry’s grab at the receiver was solely from his impatience; and when he had it up, no one was on the line; he had to give central the order: “Police; central detective bureau.” When he had them, “This is Jeremy Fanneal, of ----” he gave our telephone number and house number on Astor Street. “I called you a while ago asking you to call me immediately if you---- _What?_” Then I was trying to get to him; but he heard it first. “Steve! They have her! They found her in the street in her blue dress and her light hair! Dot, Steve! Her necklace is gone but there’s marks.--Oh, Steve, they’re waiting for me to come and identify her.” I took hold of him. “She’s dead?” “They think so; or as good as dead.” I held to him. “You wait for me,” I said, “or I’ll not let you go. You’ll save time in the end. Your word, Jerry.” He looked at me straight. “You’ll jump, Steve,” was all he said. II AND ESCAPES FROM BOTH. I got into my clothes in a minute; Jerry hadn’t been able to remain in the house, but I found him walking up and down beside the cab which he had kept. “Chicago Avenue police station,” he said to the driver, and he was in ahead of me. “They took her there,” he told me, “from where they found her--on West Division Street near the river.” He had no doubt whatever that she was Dorothy Crewe--his Dot whom he had loved; and, for what had come to her, he was holding himself guilty. “Steve, she thought she was going with me!” he cried out. “It was my Keeban! There is a Keeban, you see; my Keeban took her away and killed her!”