"Now I come to the day when I learned everything, when all these broken forebodings of disaster fell together like the bits of glass in a kaleidoscope and took a definite shape. It was Sunday, can it be only two days ago? My mother had moved to the cottage and I was alone in the apartment packing up to follow her. About the middle of the afternoon while I was hard at work the telephone rang. I answered it and was told by the operator Long Distance was calling me, Quebec. At that my heart gave a great jump of joy and relief—my father was alive and sending for me again. It was like the wireless answer of help to a foundering vessel. "You know how often the Long Distance connection varies—one day you can recognize a voice a thousand miles off that on the next you can’t make out at a hundred? The voice that had spoken to me from Toronto was no more than a vibration of the wire, thin and toneless. The one that spoke from Quebec was distinct and colored with a personality. "The first words were that it was J. W. B. and at these words, as if the receiver had shot an electric current into me, I started and grew tense, for it did not sound like the voice of J. W. B. It went on, explaining why he had not communicated with me, and how he now again wanted me to come to him. I, listening, became more and more sure that the person speaking was not my father, but that, whoever he was, his voice stirred a faint memory, was dimly suggestive of a voice I _did_ know. "I was confused and agitated, standing there with the receiver at my ear, while those sentences ran over the wire, every syllable clear and distinct. Then, suddenly, I thought of a way I could find out. My father was the only man in the world who knew of our secret, of the plan for our reunion. A simple question would test the knowledge of the person talking to me. When he had finished I said: "’I’ve been longing to hear from you, not only for myself but for my mother—she’s been in despair.’ "There was a slight pause before the voice answered: "’Why should Mrs. Whitehall be so disturbed?’ "Then I _knew_ it wasn’t Johnston Barker. The reason for Mrs. Whitehall’s disturbance was as well known to him as it was to me. Besides in our talks together he had never alluded to her as ’Mrs. Whitehall’ but always as ’your mother’ or by her Christian name, Serena. "I said the mystery of his disappearance had upset her, she was afraid something had happened to him. A faint laugh—with again that curiously familiar echo in it—came along the wire: "’You can set her mind at rest after you’ve seen me.’ "There was something ghastly about it—talking to this unknown being, listening to that whispering voice that called me to come and wasn’t the voice I knew. It was like an evil spirit, close to me but invisible, and that I had no power to lay hold of.