"But what's this insanity, Anisty? What's this about a woman? What----" The new-comer's tones ascended a high scale of fright and rage. "Lower your voice, you ass!" the burglar responded sternly. "And----" He took his own advice; and for a little time the conference was conducted in guarded tones that did not penetrate the dividing wall save as a deep rumbling alternating with an impassioned squeak. But long ere this had come to pass the girl was risking all at the telephone. Receiver to ear she was imploring Central to connect her with Ninety-eighty-nine Madison. If only she might get Maitland, tell him where the jewels were hidden, warn him to remove them--then she could escape further suffering by open confession.. "What number?" came Central's languid query, after a space. "Did you say Nine-ought-nine-eight?" "No, no, Central. Nine-o-eight-nine Madison, please, and hurry------hurry!" "Ah, I'm ringin' 'em. They ain't answered yet. Gimme time.... There they are. Go ahead." "Hello, hello!" "Pwhat is ut?" Her heart sank: O'Hagan's voice meant that Maitland was out. "O'Hagan--is that you?... Tell Mr. Maitland------" "He's gawn out for the noight an'------" "Tell him, please------" "But he's out. Ring up in the marnin'." "But can't you take this message for him? Please...." The door was suddenly jerked open and Anisty leaped into the room, face white with passion. Terrified, the girl sprang from the desk, carrying the instrument with her, placing the revolving chair between her and her enemy. "The brass bowl, please,--tell him that," she cried clearly into the receiver. And Anisty was upon her, striking the telephone from her grasp with one swift blow and seizing her savagely by the wrist. As the instrument clattered and pounded on the floor she was sent reeling and staggering half-way across the room. As she brought up against the flat-topped desk, catching its edge and saving herself a fall, the burglar caught up the telephone. "Who is that?" he shouted imperatively into the transmitter. Whatever the reply, it seemed to please him. His brows cleared, the wrath that had made his face almost unrecognizable subsided; he even smiled. And the girl trembled, knowing that he had solved her secret; for she had hoped against hope that the only words he could have heard her speak would have had too cryptic a significance for his comprehension. As, slowly and composedly, he replaced the receiver on its hook and returned the instrument to the desk, a short and rotund figure of a man, in rumpled evening dress and wearing a wilted collar, hopped excitedly into the room, cast at the girl one terrified glance out of eyes that glittered with excitement like black diamonds, set in a face the hue of yeast, and clutched the burglar's arm. "Oh, Anisty, Anisty!" he cried piteously. "What is it? What is it? Tell me!" "It's all right," returned the burglar. "Don't you worry, little man. Pull yourself together." And laughed.