I noticed that his tone was not quite as deferential as usual. I knew the reason. Of course he had seen this odious paper, or some paper more odious still. Probably he and the other servants in the building had been discussing me, and hazarding all sorts of wildly improbable stories about me. The telephone bell rang again. I forget what I said. I think it was a short prayer, or an invocation of some kind. My first impulse was not to answer the 'phone again at all, but to let the thing go on ringing. It rang so persistently, however, that in desperation I pulled off the receiver. "Who the dickens is it? What do you want?" I shouted. I gasped. "What! Vera? Where are you? I want to see you. I must see you at once!" My love was in dire distress. I could hear emotion in her voice. My heart beat quickly in my eagerness. "Oh, come to me--do come to me!" she was saying hurriedly in a low tone, as though fearful of some one overhearing her. "I'm in such trouble, and you alone can help me. Tell me when you will come. Tell me quickly. At any moment someone may catch me talking on the telephone." "Where are you? Give me your address, quickly," I answered, feverishly. I was madly anxious to meet her again. "We are in London--but we go to Brighton--to-day--this afternoon--" "Your address in London, quick." "Twenty-six Upper--" There was a sudden clatter. The receiver had been put back. Some one had interrupted her. I tapped the little lever of the instrument repeatedly. "Number, please," a monotonous voice asked. "What number was I talking to this instant?" I said, almost trembling with anxiety. "I'm sure I don't know. What number do you want?" "The number I've been talking to." "I tell you I don't know it," replied the female operator. "Can't you find it out?" "I'll try. Hold the line, please." After a brief interval, the voice said-- "It may have been double-two two two Mayfair. Shall I ring them for you?" "Please do." I waited. "You're through." "Hello, what is it?" a beery voice asked. "I want to speak to Miss Vera Thorold?" "Vera 'oo?" "Thorold." "Theobald? He's out." "_Thorold_, Miss _Vera Thorold_," I shouted in despair. "Oh, we ain't got no Veras here," the beery voice replied, and I could picture the speaker's leer. "This ain't a ladies' seminary; it's Poulsen's Brewery Company, Limited. You're on the wrong number. Ring off." And again the instrument was silent. Vera had been cut off just at the moment she was about to reveal her whereabouts. Almost beside myself with anxiety, I tried to collect my thoughts in order to devise some means of discovering Vera's whereabouts and getting into immediate communication with her. I even went to the telephone exchange, interviewed the manager, and told him the exact time, to the fraction of a minute, when I had been rung up, but though he did his best to help me, he could not trace the number.