Completely occupied with his own reactions, George's repudiation swept on in an angry, rapid stream which, as it spent itself, began to give place to the benumbing consciousness of a divided hearing. Until this moment Remington had had a pleasant sense of the press as a fine instrument upon which he had played with increasing mastery, a trumpet upon which, as his mind filled with commendable purposes, he could blow a very pretty tune,--a noble tune with now and then a graceful flourish acceptable to the public ear. Now as he talked he began to be aware of flatness, of squeaking keys.... "Naturally, Mr. Remington, I'll have to take this up with the business management..." dry-lipped, the tune sputtered out. At this juncture the born journalist awaked again in the editorial breast at the entrance of Penfield Evans with his new item of Betty's interrupted message. Two women shut up in a mysterious house among the trees! Oh, hot stuff, indeed! Under it George rallied, recovered a little of the candidate's manner. "Understand," he insisted. "This goes in even if I have to pay for it at advertising rates." A swift pencil raced across the paper as Remington's partner swept him off again to the police. Betty's call had come a few minutes before ten. What had happened was very simple. The two women had been given breakfast, for which their hands had been momentarily freed. When the bonds had been tied again it had been easy for E. Eliot to hold her hands in such a position that she was left, when their keeper withdrew, with a little freedom of movement. By backing up to the knob she had been able to open a door into an adjoining room, in which she had been able to make out a telephone on a stand against the wall. This room also had locked windows and closed shutters, but her quick wit had enabled her to make use of that telephone. Shouldering the receiver out of the hook, she had called Betty's number, and, with Genevieve stooping to listen at the dangling receiver, had called out two or three broken sentences. Guarded as their voices had been, however, some one in the house had been attracted by them, and the wire had been cut at some point outside the room. E. Eliot and Genevieve came to this conclusion after having lost Betty and failed to raise any answer to their repeated calls. Somebody came and looked in at them through the half-open door, and, seeing them still bound, had gone away again with a short, contemptuous laugh. "No matter," said E. Eliot. "Betty heard us, and the central office will be able to trace the call." It was because she could depend on Betty's intelligence, she went on to say, that she had called her instead of the Remington house--for suppose that fool Brewster-Smith woman had come to the telephone!