The Tocsin! The woman he
loved--where was she? Was she safe _to-night?_ Where was she? He could
not stop until that question had been answered, be the consequences what
they might! Warnings, the realisation of peril--he laughed shortly, in
grim bitterness--counted little in the balance after all, did they not!
Where was the Tocsin?
The telephone rang. Jimmie Dale stared at the instrument for a moment,
as though it were some singular and uninvited intruder who had broken in
without warrant upon his train of thought; and then, leaning forward
over the table, he lifted the receiver from the hook.
"Yes? Hello! Yes?" inquired Jimmie Dale. "What is it?"
A man's voice, hurried, and seemingly somewhat agitated, answered him.
"I would like to speak to Mr. Dale--to Mr. Dale in person."
"This is Mr. Dale speaking," said Jimmie Dale a little brusquely.
"What is it?"
"Oh, is that you, Mr. Dale?" The voice had quickened perceptibly. "I
didn't recognise your voice--but then I haven't heard it for a long
while, have I? This is Forrester. Are--are you very busy to-night,
Mr. Dale?"
"Oh, hello, Forrester!" Jimmie Dale's voice had grown more affable.
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