“And then, if nothing comes?”

“Then, my dear, then we shall begin to worry.”

Half an hour passed; the little bell was silent; Claflin and Sutton were still visible from the window.  Miss Kellner’s eyes were immovably fixed on Mr. Wynne’s face, and he repressed his gnawing anxiety with an effort.  Finally he wrote again on the tissue slips—­ three of them this time—­and together they climbed to the roof, attached the messages, and watched the birds disappear.

Another hour—­two hours—­two hours and a half passed.  Suddenly the girl arose with pallid face and colorless lips.

“I can’t stand it, Gene, I can’t!” she exclaimed hysterically.  “I must know.  The telephone?”

“No,” he commanded harshly, and he, too, arose.  “No.”

“I will!” she flashed.

She darted out of the room and along the hall.  He followed her with grim determination in his face.  She seized the receiver from the hook and held it to her ear.

“Hello!” called Central.

“Give me long distance—­Coaldale, Number—­”

“No,” commanded Mr. Wynne, and he placed one hand over the transmitter tightly.  “Doris, you must not!”

“I will!” she flamed.  “Let me alone!”

“You’ll ruin everything,” he pleaded earnestly.  “Don’t you know that they get every number I call?  Don’t you know that within fifteen minutes they will have that number, and their men will start for there?”

She faced him with blazing eyes.

“I don’t care,” she said deliberately, and the white face was relieved by an angry flush.  “I will know what has happened out there!  I must!  Gene, don’t you see that I’m frantic with anxiety?  The money means nothing to me.  I want to know if he is safe.”

His hand was still gripped over the transmitter.  Suddenly she turned and tugged at it fiercely.  Her sharp little nails bit into the flesh of his fingers.  In a last desperate effort she placed the receiver to her lips.

“Give me long distance, Coaldale Number—­”

With a quick movement he snapped the connecting wire from the instrument, and the receiver was free in her hand.

“Doris, you are mad!” he protested.  “Wait a minute, my dear girl—­ just a minute.”

“I don’t care!  I will know!”

Mr. Wynne turned and picked up a heavy cane from the hall-stand, and brought it down on the transmitter with all his strength.  The delicate mechanism jangled and tingled, then the front fell off at their feet.  The diaphragm dropped and rolled away.

“Doris, you must not!” he commanded again gravely.  “We will find another way, dear.”

“How dare you?” she demanded violently.  “It was cowardly.”

“You don’t understand—­”