of it, waited a moment and as the question came, "Number, please?"
spoke the desired number into the cupped hand and ear of the bronze.
Then, as he waited again, with the singular telephone in hand, he
growled savagely:

"By Allah! This sort of thing's not going to go on any longer! Not if
I die stopping it!"

A familiar voice, issuing from the lips of the faun--a voice made
natural and audible as the living human tones, by means of a delicate
microphone attachment inside the bronze head--tautened his nerves.

"Hello, hello!" called he. "That you, Bohannan?"

"Yes," sounded the answer. "Of course I know who _you_ are. There's
only one voice like yours in New York. Where are you?"

"In prison."

"No! Prison? For the Lord's sake!"

"No; for conventionality's sake. Not legally, you understand. Not
even an adventure as exciting as that has happened to me. But
constructively in jail. _De facto_, as it were. It's all the same
thing."

"Up there in that observatory thing of yours, are you?" asked
Bohannan.

"Yes; and I want to see you."