Very quickly Bristol got into communication with the superintendent
of P Division. A brief delay, and the man came to the telephone
whose beat included the road wherein Professor Deeping's house was
situated.

"Why!" said Bristol, hanging up the receiver after making a number
of inquiries, "it's a sort of rambling cottage in extensive grounds.
There's only one servant, a manservant, and he sleeps in a detached
lodge. If the Professor is really in danger of attack he could not
well have chosen a more likely residence for the purpose!"

"What shall you do? What do you make of it all?"

"As I see the case," he said slowly, "it stands something like this:
Professor Deeping has . . . "

The telephone bell began to ring.

I took up the receiver.

"Hullo! Hullo."

"Cavanagh!--is that Cavanagh?"

"Yes! yes! who is that?"

"Deeping! I have rung up the police, and they are sending some
one. But I wish . . . "

His voice trailed off. The sound of a confused and singular uproar