friends of yours warbled post-impressionist love-songs into your
phonograph. It stood the strain, and so must be a good one. It
is too late now to get one in a shop; will you lend me the whole
outfit, with the recording attachment as well, for to-night and
to-morrow?"

"The easiest thing you know. Let's slide it into this grip--you
can carry the horn."

Three minutes later Shirley made his exit, and soon was shaking
hands with Van Cleft in his own room at the hotel. He sketched
his idea hurriedly, as he adjusted the instrument on the
dressing-table near the telephone.

"When the call comes, be sure to say: 'Get closer, I can't hear
you.' That's the method, and it's so simple it is almost silly."
They were barely ready when the bell warned them. At Van Cleft's
reply, when the call for "Mr. Williams" Shirley pushed the horn
close to the telephone receiver. Van Cleft twisted it, so as to
give the best advantage, and demanded that the speaker come
closer to the 'phone.

"Can you hear me now?" asked the feminine voice. "Do you hear me
now?"

"No, speak louder. This is Mr. Williams. Speak up. I can't
understand you." The voice was petulant and so distinct that
even Shirley could hear it, as he knelt by the side of the
phonograph. Again Van Cleft insisted on his deafness. There
was the suggestion of a break in the voice which brought to