"Be wise," she said, "and let me go. I do not need your protection or--"

She broke off suddenly. The interruption was certainly startling
enough. From a table only a few feet off came the shrill tinkle of a
telephone bell. Wrayson mechanically stepped backwards and took the
receiver into his hand.

"Who is it?" he asked.

The voice which answered him was faint but clear. It seemed to Wrayson to
come from a long way off.

"Is that Mr. Wrayson's flat in Cavendish Mansions?" it asked.

"Yes!" Wrayson answered. "Who are you?"

"I am a friend of Mr. Morris Barnes," the voice answered. "May I
apologize for calling you up, but the matter is urgent. Can you tell me
if Mr. Barnes is in?"

"I am not sure, but I believe he is never in before one or two o'clock,"
Wrayson answered.

"Will you write down a message and leave it in his letter-box?" the
voice asked anxiously. "It is very important or I would not trouble you."

"Very well," Wrayson answered. "What is it?"

"Tell him instantly he returns to leave his flat and go to the Hotel
Francis. A friend is waiting there for him, the friend whom he has been