At Kennington Gate the 'bus made a halt. Soames glanced at the clock on
the corner. It was close upon one A. M. Where in heaven's name should he
go? What a fool he had been to come to this district where he was known!
Stay! There was one man in London, surely, who must be almost as
keenly interested in the fate of Luke Soames as Luke Soames himself ...
Gianapolis!
Soames sprang up and hurried off the 'bus. No public telephone box would
be available at that hour, but dire need spurred his slow mind and also
lent him assurance. He entered the office of the taxicab depot on the
next corner, and, from the man whom he found in charge, solicited and
obtained the favor of using the telephone. Lifting the receiver, he
asked for East 18642.
The seconds that elapsed, now, were as hours of deathly suspense to
the man at the telephone. If the number should be engaged!... If the
exchange could get no reply!...
"Hullo!" said a nasal voice--"who is it?"
"It is Soames--and I want to speak to Mr. King!"
He lowered his tone as much as possible, almost whispering his own name.
He knew the voice which had answered him; it was the same that he always
heard when ringing up East 18642. But would Gianapolis come to the
telephone? Suddenly--
"Is that Soames?" spoke the sing-song voice of the Greek.
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