“Hang up!  Good-bye!  Danger!  Don’t ring again!” he whispered hurriedly, and, with a miserable smile, replacing the receiver bitterly on the hook, he jumped for the curtain.

He reached it none too soon.  The door opened, an electric-light switch clicked, and the room was flooded with light.  Jason, still running, headed for the desk.

“It’ll be her again!” Jimmie Dale heard the old man mutter, as from the edge of the portiere he watched the other’s actions.

Jason picked up the telephone.

“Hello!  Hello!” he called—­then began to click impatiently with the receiver hook.  “Hello! . . .  Who? . . .  Central? . . .  I don’t want any number—­somebody was calling here. . . .  What? . . .  Nobody on the wire!”

He set the telephone back on the desk with a bewildered air.

“That’s queer!” he exclaimed.  “I could have sworn I heard it ring twice, and—­” He stopped abruptly, and, leaning across the desk, hung there, wide-eyed, staring, while a sickly pallor began to steal into his face.  “The letter!” he mumbled wildly.  “The letter—­Master Jim’s letter—­the letter—­it’s gone!”

Trembling, excited, the old man began to search the desk, then down on his knees on the floor under it; and then, growing more frantic with every instant, rose and began to hunt around the room in an agitated, aimless fashion.

Jason’s distress was very real—­he was almost beside himself now with fear and anxiety.  A whimsical, affectionate smile played over Jimmie Dale’s lips at the old man’s antics—­and changed suddenly into one of consternation.  Jason was making directly now for the curtain behind which he stood!  Perhaps, though, he would pass it by, and—­Jason’s hand reached out and grasped the portiere.

“Jason!” said Jimmie Dale sharply.

The old man staggered back as though he had been struck, tried to speak, choked, and gazed at the curtain with distended eyes.

“Is—­is that you, sir—­Master Jim—­behind the curtain there?” he finally blurted out.  “I—­sir—­you gave me a start—­and the letter, Master Jim—­”

“Don’t lose your head, Jason,” said Jimmie Dale coolly.  “I’ve got the letter.  Now do as I bid you.”

“Yes—­Master Jim,” faltered the old man.

“Pull down the window shades and draw the portiere together,” directed Jimmie Dale.

Jason, still overwrought and excited, obeyed a little awkwardly.

“Now the lights, Jason,” instructed Jimmie Dale.  “Turn them off, and go and sit down in that chair at the desk.”

Again Jason obeyed, stumbling in the darkness as he returned from the electric-light switch at the farther end of the room.  He sat down in the chair.

Larry the Bat stepped out from behind the curtain.  “I came for that letter, Jason,” he explained quietly.  “I am going out again now.  I may be back to-morrow; I may not be back for a week.  You will say nothing, not a word, of my having been here to-night.  Do you understand, Jason?”