‘Not far off,’ replied the mysterious voice in the telephone.

It was unmistakably the voice of Louis Ravengar, but apparently touched with some new quality, some quality of resigned and dignified despair.  Hugo wondered where the man could be.  And the sinister magic of the telephone, which brought this sad, quiet voice to him from somewhere out of the immensity of England, but which would not yield up the secret of its hiding, struck him strangely.

‘Are you there?’ said the voice yet again.

‘Yes.’

Hugo shivered, but whether it was from cold—­he wore nothing but his pyjamas—­or from apprehension he could not decide.

‘I’m saying good-bye,’ said the voice once more.  ’I suppose you mean to have the police after me, and so I mean to get out of their way.  See?  But first I wished to tell you—­crrrck cluck—­Eh?  What?’

‘I didn’t speak.’

’It’s these Exchange hussies, then.  I wanted to tell you I’ve thought a lot about our interview last night.  What you said was true enough, Owen.  I admit that, and so I am going to end it.  Eh?  Are you there?  That girl keeps putting me off.’

‘End what?’

’End it—­it—­it!  I’m not making anybody happy, not even myself, and so I’m going to end it.  But I’ll tell you her address first.  I know it.’

‘Whose address?’

’Hers—­Camilla’s.  If I tell you, will you promise not to say a word about me speaking to you on the telephone this morning?’

‘Yes.’

‘Not a word under any circumstances?’

‘Certainly.’

‘Well, it’s 17, Place Saint-Etienne, Bruges, Belgium.’

’17, Place Saint-Etienne, Bruges.  That’s all right.  I shan’t forget.  Look here, Louis, you’d better clear out of England.  Go to America.  Do you hear?  I don’t understand this about “ending it.”  You surely aren’t thinking of—­’

He felt quite magnanimous towards Ravengar.  And he was aware that he could get to Bruges in six hours or so.

‘That idea of yours about chloroform,’ said the voice, ’and going into the vault, and being shut up there, is a very good one.  Nobody would know, except the person whom one paid to shut the door after one.’

‘I say, where are you?’ Hugo asked curtly.  He was at a loss how to treat these singular confidences.

’And so is that idea good about merely ending one incarnation and beginning another.  That’s much better than calling it death.’

‘I shall ring you off,’ said Hugo.

‘Wait a moment,’ said the voice, still patiently.  ’If you should hear the name Callear—­’

There was a pause.

‘Well?’ Hugo inquired, ‘what name?’

‘Callear—­C-a-l-l-e-a-r.  If you should hear that name soon—­’

‘What then?’

‘Remember your promise of secrecy—­that’s all.  Good-bye.’

‘I wish you’d tell me where you are.’