ched the cellar. It was below the level of the ground, of course;
but a narrow window here, though quite large enough to permit of egress,
gave on the driveway at the side of the house that led to the garage in
the rear.

Cautiously now, for the cement flooring was, in the stillness, little
less than a sounding board, Jimmie Dale reached the wall and felt along
it to the window, the lower edge of whose sill was just slightly below
the level of his shoulder. It opened inward, if he remembered correctly.
His fingers were feeling for the fastenings. It was too dark to see
a thing. He muttered in annoyance. Where were the fastenings! At
the sides, or at the bottom? His hand began to make a circuit of the
sill--and then suddenly, with a low, sharp cry, he leaned forward!

WHAT DID THIS MEAN? Wires! No wires had ever been there before! His
fingers were working now with feverish haste, telegraphing their message
to his brain. The wires ran through the sill close to the corner of
the wall--tiny fragments of wood, as from an auger, were still on the
sill--and here was a small particle of wire insulation that, those
sensitive finger tips proclaimed, was FRESH.

A cold thrill ran through Jimmie Dale; and there came again that
sickening sense of impotency in the face of the malignant, devilish
cunning arrayed against him, that once before he had experienced, that
night. He had thought to forestall them--and he had been forestalled
himself! This could only have been done--they had had no interest in
him before then--while they held him at the Crime Club, while he was
spending that two hours in the car! Was that why they had taken so long
in coming? Was that why the car had stopped that time--that those with
him might be told that the work here had been completed, and he need no
longer be kept away?

He edged away from the window, and, as cautiously as he had come,
retraced his steps across the cellar and up the stairs--and then, the
possibility of being heard from without gone, he broke into a run. There
was no need to wonder long what those wires meant. They could mean only
one of two things--and the Crime Club would have little concern in his
electric light! THEY HAD TAPPED HIS TELEPHONE. The mains, he knew,
ran into the cellar from the underground service in the street. He was
racing like a madman now. How long ago, how many hours ago, had they
done that! Great Scott, SHE was to have telephoned! Had she done so? Was
the game,