eyes shrewd, alien, inquisitorial. She began to feel like a criminal,
and struggled stammering in the effort to make her desire known, urgent
though it was.

"_Bien, mademoiselle, qu'est-ce que vous desirez?_" the woman rapped
out in staccato accents.

"_Madame, s'il vous plait, je veux bien telephoner. Je regrette de
vous deranger, mais c'est tellement important._"

She saw the woman's gaze, hard and curious, take in the details of her
appearance, from her muddy shoes up to her blood-stained cheek.

"I've had an accident--_je viens d'avoir un petit accident,_" she
explained hurriedly. "_Il faut que je telephone immediatement._"

The concierge's face cleared slightly.

"_Pour chercher un medecin, sans doute?_" she suggested. "_Bien--voici
le telephone._"

Gratefully Esther thanked her and took down the receiver in her
trembling hand. The operator failed to understand her accent; she
repeated the number three or four times without success, and was on the
point of bursting into tears when the concierge possessed herself of
the receiver and delivered the number for her, crisply and precisely.

"_Voila, mademoiselle,_" she announced in triumph, and returned to her
potatoes.

There followed a long wait. From the other room Esther could hear the
family group discussing her in subdued voices, her strange aspect, her
evident weakness. They hazarded guesses as to how she had received her
injuries. The old man was positive that the lady's lover had been
chasing her with a knife; the wound on her face was a proof of it, in
his opinion.

A series of buzzings, tappings and clinkings came over the wire, with
hints of far-distant unintelligible conversation. This continued while
with agonised eyes Esther watched the hands of the big clock on the
wall creep from five minutes past seven to eleven past. Still no
connection. At last the operator, remote and chill as the top of the
Tour Eiffel, informed her that there was no reply. With French born of
desperation Esther cried, "_Sonnez encore! Sonnez toujours! Je suis
sure qu'il y a quelqu'un la!_" Then recommenced the mysterious
commotion on the line, which, before, led to nothing.

"Oh, God! oh, God!" she breathed hysterically. "It will be too late,
it may already be too late! Oh, God, help me, make them answer!"

She was dimly aware that the apache was lounging in the doorway, using
a toothpick and examining her with interest. The voices from the inner
r