transmitter and said to Carton, "Here--it's for you. Take it. By
the way, where's that thing I left down here for recording
voices?"

"Here in my desk. But you took the cylinder with you."

"Haven't you got another? Don't you ever use them for dictating
letters?"

Carton nodded and sent his stenographer to get a new one.

"Just a minute, please," cut in Kennedy. "Mr. Carton will be here
in a few moments, now."

Carton took the telephone and placed his hand over it, until, with
a nod from Kennedy as he affixed the machine, he answered.

"Yes--this is the District Attorney," we heard him answer. "What?
Rubano? Why you can't talk to him. He's a convicted man. Here? How
do you know he's here? No--I wouldn't let you talk to him if he
was. Who are you, anyway? What's that--you threaten him--you
threaten me? You'll get us both, will you? Well, I want to tell
you, you can go plumb--the deuce! The fellow's cut himself off!"

As Carton finished, a peculiar smile played about Rubano's
features. "I expected that, but not so soon," he said quietly.
"New York'll be no place for me, Mr. Carton, after this. You've
got to keep your word and smuggle me out. South Africa, you know--
you promised."