"I'll keep my word, Rubano, too," assured Carton. "The nerve of
that fellow. Where's Kennedy?"

We looked about. Craig had slipped out quietly during the
telephone conversation. Before we could start a search for him, he
returned.

"I thought there was something peculiar about the voice," he
explained. "That was why I wanted a record of it. While you were
talking I got your switchboard operator to connect me with central
on another wire. The call was from a pay station on the west side.
There wasn't a chance to get the fellow, of course--but I have the
voice record, anyhow."

Dopey Jack's confession occupied most of the evening and it was
late when we got away. Carton was overjoyed at the result of his
pressure, and eager to know, on the other hand, whether Kennedy
had made any progress yet with his study of the photographs.

I could have told him beforehand, however, that Craig would say
nothing and he did not. Besides, he had the added mystery of the
new phonograph cylinder to engross him, with the result that we
parted from Carton, a little piqued at being left out of Craig's
confidence, but helpless.

As for me, I knew it was useless to trail after Kennedy and when
he announced that he was going back to the laboratory, I balked
and, in spite of my interest in the case, went home to our
apartment to bed, while Kennedy made a night of it.