The Sentinel=record., 1916-12-10

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 The fact that they were three miles apart and that at least million people were between them, did not in any way interfere with the secrecy and audibility of their conference.
 This is so common phenomenon this telephonic mode of converse that no one, who employs it, stops to realize that it would have seemed the miracle of the ages half a century ago.
 So perhaps a century hence some new marvel of science may make our descendants look back upon the tele- phone with the same kindly derision that we now bestow on the stage coach and the sailing ship.
 Clayton was doing little of the talking. Instead, he was content to listen intently to his chum-break- ing in only occasionally with a qaes ton or with an exclamation of amaze. Stanley, at the other end of the wire, was talking earnestly and con- cisely. He was in his own private office, in the Examiner Building.
 Before calling Bob up he had sent
  locked both Of it's doors and had sta toned an office boy outside of each to prevent eavesdropping.
 In spite of all these odd precau- tions, his voice was pitched 50 low as to be almost whisper.
 And he glanced nervously about him from time to time to make cer- tain no one was listening at windows or doors
 At last Harold paused in the steady flow of Instructions he had been g1V- ing.
 T think that covers everything" he finished. You're sure you under standY'
 Yes" came Bob's reply, tinged with not a little awe. 'I understand, Harold, you're wonder! But can we carry it through? Remember, We--'
 Carry 1t through" repeate ted Stan- ley. "Of course we can. It's mat ter of will and pluck and iron nerve. And there's more danger in it for us than most men incur in a lifetime Rut if we stand together, we can carry it through. I'll stake my life on that"
 Ut seems to me-" commented Bob, that we're already 'staking our lives for about all they're worth. Do you realize that this new plan of yours is a gamble with death-and with all the odds against us both?"
 "Yes, l realize it." said Harold. "Of course do. I'm not a fool. The brave man isn't the man who doesn't real ize danger. He's the man who real izes it and goes ahead just the same"
 That's what we're going to do," Clayton replied Its big risk, but it's for still bigger stake"
 That's the right spirit, old man." approved Stanley. And now, you have your instructions Get to work at once on them We cant waste time. Because times the one thing we haven't got. This clew of mine is the strongest yet. And it will drive the Crimson Stain gang to earth. Take my word for that. Good-by."
 He hung up the receiver, got to his feet and unlocked the two office doors. The time for planning was past The time for action had at last arrived. The long wait in the trenches was ended. The bugle was sounding the shrilly inspiring "Charge!"
 pr. Montrose at about the same mo- ment, turned in from the street and moved wearily up the walk toward his big Riverdale house.
 His eyes were bloodshot: his face was drawn and his shoulders sagged.
 Every line of his big body and clean cut face, every step that he took, be- tokened utter fatigue, both of spirit and of flesh.
 And in his expression there was more than mere weariness. There was in his look haunting dread and misery that had of late grown more and more pronounced until now it dominated his whole countenance.
 No stranger seeing him today for the first time could have doubted for an instant that the doctor was a prey to some ceaselessly gnawing terror and grief.
 Entering the house, pr. Montrose stood for a moment at the foot of the broad stairway hesitating as to whether or not he should go up to the laboratory and there resume his interrupted work.
 But in his present state of fatigue work offered no allurement whatever. And laying his hat and his medicine case on the hall table he went into the library.
 There was cool restfulness about the big, book-lined room, with it's deep leather chairs and it's atmos- phere of scholarly calm. It was an ideal resting place for tired and harassed man.
 pr. Montrose crossed to the table and sat into big chair beside it. His gaze strayed over the book-lit- tered surface of the table, but he saw nothing there that looked worth the trouble of reading.
 With a sigh he crossed his arms on the table edge and pillowed his aching head upon them.
 He had been up nearly an night and all morning with dying patient. No hand-to-hand battle of two me diaeval warriors had ever been more fiercely waged than pr. Montrose's all-night duel with death for the life of the patient.
 Now, having waged that life and death battle. and having left his patient out of danger. he felt strangely weak and exhausted. He had conquered death. but the victory had taken every fiber Of his strength and energy.
 Montrose was worn out A half hours nap in this big chair of his seemed to him just then the most de- cirohIa fhipp fbaf "a xxthn1a x.-o,il