Something had to be done, quick--but what?
"I tell you, don't let that impostor in!" repeated the frantic Olivetta.
The three continued their interchange of helpless gaze.
"Pardon me if I seem to intrude," spoke up the even voice of Mr.
Pyecroft.
Swiftly, but without appearing to hurry, he stepped to Mrs.De Peyster's writing-desk, and began running through the pages of the telephone book.

With terrified apprehension, Mrs.De Peyster watched him: what--what was that terrible man going to do?
The telephone was now in his hand, the receiver at his ear.
"Central, give me Broad 4900....

Is this the French Line?
Then connect me with the manager....

This the manager of the French Line ?...

I am speaking for Mr.Jack De Peyster, son of Mrs.De Peyster,--you know.
Please give orders to the proper authorities to have Mrs.De Peyster held at the dock.