Seven, Seven, Seven--City: A Tale of the Telephone

I went to my telephone exactly at eleven o'clock on the night of December
30th last winter to call up the editor of my paper. My house was on the
west side of Regent's Park and the wire ran to the City telephone
exchange.

Apparently my line was switched into connection with the Fleet Street
exchange. But delay followed. I was familiar with the peculiar hum caused
by the induction on the wires, but that night the sounds were of an
unusual character. The operator at the City office had given me an unused
wire.

As I awaited the answering signal to indicate that the desired connection
had been made, I heard two people talking in loud whispers, to me
unintelligible. Then I heard a door, swinging on a squeaky hinge, hastily
closed with a muffled sound--a cupboard door. Then silence. One of the
people had entered the cupboard and closed the door. Then a knock,
unanswered.
Immediately followed a crash at the other end of the wire. I heard the
breaking in of a door.

"John!" exclaimed a woman.