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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/34046-8.txt b/34046-8.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..f48c8a4 --- /dev/null +++ b/34046-8.txt @@ -0,0 +1,9037 @@ +The Project Gutenberg eBook, Whispering Wires, by Henry Leverage + + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + + + + +Title: Whispering Wires + + +Author: Henry Leverage + + + +Release Date: October 8, 2010 [eBook #34046] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + + +***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK WHISPERING WIRES*** + + +E-text prepared by Roger Frank and the Online Distributed Proofreading +Team (http://www.fadedpage.net) + + + +WHISPERING WIRES + +Adapted from the _Saturday Evening Post_ Story of the Same Title + +by + +HENRY LEVERAGE + + + + + + + +New York +Grosset & Dunlap +Publishers + +Copyright, 1918, +by +Moffat, Yard & Company + +First printing . . . . September, 1918 +Second printing . . . . September, 1918 +Third printing . . . . October, 1918 + + + + +DEDICATED + +TO + +ONE WHO HELPED + + + + +CONTENTS + + I "The Whispering Voice" 1 + II "The Magpie" 15 + III "The Man in Olive-Drab" 31 + IV "The Murder" 46 + V "The First Clews" 59 + VI "Harry Nichols" 74 + VII "The Spot of Black" 89 + VIII "Tangled Wires" 107 + IX "Men and Motives" 124 + X "A Woman Calls" 144 + XI "The Closing Net" 181 + XII "Suspicion Fastens" 202 + XIII "A Silent Prisoner" 222 + XIV "The Prisoner Speaks" 239 + XV "The Voice on the Wire" 260 + XVI "The End" 277 + + + + +WHISPERING WIRES + + + + +CHAPTER ONE + +"THE WHISPERING VOICE" + + +In the greatest city of the modern world, in the Metropolis of Guilt +and Guile--where Alias and Alibi ride in gum-shod limousines while Mary +Smith of the pure heart walks the pavements with broken shoes--there is +a mansion so rich and so rare that it stands alone. + +Turret and tower, green-bronze roof, Cararra-marbled portico and +iron-grilled gates brought from Hyderabad, have made this mansion the +show place and the Peri's paradise for those who parade the Avenue +called Fifth, in an unending sash of fashion. + +Out from this palace at the close of a winter's day, there flashed the +tiny pulsations of voice-induced currents of electricity which reached +the telephone-central, were plugged upon the proper underground +paper-insulated wires and entered, even as the voice was speaking, the +cloud-hung office of Detective Drew. + +Triggy Drew, as he was called, was dark, stout and forty-one years of +age to a month. He crooked his elbow, removed his cigar and pressed the +telephone-receiver to his ear. + +The voice that came over the whispering wires was as clear as a bell +within a bell. It said: + +"Montgomery Stockbridge wants you." + +Drew hung up the telephone-receiver. He replaced the cigar in his +mouth. He wheeled in his chair and pressed a buzzer. To the operative +who entered he said: + +"Delaney, watch things while I'm gone. I'm called up-town!" + +The operative reached and handed Drew his coat. He took the +swivel-chair before the desk, as his chief clapped on a hat, turned his +eyes toward the ground-glass door, and passed out with a brisk stride. + +"It's a big case," said Delaney leaning back. "Triggy is on somebody's +trail. Maybe German--maybe not!" + +Drew nodded to the waiting operatives in the outer room of the suite. +He swung into the hallway with his brown eyes glowing like a man who +walked out of realism into romance. + +The elevator plumbed eighteen stories. The corridor was clear. A taxi +stood at the curb. Into this Drew stepped, gave the address and was +gently seated as the driver released his brake, set the meter, and +dropped through first, second and into third speed. + +Past Wall Street the taxi flashed. It rounded toward the Bowery, which +showed that the driver knew his map. It struck up through the car +tracks, across to Washington Park and there took the long longitude of +Fifth Avenue as the shortest and quickest way up-town. + +Drew had no eye for the passers-by. He was repeating two words over and +over like a novice counting the same beads. Montgomery Stockbridge was +a name to conjure with in the Bagdad of Seven Million. He had made many +enemies and much money. His wealth ran well above seven figures. + +The taxi came to a gliding halt. Drew stepped out in front of a church. +He tossed the driver two one-dollar bills and some silver. He waited as +the taxi merged in the traffic. He turned and glanced keenly up and +down the Avenue. Then he hurried north for one square, paused before +the mansion of turrets and towers, and pressed a button which was set +in the doorway. + +The door opened to a crack, then wide. A butler barred the way. To him +Drew said, "Mr. Stockbridge sent for me." + +The butler bowed with old world civility. He took the detective's hat +and coat. He waited until Drew removed his gloves. He bowed for a +second time and led the way over rugs whose pile was as thick as some +Persian temple's. They came finally, after an aisle of old masters, to +the inner circle of latter-day finance and money-wizardry--the +celebrated library of Montgomery Stockbridge. + +The Munition Magnate sat there. He turned as the butler announced the +detective. He shot a gray-thatched pair of eyes up and over a mahogany +table upon which a white envelope lay. He smiled coldly. His thumb +jerked toward a leather chair into which Drew sank and leaned his +elbows upon the table. + +Stockbridge coughed dryly. He blinked and studied the detective's face +for a long minute. He glanced from the envelope up at a cone of rose +light which hung from a cluster of electric-globes. His expression, +seen in this light, was like an aged lion brought to bay. His wrinkled +skin was tawny. His hands coiled and uncoiled like claws. They moved +prehensilely, as though cobwebs were in that perfumed air of wealth and +security. They poised over the envelope as if to snatch the secret or +delusion hidden there. + +"See that letter!" declared the Munition Magnate, closing his fist and +banging the table. "See it? D'ye see it?" + +Drew widened his eyes at the outburst. He crossed his legs and nodded. + +"It's blackmail!" Stockbridge snarled. "Rank-scented blackmail of the +cheapest order." + +"A threat of some kind?" + +"Threat? Yes--a threat, in a way. It's clever, but it won't _work_ with +me!" + +Drew recrossed his legs. He touched his short-cropped mustache with the +fingers of his right hand. He coughed as in suggestion. His brows +lifted as he studied the envelope from a distance. + +Stockbridge snatched it up suddenly. He slapped it against the edge of +the polished table. He turned and found a cigar to his liking out of +many in a humidor beneath a smaller table at the right of his chair. He +bit on this cigar, struck a match, and dragged in the smoke with deep +inhalings before he turned and opened the envelope, exposing a letter +which he rapped with the knuckles of his left hand. + +"I'll beg to be excused," he said half-apologetically. "I'm not myself. +This letter, you know. I want you to ferret it out. I want you to find +out who sent it, and make him or her pay. Make them pay in full!" + +"May I see it?" + +Stockbridge hesitated. His eyes ran across the paper. His lips curled +in an ugly, thin-visaged smile which wrinkled his yellow face. "See it? +Yes!" he snapped, volplaning the sheet across the table with a vicious +jerk of his wrist. + +"Ridgewood Cemetery," said Drew lifting the letter. "Heading, Ridgewood +Cemetery," he repeated softly. "Dated yesterday," he added with a sly +glance at Stockbridge. "Signed by the superintendent, I suppose. Yes, +by the superintendent. He scrawls worse than I do. Well, it looks +official and smells--ah!" + +Stockbridge worked his brows up and down like a gorilla. He chewed on +his cigar with savage grinding of gold-filled teeth. + +"Smells graveyardy," continued Drew. "I get flowers and urns and +new-turned earth. This seems to be the bare announcement that the grave +you ordered dug in the family plot--is ready and waiting." Drew glanced +up. + +"Quite so," sneered the Magnate. + +Drew stroked his upper lip. He turned the letter over. He held it to +the rose-light and studied the water-mark. He raised his black brows +and said sepulchrally: + +"Who is dead?" + +Stockbridge stiffened. "Dead?" he exclaimed. "Why, nobody is dead! Damn +it, Drew, there's nobody dead at all!" + +The detective frowned. "Somebody in the immediate family?" he +questioned. "Somebody you are expecting to pass away soon? Some one on +their sick-bed, for instance?" + +Stockbridge snatched the cigar from his mouth and threw it to the rug. +"That letter's a stab, Drew!" he exclaimed. "It's a damn insult to me +and mine, if you want to know. I'll have the author of it, or know the +reason why. I'll spend fifty thousand to catch the miscreants. They'll +not monkey with me!" + +"The writer of this seems to be the superintendent." + +"Yes--that part's all right. He knows nothing save what you see there. +This threat concerns Loris and I. We are the only two who will ever be +buried in our family plot." + +"What does she know? Has she seen this letter?" + +"Yes!" + +"Knows nothing about it?" + +"Nothing." + +"Has no enemies?" + +"Certainly not! She's just a girl!" The Magnate's eyes softened +slightly. He glanced around for a cigar. + +Drew laid the letter on the table. "It seems to me," he said, "that you +have not explained everything. When did you get this letter, Mr. +Stockbridge? What time did it arrive?" + +"It came in the late mail last night. I showed it to Loris at supper. +Then I called up the cemetery people this morning. Got the +superintendent. He said that 'Dr. Conroy'--our family physician--'had +phoned him and ordered the grave dug.' Said, 'A death was about to +occur in the Stockbridge family.' Conroy never sent any such message!" + +"Umph!" broke in Drew. + +"Yes! He assured me of it. Was terribly put out!" + +"It seems to me," said Drew, "that the entire matter is a practical +joke of the low order. I see nothing else to it--so far. It isn't even +clever." + +"I'm not so sure," Stockbridge said huskily. "It may be _very_ clever. +It may mean that death is coming--to me or to Loris. There's men in +this city who are capable of anything!" + +The break in the Magnate's voice brought Drew to the edge of his chair. + +"Whom do you suspect?" he asked professionally. "Motive goes before +crime--you know. Sometimes a warning is sent--more often there is none. +Clever men do not telegraph a blow." + +"I suspect the whole city!" declared Stockbridge. + +Drew smiled sincerely. It was plainly evident that the Magnate was +suffering from the thrust about Loris and the graveyard. The detective +had never seen him so unsettled. + +"How about Germans?" he asked. "You've made a lot of +ammunition--haven't you?" + +"Ye--s. I've still holdings in Standard Shell, Preferred, and +Amalgamated Powder. Also, there is my interest in Flying Boat." + +"Could the Germans be after you for any reason at all?" + +The Magnate weighed the question from a score of angles. He reached and +secured a second cigar. "I don't think so," he said with a dark frown. +"I don't think they would bother with me. I'm more or less retired. +I've drawn out of a lot of things. Younger men are turning out the +ammunition now." + +"Then which of your friends might be responsible for this letter?" + +"Well put!" exclaimed Stockbridge. _"Friends_ may be right. Friends +now, or former friends who have rounded on me." + +"Name some!" + +"There's Morphy!" + +"We settled him. We should never hear from him again." + +"I'm not so sure! You don't know him like I know him. He's a vindictive +devil! He got ten to twenty years in state prison. You remember the +case. He lost his appeal to the Governor, only last week. I blocked it +through Tammany affiliations. You know what that fiend in stripes is +capable of doing. He would sell his soul to get me!" + +Drew grew serious. "Yes, I know," he said. + +"Then there is--well, there are others. Ten, at least! What man can +rise in this slippery city without pushing a few down the ladder? Wall +Street and Broad Street and New Street are full of curb-stone +blackmailers who knew me when I was struggling with my companies. They +saw me take chances they themselves feared to take. They hounded me, +then. Thank God, I got above them!" + +Drew leaned over the table. "A few names," he said. "Something +specific. Who of all of them would be capable of phoning the cemetery, +representing himself to be your family physician and ordering the grave +dug? Who might think of a thing like that?" + +"Well, there's Harry Nichols, for instance. He's an ass with a +champagne thirst and a shoestring salary. I threw him out of the house +the other day. He was calling on Loris. Think of that! He's probably +sworn to get me." + +"How old is he?" + +"About twenty-three--or four! Smokes, drinks and plays golf!" + +"Name some others," suggested Drew artfully. + +"Morphy!" + +"I got him." + +"Morphy's brother who escaped when we had Morphy indicted. I don't know +where he is. Then there's Vogel and Vogel's friends. Oh, there's a +pirate crew of them. Some were mixed up in the first Flying Boat +failure. They would all like to see me in Ridgewood Cemetery. I'll fool +them!" + +"You've given me Harry Nichols, Morphy, Morphy's brother, Vogel and +Vogel's friends. That's four and a few outsiders. Can you think of any +more?" + +"Not at present! One of them is responsible for this letter. I want you +to get busy. If you won't take the case, I'll get an agency that will. +There's plenty!" + +"I'll handle it," said Drew, "when it gets to be a case. As it is now, +Mr. Stockbridge----" + +"Buuurrruuurrr! Buuurrruuurrr! Buuurrruuurrr!" + +The Magnate started. He lowered his cigar, balanced it on the edge of +the table, and turned slowly in his chair. He leaned over a smaller +table which was littered with bronze ash-trays and inlaid match-boxes. +He lifted the receiver of the insistent telephone. He pressed this to +his ear. + +Drew watched him narrowly. The terseness of a static charge of high +voltage was in the great library. The face of the Munition Magnate grew +cold with hauteur. It changed over the seconds to venom and red anger. +His neck purpled. The diaphragm of the telephone instrument hissed its +message. His hand clutched the hard-rubber receiver with white +strength. A click followed as the connection was broken. Stockbridge +dropped the receiver upon the hook. He turned slowly and stared at Drew +with eyes that had aged over the moments. Wrinkles shot from their +corners. Sullen light gleamed in their yellow depths. + +"What happened?" questioned Drew half rising from his chair and leaning +over. "Who phoned?" + +The Magnate's chin described an upward arc. His lips grew firm. Bulges +showed at the sides of his jaw. + +"What--who was it?" asked the detective. + +Stockbridge stared at the letter upon the table. His neck changed from +purple to a pasty ochre. A green sheen, like of death, overspread his +crafty features. He was stricken with the clutch of fear. + +Drew waited and thought rapidly. "What happened?" he asked with +persuasion. "Nothing serious--I hope?" + +"Serious," said Stockbridge absently. "Serious!" he snarled. "Yes, it +was serious! It was a death threat! It was what I had expected. It +follows the letter. They--he will get me! He--he----" + +"Who?" asked the detective. + +Drew heard the table creaking as Stockbridge's muscles stiffened--as +the Magnate's hands clutched the edge of the polished surface. + +"Who?" he repeated on the alert for possible clews. + +"Who! I don't know! But they will--he will!" + +"Easy," said Drew. "Take it easy, sir. This is a modern age. We are in +the heart of civilization. Nobody is going to _get_ you! I'll see to +that!" + +"You can't see! This man knows everything. He said that I would be dead +within twelve hours. That I would be in my grave in seventy-two hours. +He mentioned the grave at Green--Ridgewood Cemetery. He gave secret +details of my life which few alone know. Early follies of mine. An +actress. A deal in War Babies and an electrical stock which was hushed +up. I was the silent partner in that. How should this man know all of +these things about me?" + +"Just what did he say?" + +"I've told you! He said enough! He threatened to kill me despite all +the precautions I would take. He said I was marked for a death which +all the police in the world couldn't solve. That I would be killed in +spite of every effort to save me. What is it--poison? Have I already +been given poison?" + +Drew reached across the table and clutched the magnate's left wrist. He +pulled out a flat watch and timed the pulse. "Normal, almost," he said +softly. "You're normal, despite the shock. Your temperature is fair. I +don't think it was a toxin he meant. That deadens a man and brings slow +coma." + +"Well, what did he mean?" The magnate had found his voice and his +old-time nerve. "What would you do in my case?" he said cunningly. + +Drew glanced at the telephone. He raised his brows and swung, +full-staring, upon Stockbridge. His finger pointed between the +money-king's eyes. It was as steady as an automatic revolver. + +"Did you recognize that voice?" he asked sharply. "Tell me the facts. I +can't go ahead unless you do. I must work from facts!" + +"No!" declared Stockbridge. "No, I did not! I never heard it before. +I----" + +"What was it like?" + +"Hollow-whispering--almost feminine in tone. I thought it was a woman +at first. It wasn't, though! It was a man or boy." + +"Have you told me everything?" + +"Yes--except this man or boy--this whispering voice, wound up by +threatening to get my daughter, Loris, as soon as he finished with me. +Said he'd clean up with her!" + +"I'll take the case!" snapped Drew. + + + + +CHAPTER TWO + +"THE MAGPIE" + + +The Munition Magnate thrust a shaking hand toward the detective. "I'm +glad!" he declared raising his voice. "You did well in the Morphy case. +That's the reason I called upon you. Now find the miscreant or +miscreants, who telephoned the cemetery superintendent, and you'll not +be forgotten." + +Drew glanced shrewdly at the 'phone. "May I use it?" he asked briskly. +"I'll try to trace that call." + +Stockbridge moved his chair away from the little table. Drew glided +across the room, pressed the ash-trays and match-boxes to one side, and +picked up the receiver. He worked the hook up and down with his broad +thumb. + +"Hello! Hello!" he repeated clicking the hook. "Hello, central! Hello!" + +He glanced at Stockbridge as he waited. He frowned as he stooped and +spoke more directly into the transmitter. "Hello! Hello!" + +"Something the matter?" asked the Magnate with quick suspicion. "Don't +they answer?" + +"Hello! Hello! I Hello, there!" Drew glared at the transmitter, then +tapped the receiver against the silver-plated cover. "Hello!" he +shouted. "Damn it, Hello!" + +He turned. "No go," he said thoughtfully. "Connection seems to be +broken. I'm talking right out into thin air. Wonder who cut your +wires?" + +Stockbridge bristled. He slid forward in his great chair and stared at +the detective. "They're cut, eh?" he asked. + +Drew set the 'phone on the table and turned. "Looks mighty like it," he +said. His eyes swung over the walls of the splendid room. They rested +upon a high, ebony stand with a belfry from which dangled a gilt spring +suspending an ornate bird cage. Out of this cage, a magpie peered with +beaded eyes. Its tail extended up through the bars like a feather from +a hat. + +"My bird," said Stockbridge. "A tame magpie I brought from Spain. It +talks." + +Drew raised his brows. He continued his search of the library. Its +wealth of books and paintings and antiques almost stunned him. "I'm +looking for another 'phone," he said, lowering his voice to a whisper. +"Have you another 'phone in this house?" + +"Yes. Two more. This is Gramercy Hill 9763. The one in Loris' room is +Gramercy Hill 9764. Another in the butler's pantry, downstairs, is +9765. Perhaps the others are disconnected." + +"We'll see. I want that call traced before it gets cold. I know a wire +chief at Gramercy Hill Exchange. He'll help if I can get him. Have your +butler show me his 'phone. Also, we better get a trouble-hunter, or +report the cut wires. Somebody will pay for this! It's an outrage and a +felony!" + +Stockbridge moved his slippered foot and pressed a button under the +larger table. He waited, then pressed again. His eyes wavered about the +room. They fastened upon the portières which draped from the pole +across the doorway leading into the hall. His tongue moistened dry lips +as he watched for the butler. + +"I'll 'phone my office," said Drew hurriedly as steps were heard in the +hall. "I'll get up five operatives--no, six--right away. This all may +be a hoax, but I've lived forty-one years too long to overlook a threat +of this kind. Particularly when it concerns a man who has made as many +enemies as you have." + +The butler parted the portières as Drew ceased speaking. Stockbridge +nodded and indicated that the detective wanted to go downstairs. The +butler led the way to the lower telephone. Into this, Drew spoke +hurriedly and very much to the point. He secured three numbers in rapid +succession. He snapped his orders in a manner to set the cut-glass +tinkling on the pantry shelves. He hung up the receiver, glanced +shrewdly at the servants about, then climbed the stairs like a boy of +twelve. + +"All is set!" he announced to Stockbridge as he entered the library and +crossed to the table. "All moving, now! My wire-chief had gone home. I +got the chief operator. She's going to send the first trouble-man +handy. Delaney will be up from the office with his flying squad. I left +it to him to arrange about tracing the call through a telephone +official. No use telling the chief operator too much. The official will +go right over her head and into the heart of the thing. Now,"--Drew +pulled down the lapels of his black coat and leaned over the Magnate. +"Now," he said with vigor, "now, what about your servants? I had a good +look at some of them. How about that English butler? How long have you +had him?" + +"Ten years! Brought him over, myself. Wife picked the other servants. +They're all old, tried and trusted. I'll answer for them. She died +telling me to take care of them. I don't think her equal lived in +choosing help. It was uncanny!" + +Drew stroked his cropped mustache. "Good!" he said. "That's fine! We'll +start with the supposition that they're _not_ guilty. Are any of them +of German birth?" + +"My valet is part German, but he ran away to avoid their army. He hates +the Junker party. Says 'It is responsible for the War.'" + +"How long have you had him?" + +"Nine years." + +"That should let him out. Well," Drew added with a sweeping glance +about the library, "well, these big windows--how about them?" + +The detective advanced to the front of the room as he asked the +question. "Two," he mused. "Two bay-windows of the superior order. +Curtains very heavy and rich. There's a good catch on this one," he +added springing upon the radiator-box. "And a good catch on this one. +Both catches are closed. Seem to have been closed for some time. Here's +dust. High-class housekeeper, but I've got her here." + +Drew smiled as he ran his fingers over the upper sash. He peered out +into the Avenue with its flowing tide of vehicles. He turned and said +to Stockbridge: + +"Suppose you order your butler or doorman to shut the outside blinds. +It's getting dark and cold. I want to be sure that no one can get +through this way." + +"Good," said Stockbridge reaching for the button with his toe. "Good! +We'll take every precaution. Twelve hours will show the thing one way +or the other. Twelve hours should do it." + +The butler entered bearing a silver tray. He set this on a mahogany +tea-wagon and rolled it to the Magnate's chair. Drew frowned at the +sight of a black bottle and one glass. A signal of understanding had +been sent to the perfect servant. + +Stockbridge moistened his thin lips thirstily. He whispered the +instructions concerning the blinds. The butler withdrew like a shadow +merging into a shadow. Drew shrugged his shoulders and went the round +of the library with the keen, trained scrutiny of a man-hunter and a +modern operative. He paused before a case of morocco-bound books. +"These cases?" he asked. "How about them? What's behind?" + +"Books! Books!" shrilled the magpie. + +Drew raised his brows and swung upon the bird. + +"Books! Books!" repeated the pet. "Books, books, books!" + +"Fine bird," said Drew with thought. "But what is behind the cases, Mr. +Stockbridge? I don't want to move them if the walls are all right." + +A glass clicked against the silver tray as the Magnate answered +hastily: + +"All right! They're all right. I was here when they were filled. I just +ordered so many feet of books. Six hundred feet, I think it was. I +never look at them. All that I ever read is the magazines and the +financial items in the newspapers." + +"The pictures--paintings," Drew said. + +"Pictures! Pictures!" repeated the magpie. + +"Shut up!" snarled Stockbridge. "Keep quiet, Don!" + +The bird ruffled its feathers and leaped to a top perch. It peered from +there at Drew, with its head cocked sideways. + +"How about them?" repeated the detective. + +"I had them hung by my orders," Stockbridge said. "They're all right. +Nothing but a strong wall behind. No need to bother about them." + +"Everything is important," Drew suggested with a slight reproof in his +voice. "Trifles may make for the answer to the riddle." + +"That Corot over there is no trifle. It cost me thirty-five thousand +dollars in France!" + +Drew lifted the lower edge of the painting from the wall. Dust fell. He +pressed his face against the paper and looked behind the canvas. +Letting the frame back he tried the same operation with the other +paintings of size. + +"No secret panel, or anything queer," he said finally as he dusted his +hands. "All's well with the walls. Now the floor. How about trapdoors?" + +"Impossible!" Stockbridge exclaimed. "I'm sure these rugs have been +taken out and cleaned every time I go to my country-place. A trapdoor +would be noticed!" + +"I'm trying to find out," suggested Drew glancing from the bottle to +the purple face of the Magnate. "Please answer me if you want to get +results. I've got to see that no one comes into this library for the +next twelve hours. After that period of time--we can breathe easier." + +"Go on," said Stockbridge feeling the thrust. + +"This door," Drew said. "The door to the hall. Can it be locked +securely?" + +"Yes! It can be locked and bolted from the inside. I often lock myself +in--in----" + +Stockbridge stiffened in his chair. He glanced toward the portières. He +leaned forward and attempted to shield the view of the quarter-emptied +Bourbon-bottle and the used glass, as a girl in lavender and Irish-lace +swept into the room. + +Drew recognized Loris Stockbridge from newspaper photos. He held his +breath as she glided by him, unseeingly. He touched his mustache and +waited. Her face, framed in close-drawn hair the color of midnight sky, +softened perceptibly as she swished round the great table in the center +of the library and laid an unjeweled hand upon her father's shoulder. + +She turned with a start as she realized that Stockbridge was not alone. +Drew bowed with swift courtesy. + +"Mr. Drew," said the Magnate. "Mr. Drew, my daughter, Loris." + +Again the detective bowed. He met her level glance with a smile in his +brown eyes. She answered it and leaned over her father's shoulder. Drew +wheeled and fell to studying the titles on the books. He moved to the +magpie's cage. He extended one finger. The bird fluttered and sprang +from perch to perch. + +Drew thrust his hands into his pockets. He heard Loris speaking in +terse, throaty tones to her father. He could not well avoid catching +the tenor of their conversation. It concerned the letter from the +cemetery and the threat of death within twelve hours, which the Magnate +repeated to her with a softness in his aged voice. + +A gushing torrent of unbridled emotion poured down upon his gray head. +The girl paced the floor between the chair and the table. She fell to +her knees with swift grace. + +"Be careful, father," she sobbed. "You must be so careful. Remember +you're all that I have, now. That letter and that telephone call means +that somebody is planning to destroy you. Oh, father, be careful. What +would happen if you were taken away from me?" + +"You'd marry that cad--Nichols!" blurted Stockbridge. "I'm the one +thing that stands in his way. You'd marry him--wouldn't you?" + +The girl rose proudly. Drew, from the shadow outside the rose-light, +studied the slender figure crowned with a close-drawn turban of +blue-black hair. His eyes ranged down to her slipper heels. They lifted +again. He stroked his chin as he waited for her answer. It came +truthfully enough and with high spirit. + +"Yes, I'll marry him some day. I want your permission, but with it or +without it, father, I am going to marry him. He's a captain in the +Army. Doesn't that prove he is not all the things you said he was?" + +"Good girl," said Drew in whispered admiration. + +"It proves nothing!" exclaimed Stockbridge stiffening in his chair and +half rising. "He's a cad and an ass under all his uniform. He's too +poor to be considered for one moment. I want my daughter to marry----" + +"Whom she pleases," said Loris. "Harry may be poor, but he's not too +proud to fight!" + +"Bah! They get those uniforms so the girls will notice them. What does +he know about war?" + +"He's been at Plattsburg for three months. He's in town on furlough. +He's helping us with Red Cross work. Isn't that noble!" + +"That part's all right," said the Magnate. "I want you to keep him from +me, that's all. I believe he's half German!" + +"He's not! Harry is all-American. His mother was born of German parents +in this country. His father was Canadian. You've heard of the Nichols +who built part of the Grand Trunk Railroad. Was he German?" + +Stockbridge paled under the torrent which gushed from the girl's lips. + +"Well, all right," he said resignedly. "Don't bring him here or allow +him to call. I've too much to think about to worry over Harry Nichols. +You better go to your room and think things over." + +Loris glanced at her wrist-watch. She leaned with quick motion and +kissed her father on the forehead. She turned at the portières and +threw back her head. + +"Good-by, Mr. Drew," she said prettily. "I hope that you have not been +annoyed." + +The detective, naturally quick at answering, found his tongue tied in +his mouth. He stammered a reply, which was too late. Loris swished +through the curtains, leaving the room empty for her passing. + +"A mighty fine girl," was Drew's whispered comment. "They don't often +come like that. She's very high class. She's got spirit. I'd hate to +snatch a delusion from that young lady--Harry Nichols, for instance." + +"Come here!" broke in Stockbridge. + +Drew crossed the rugs. He stood by the magnate's side. He watched him +pour out a half-glass of Bourbon and take the whisky neat. He frowned. +"Well?" he asked. + +"Not a word from your men or the telephone company?" asked Stockbridge, +wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. "That's queer, isn't it?" + +Drew took out his watch. He replaced it after a glance at the dial. His +eyes wandered to a little Sèvres clock on a book-case. "It's time for +both," he said. "It's----" + +"There's somebody now--go see," Stockbridge whispered tersely. +"Somebody is in the hallway." + +The portières parted and revealed the beef-red face of the English +butler. He advanced a step. + +"The trouble-man from the telephone company is 'ere, sir," he said. +"'E's 'ere! 'E's been hover the junctions in the halley, sir. 'E's +looked at the junction-box. 'E says, sir, there's no trouble there. 'E +says 'it must be in 'ere, sir.'" + +"In 'ere, sir," repeated the magpie with a loud squawking and rustle of +wings. "Junction-box! Junction-box!" it cried with its head through the +gilded bars. + +"Shut up, Don!" ordered Stockbridge. "Be a good bird," he added +sharply. "Now, Straker, you may show the trouble-hunter up." + +"Trouble-hunter! Trouble-hunter!" echoed the magpie. + +Drew, somewhat amused, thrust his hands in the pockets of his coat and +eyed the opening between the curtains. A click of tools sounded +metallically. A shambling step was in the hallway. + +"This woiy," said the butler in a superior tone. "Right this woiy, +you!" + +The portières parted. A slouching figure, with a greasy cap drawn far +down over the eyes, entered the library with a lineman's satchel on his +hip. He swung the strap from his shoulder, glanced at Stockbridge and +then at the detective. He dropped the satchel to the floor and +scratched his head. + +"Take a look at this 'phone," said Drew. "Go over the wires. Look for +any cuts. The trouble ought not to be in here." + +Stockbridge rose and made room for the lineman, who lifted the satchel +and strode to the 'phone. He dropped to one knee by the little table. +He fished forth a testing-set from his shirt. It was bound with two +leads of cotton-insulated wire. + +"I'll test here," he suggested, clamping a set of claws into the wires +which came through the molding and entered the ringing-box. + +"Hello!" he said. "Hello, this you, Saidee? Say, Saidee, give me +Franklin Official, seventeen. Yes ... all right! Hello! This you, +Tupper? Say, Tupper, I went over the junction-box in the alley back of +the house. Everything O. K. there. I'll go over the leads in the house. +Loose connection somewhere, I guess." + +A clicking of tools followed as the lineman selected a pair of pliers. +They rattled over the binding-posts at the receiver. They tightened the +connections. He went over the transmitter, and then every inch of the +exposed wiring. He removed the cover of the ringing-box and examined +the connections. Replacing this cover, he rose with a puzzled +expression. + +"All right," he said to Stockbridge, who was standing with his back +turned. "It's all right here, sir. I don't find a thing. See--it's all +right." + +The trouble-hunter lifted the receiver from the hook. "Hello," he said +in a low voice. "Hello, Saidee. Say, Saidee, what number is this on +your board?" + +The lineman glanced around the room. His eyes widened. He whistled with +naïve admiration. "Hello," he said softly. "Yes ... Gramercy Hill 9763. +That's right. O.K. Tell Franklin Official--tell Tupper that I took +forty minutes on the job. Forty minutes at time and a half. Don't +forget that. Yes ... bridle--everything, all right, Saidee. See you +later." + +The trouble-hunter reached for his satchel. He hitched it over his +shoulder. + +"Hold on!" said Drew. "What _was_ the trouble? Why couldn't we get +Central?" + +"You can search me--sir. It wasn't in this room, mister. That's a +Western-Union cinch!" + +"Where was it?" + +"I don't know." + +"How about the junction-box in the alley? Could it have been there?" + +"Well it could--come to think of it. I scraped an' cleaned th' +connections to make sure. They're all right now." + +"Did you see anybody about?" + +The lineman hitched up the satchel and scratched his ear. "Seems to me, +I did. A fellow climbed over the fence from the back yard of this house +just as I swings in from the side street. It was snowin' a bit an' I +couldn't see very well." + +"What kind of looking fellow?" snapped Drew with awakened interest. +"German?" + +"You took th' very words right out of my mouth," said the +trouble-hunter. "He looked like a German." + +"Describe him! Tall, fat or small?" + +"I wasn't near enough to notice for sure. Tall, I think. He went out +the alley and turned toward Fifth Avenue." + +"Could he have called us up from that junction-box?" + +"Sure--if he had a set of testers like this." The lineman tapped his +shirt with his left hand. "He could have talked with you, but he +couldn't ring your bell without a magneto or an alternating current of +some kind." + +"Could he have cut the wires and connected them again without Central +noticing anything out of the ordinary?" + +"He might. But who would do that, sir?" + +"That's all!" said Drew in dismissal. "Here's a dollar. Keep still +about your visit here. We may want you later." + +"Want you later," repeated the magpie. + +Drew turned toward Stockbridge as the lineman shuffled through the +portières. "Queer," he said. "Tall fellow, eh! That's the man who cut +in and threatened you. We'll get him! I'll go out and see if Delaney +has arrived. Two hours of the twelve have passed. Ten more should see +you safely out of it." + + + + +CHAPTER THREE + +"THE MAN IN OLIVE-DRAB" + + +Triggy Drew stood on the marble steps of the Stockbridge mansion. The +butler had just helped him on with his coat. The door had closed +softly. The outer air gripped with cold that crackled. A soft snow was +falling upon the city. It blurred the view of the Avenue, as seen to +north and south. It wound the opposite buildings with a shroud of +winter. + +The detective squared his shoulders, thrust his hands in his pockets +for warmth, and hurried out between the iron-grilled gates, which stood +slightly ajar. He hesitated a moment on the sidewalk. Again he glanced +up and down the Avenue. The soft purring of a motor sounded. A taxi +churned through the snow. It came to a slow stop at the opposite curb. +The glow from an overhead arc showed that this taxi was crammed black +with men. + +"That's Delaney and his squad," said the detective turning up his +collar. "He's late." + +Drew crossed the Avenue on a long diagonal. He eyed the alert +chauffeur. He rounded the taxi and jerked open its door. The orders he +whispered to the squad of operatives were terse and to the point. + +"Keep Stockbridge's block covered," he said. "Watch all four corners. +Two of you get into the alley, back of the house, and climb the fence. +Keep your eyes on the junction-box and the telephone wires. Don't let +anybody touch them. All out, now. It's a big job with double-pay, men!" + +The cramped operatives climbed out and stood on the sidewalk. They +glanced from Drew to the towering spires of the Stockbridge mansion. +Their eyes grew hard with calculation. + +"She's big," repeated Drew. "You know who lives there? He's been +threatened twice. Somebody gave him twelve hours to live. Two of the +twelve are gone. It's up to us to see that nothing happens in the next +ten." + +Delaney touched his hat. "All right, Chief," he said. "We'll see. I'll +answer for the boys I brought. I'll get rid of this taxi." The +operative turned toward the driver. + +"Keep it around the corner on the side street," Drew ordered. "Have him +turn and head this way. We can't tell what minute we will need him." + +Delaney gave the order. He paired off the operatives and sent them +hurrying through the snow. Drew noticed that he had brought six men for +the assignment. + +"Good," he said as the last operative disappeared. "Six is better than +five. This thing is widening out. I wouldn't wonder if we needed more, +before the night passes." + +"What's coming off?" asked Delaney with an Irish grin. "Another stock +scandal like the Flying Boat one?" + +"An echo of it--perhaps," said Drew. "It's dog eat dog, I guess. +Stockbridge is no saint. Some man with a whispering--consumptive voice +has 'phoned him the news that he was going to die before daylight. I +don't think he is. Not if I can help it." + +"Who did he rob this time--the old devil!" + +"He's retired. It's a case, perhaps, of thieves falling out in high +places. Remember how Stockbridge beat Morphy to the District Attorney +and told all he knew, and went before the Grand Jury? Morphy may be +behind this threat-by-wire." + +"Morphy's behind bars, Chief!" + +"I know that. He's always dangerous, though." + +"Another old devil," said Delaney thrashing his arms. "I can see him +now, Chief, in his big automobile. A husky man with a leather coat and +cap. And always a woman by his side, Chief. A different woman, every +time!" + +"He fell a long way, Delaney. Come on. We'll forget Morphy for a while. +Stockbridge is alone. He is in danger." + +Drew clutched the operative's arm and motioned across the street. They +plunged through the snow with heads down. They entered the iron-grilled +gate. Drew touched a button set in the stone of the doorway. He +repeated the signal. + +The door opened to a crack. A chain rattled. A face blotted out the +inner light of the mansion. + +"All right," said Drew. "All right, butler. This is one of my +operatives. Let us in." + +The butler led the way through the hall of old masters, after taking +the detectives' coats and hats. He parted the curtains and announced +the operatives. Drew pressed Delaney into the library. + +Stockbridge sat in the same position between the tables. The rose-light +from the ornate lamp brought out deep lines which transversed his +yellow face. Fear gave way to a mumbling satisfaction as he stared at +the two resolute detectives who had come to guard him. He rested his +eyes upon Delaney. His brows raised in inquiry. + +"This is Delaney," said Drew. "He's the man who brought back Morphy +from Hartford. He's true blue. Delaney, this is your case as well as +mine. Your old prisoner may be involved." + +"Morphy ain't in it, Chief. He's locked up tighter than the +Sub-Treasury's strong-box. It's some one else." + +"What did you get on the telephone call? The call I had you trace +through Spencer Ott, the Chief Electrician?" + +"Nothing, as yet! I waited. That's what kept me so long." Delaney +glanced at his watch. + +"He'll 'phone later, I guess," said Drew. "Now," he added turning +toward Stockbridge. "Now, let's cover everything in this house. What +time was it, Delaney?" + +"Nine forty-eight, when I looked, Chief." + +"That's early. Suppose you allow a half hour for a search of the upper +house. Take that time and go over everything. Pay particular attention +to Mr. Stockbridge's rooms. Look at the windows. See that they are +locked. See that there are no places where a man could be hidden. +You'll permit Delaney to do this, Mr. Stockbridge?" + +The Munition Magnate nodded. He kept his eyes on Drew, who still faced +him. "Do you think it is necessary?" he asked. "I'll answer for my +servants." + +"We must suspect everybody," Drew said. "Go on, Delaney. Find the +butler and let him show you around. I've searched in here." + +Delaney started toward the portières as Stockbridge reached down and +pressed the floor-button with his finger. + +"Just a moment," said Drew with afterthought. "You better knock on Miss +Stockbridge's door and ask permission to go through her suite. There's +just a chance that you might see something." + +"Might see something!" shrilled the magpie. + +Delaney turned with a startled half-oath. "Wot's that?" he asked, +aggressively clenching his huge fists. + +"Might be something!" chortled the magpie. + +"Go on," Drew laughed. "That's only a magpie." + +"Looks like a crow, Chief. It sure startled me. I thought we had the +villain right here." + +Drew waited. Delaney--with a last glance toward the bird-cage--followed +the butler to the upper floors of the mansion. Drew opened the letter +and studied it. He examined the postmark. He heard, as he was replacing +the paper in the envelope, the click of the glass against the bottle at +Stockbridge's side. There followed a dry chuckle of inner satisfaction. +A match was struck. Cigar smoke wreathed under the rose-light and +floated toward a high radiator which was over the book-cases. Drew went +over to these and glanced upward. The gilt-grilled ventilator, through +which the smoke passed, was narrow and set within the wallplaster. It +showed no sign of marks at its edge. It was the only opening, save the +door and the two great windows at the front, which led from or into the +library. + +He returned to the center of the library. A swishing sounded. Loris, +with eyes aflame, glided into the room. The curtains dropped behind her +with soft rustling. She glanced from Drew to her father. She stamped +her slippered foot upon the thick pile of the rug before the doorway. + +"By what right?" she said to Drew. "By whose orders have you sent that +awful man to my rooms?" + +Drew flushed beneath the olive of his skin. + +"_I_ sent him," he admitted guiltily. "I never thought you would be +offended, Miss Stockbridge." + +"I am--greatly so! Do you mistrust me?" + +"Miss Stockbridge," Drew hastened to say with soft apology. "Miss +Loris--that thought never entered my mind. It never did! I'll have Mr. +Delaney out, right away. He should not have gone in without your +permission. I told him to knock and ask you." + +"My maid let him in. I--I----" + +Drew studied her gown. It had been changed. The Irish lace and the +lavender one had been replaced by an Oxford-gray tailor-made suit which +fitted her slender, elegant form like a close glove. Her slippers were +topped with fawn-hued spats. One ring was on her finger. It was a +solitaire of price. It gleamed and flashed in the rose-light as she +raised her hand to her hair. + +"I'll have Delaney right out," repeated Drew, bowing and starting for +the doorway. + +"No!" + +Drew paused. He turned. The magnate towered over the table. His eyes +were blood-shot and glazed with resolve. + +"No!" he declared. "No, you'll not have him out! Let him do his duty! +Loris, go upstairs!" + +"But, father----" + +"Go--up--stairs!" + +The girl flushed. Scarlet ripples rose from her young breast. Her +cheeks crimsoned into two burning spots. She wheeled, gathered up her +skirt, and glided swiftly through the portières which dropped behind +her like a curtain of a stage. + +"Go--up--stairs," quoted the magpie greatly excited. + +Drew retained the vision of Loris long after her footsteps had ceased +to sound in the hallway. He grew thoughtful as he waited. There were +details to the case which already caused him concern. It was evident +that the girl was tremendously high-spirited and willful. Her obedience +to her father's demand had only been after a struggle with her +turbulent nature. She had given in to him, but friction was there which +might cause trouble at a future hour. + +Delaney parted the portières, finally. He strode into the library with +a flushed face. He lifted one brow as he jerked his head upward in a +mute signal to Drew. + +"I guess it's all O. K.," he blurted swinging toward Stockbridge and +eyeing the bottle beside the telephone. "O. K. upstairs. I searched +most everything--posted a valet at the master's suite and took a look +into Miss Stockbridge's rooms. They seem all right. I guess they're all +right," he added with candor, which Drew understood referred to the +girl and her outburst in her boudoir. + +"Good," Drew said closing his lips. "That's good. Now, Mr. +Stockbridge," he added, "there will be eight of us on the outside of +this house. You have your trusted servants inside. There's three +telephones in good order, thanks to the trouble-man. There's the entire +New York Police and Detective Departments to back us up. There should +be no trouble." + +The Magnate blinked beneath the cone of rose-light. He wet his dry +lips. He rubbed his scaly hands. "Any orders to me?" he asked +determinedly. "What shall I do?" + +"You lock this library door when Delaney and I go out. Lock it and bolt +it securely. Don't take a particle of food. Don't drink any water. Try +to get along to-night without sampling anything." + +Stockbridge reached for the bottle of Bourbon. He held it up to the +light. It was half full. "All right," said he. "I might finish part of +this--that's all." + +Drew glanced at Delaney. "That'll be all right," he said turning. "That +bottle's been tested. You might let this officer try a little of it. +Nothing like being sure, you know." + +Delaney was willing. The drink he poured, after the butler brought a +clean glass, would have cost him considerable money in war time. He +upended it neat. He smiled as one hand rested upon his chest. "Fine!" +he said with sincerity. "There's nothin' th' matter with that!" + +Drew turned toward the portières, where, between, the butler waited. +"We'll go now," he said. "Remember--lock and bolt this door. Instruct +your man to stay outside and not to leave it under any circumstances. +When you go up to your bedroom, have him go with you. Then lock the +upstairs door and let your valet sleep across the threshold. You can +have a mattress moved for that purpose. I'll come in--first thing in +the morning. Good night, sir!" + +"Good night," repeated Stockbridge rising from his chair and leaning +his hands upon the polished surface of the table. "Good night to both +of you!" + +Drew glanced back as the butler pressed in the curtains and started +closing the hardwood door. The Magnate still stood erect under the rich +glow from the overhead cone. His eyes were slit-lidded and defiant. He +glared about the room like an aged lion in a jungle-glade. He started +around the table. + +The door closed. Drew waited in the hallway. He heard the lock snap. +The bolt shot home. Stockbridge was alone in a sealed room. + +"Watch this door!" ordered Drew clutching the butler's purple sleeve. +"Watch it like a cat. Stay right near it under any and all +circumstances. Don't go away from it. It may mean life or death to your +master." + +"I'll stoiy right 'ere, sir." + +"See that you do," cautioned the Detective. "See that you do." + +Delaney found the hats and coats in the foyer. These they donned, +opened the outer door, and stepped into the night with jaws squared and +hands thrust deep in their pockets. + +They crossed the snow-mantled Avenue upon a long diagonal which brought +them to the up-town corner and the waiting taxi, whose engine was +softly purring beneath its hooded bonnet. + +The driver was asleep. He woke as Drew laid a hand on his arm. + +"Seen anything?" asked the Detective. + +"Nothin', boss, but snow. Nothin' at all," he yawned. + +Delaney glanced about. He opened the taxi door on the street side and +lunged inward with a sigh of relief. Drew followed and pulled the door +shut. + +"Where's the bunch?" he asked. "Just how did you post them?" + +"Flood's with the fixed-post cop on the Avenue. He's down a block. +Flynn and Cassady are in the alley--in the yard, I mean. They're +watching the junction-box and the wires. Joe and O'Toole went east. +Harrigan is planted across the street. That's him between the two +buildings. See him?" + +Drew rubbed the rear glass of the taxi. He pressed his nose against +this. A blurred form, almost obliterated by falling snow, showed where +the operative was guarding the mansion. + +Delaney, who was watching out through another window, suddenly clutched +Drew by the arm. "Look!" he exclaimed. "Look, Chief! Over toward the +big house!" + +The Detective drew back from his study of Harrigan. He turned on the +seat and followed Delaney's pointing finger. He clamped his jaw shut +with a click of strong teeth. + +"Somebody's coming out of Stockbridge's," said the operative. + +"Quek!" signaled Drew. "Watch, closely," he added in a whisper. + +A girl came through the doorway and opened the iron-grilled gates. She +paused and glanced north and south through the curtain of down-falling +snow. She turned with resolution and hurried along the east side of the +Avenue. She was at the corner opposite the taxi, when Drew reached and +opened the door with sly fingers. + +"Tail her," he ordered. "Right after her, Delaney. I'd know that little +lady in a million." + +"Who is she, Chief?" + +"Loris Stockbridge!" + +"Sure?" + +"Yes! Right after her! There--she turned east. See her white spats? See +her furs? Some queen to be out a night like this. Don't let her get too +far ahead of you. That's right, Delaney!" + +The operative sprang to the curb. He rounded the hood of the taxi. He +slouched along the pavement to the corner, waited for the fraction of a +minute until a limousine passed, then hurried over the Avenue. He +disappeared into the canyon whose walls were towering apartments and +whose end was marked by a row of soft arcs across which, snow falling +from housetops, sparkled in the night like diamonds beyond price. + +The Avenue churned with returning theater-parties and night-hawk cabs. +The roar of the city came to the waiting Detective's ears like a giant +turning in his first sleep. The sifting snow sanded against the windows +of the taxi. The purring motor missed sparking now and then. It shook +the cab as it resumed its revolving with a sputter and a cough in the +muffler. The driver huddled deeper in his sheep-skin coat collar. He +snored in synchronism with the engine. + +Drew rubbed the glass before him and studied the aspect with +close-lidded intentness. He marked the shut gates of the Mansion down +the Avenue. He saw that the lights from the inner globes had been +extinguished. He counted the staring windows. His eyes lowered to the +soft rose-glow which streamed out through the shut blinds of the +library. Snow was on the slats and sills. + +A swift crunch of heavy shoes at the side of the taxi--the turning of +the door-lock--the burly form in black that climbed in, announced +Delaney. + +"All right, Chief!" he said somewhat out of breath. "All right--move +over. Here she comes back!" + +Drew rubbed a frosted pane with his elbow. A blurred form--close to the +sheltering wall of the side street--revealed itself into Loris +Stockbridge. She turned the corner. She glanced back over her sabled +shoulder. She pressed her gloved hands deep within her muff and almost +ran for the iron-grilled gates of the mansion. + +"She connected with a blonde lad in olive-drab uniform!" said Delaney. +"He gave her something that looked to me like a revolver. Wot d'ye make +out-a that, Chief?" + + + + +CHAPTER FOUR + +"THE MURDER" + + +Triggy Drew had no good answer for Delaney's question concerning the +revolver. The matter was important in view of the threat aimed toward +Stockbridge. Why Loris should obtain a gun from a rendezvous in a +drug-store was more than the Detective could fathom. He turned to +Delaney. + +"Explain yourself!" he snapped, gripping the operative by the sleeve. +"Make yourself clear! We have no time to waste in this matter!" + +Delaney gulped and whispered. "It's this way. I follows the girl until +she turns around the corner where there is an all-night drug-store. She +was in a telephone-booth when I came up and looked through the window. +She was trying to get a number. While she's trying, a taxi rushes up +and out jumps a lad in a long benny. He pays the driver with a bill and +hurries past me and into the drug-store. I gets a good look at him. +He's about twenty-three years old, blonde hair and tall----" + +"Tall?" + +"He was five feet eleven, Chief. I'd say that to be safe. The uniform +he wore under the benny was olive-drab with bars on his shoulder. He +took the overcoat off--afterwards." + +"How many bars?" + +"Two, Chief." + +"That's good!" exclaimed Drew with sudden vigor. "Good!" + +"The girl," went on Delaney, "was 'phoning for him. She dropped the +receiver when she heard him come in. She had the party she +wanted--right there. Good deduction--that is!" + +The Detective snorted. "Go on," he said with a faint frown. + +"Sure it was! Well, I moves over and starts puttin' a penny in the +slot-machine outside the drug-store. The machine didn't work very well +on account of the snow. I'm a long time gettin' my piece of +chewin'-gum. I sees them talking in the drug-store. His coat is off +'cause it's warm inside. He had an officer's uniform on." + +"One bar or two?" + +"Two bars on his shoulder, Chief." + +"Captain, then. Go on." + +"He's a tall lad with thick lips and wide-blue eyes. He's straight as a +pike-staff and good lookin'--for a blonde." + +"Looks German?" + +"Not so I could notice! Seemed to be a bit of a swell. Had gloves and a +high-class wrist watch. I hate them things." + +Drew smiled. "Hurry," he said. "Don't take too long. What happened? +What about the smoke-wagon?" + +"I'm comin' to it, Chief. They moves over to the drug-case. They chins +some more. Then he blows her to a soda--a cherry sundae." + +Drew rubbed the glass at his side and started out. He swept the mansion +with swift-running eyes. He turned. + +"They were sweet--them two," went on Delaney with thought. "I deducts +they'd known each other a long while." + +"Quit your deducting. Get to facts!" + +"Well, Chief, he ups and gives the drug-store the once over with sharp +looks. Then he handed her a little, flat box which she pops into her +muff--quick as any shop-hister. It was as quick as that!" + +"How do you know it was a revolver?" + +"By what followed, Chief." + +"What followed?" + +"Her hand creeps into the muff. It works around while the clerk is +mixin' the sundae. When the clerk's back is turned, out comes the hilt +of a nice, little gat with ivory trimmin's. It's one of them lovely +watch-charm affairs--all polished up without a knock-out punch." + +"A twenty-two?" + +"About that. It's the caliber them actresses carry in their stockings. +It might kill, though, at short range." + +"Go on, Delaney. Tell me what happened then?" + +"I gets my chewin'-gum, Chief. I backs to the curb. They finish their +sundae. I'm across the street when the lad goose-steps out of the +drug-store--alone. O'Toole was talking with the fixed-post cop and a +Central Office man half-way down the block. They gets my office when I +pulls out my handkerchief. The C. O. dick covers the corner. O'Toole +falls in behind the lad in the fur benny as he passes him, with collar +turned up and leggins working at a double-time through the snow." + +"That's good! O'Toole will put him to bed." + +"Sure, Chief. Leave it to O'Toole. He never lost a tail yet. He'll +follow that lad to France--unless you call him off." + +Drew polished the glass and strained his eyes in the direction of +Stockbridge's mansion. The Avenue had quieted over the hour after +midnight. A few belated pedestrians, muffled to the brows, glanced at +the waiting taxi with curiosity. They did not stop, however. + +Delaney drew out his watch and studied its dial by aid of the light +which streamed from a corner arc. He replaced the watch. + +"Twelve-forty-five," he announced. "Wish I'd brought a pint along. I +would have, if the dame hadn't come out of the drug-store so quick." + +"Did she buy anything--or do anything, after the officer left her?" + +"No! Just waited a second, then came sailin' out without a smile. Had +her hands crammed in her muff. That's where the revolver was. Bet it +was loaded." + +"More deduction," said Drew. "Don't jump at conclusions, Delaney. Get +facts and work from them. Get----" + +The Detective's voice trailed into silence. He reached swiftly and +wiped his hand over the frosted pane. He pressed his nose against the +glass until it became white with cold. He jerked back his head. + +"Quek!" he signaled from deep down in his throat. "Quek, Delaney! Open +the door. Somebody is coming out of the house!" + +Delaney twisted the handle. A breath of stinging air swept into the +taxi's heated space. Snow followed and drifted across the detectives' +knees. Both men strained in one position. Their eyes burned as they +waited with grim-set lips. + +A light shone from the lower entrance of the mansion. Its oblong +brought out in bold-relief the details of the iron-grilled gates. +Across this fine snow sifted. A man emerged. He closed the door. He +opened the gates and staggered toward the Avenue's curb. He stood, +bare-headed in the night. His chin swung north and south with helpless +motion. He fixed his eyes upon the waiting taxi, with a start of +recognition. He came over the surface of the Avenue with faltering, +bewildered steps. + +"The butler!" snapped Drew. "That's Stockbridge's butler! What's +happened?" + +"God only knows!" exclaimed Delaney. + +Drew climbed over the operative and sprang to the curb. He charged +around the rear of the taxi and brought up with a jerk before the +startled servant. + +"What is it?" he asked sharply. + +The butler stammered an incoherent answer. His eyes wavered from the +taxi to the mansion--then back again. They gripped to a dead-lock with +the detective's own. + +"What happened?" exclaimed Drew. + +"I don't know, sir. I don't know----" + +"Keep cool! Answer me!" The Detective clutched the butler's shoulder +with a vise-grip. + +"Answer me," he repeated. "What happened? What is the matter--over +there?" + +"I don't----" + +"None of that! Answer! Answer!" + +"The telephone company, sir. The telephone people rang me ... they rang +me hup hon the downstairs 'phone, sir. They said ... she said ... the +chief-loidy said for me to 'ang the receiver hup hon the Gramercy 'ill +'ook, sir. The 9763 one, sir." + +"Which one is that--the library?" + +"It his, sir!" + +"Go on! Go on! Go on!" + +"I goes back where I 'ad left the second-man, sir, by the door, sir, as +you'd ordered, sir. I knocks 'ard on the door." + +"Yes! Yes!" said Drew, feeling Delaney's hot breath over his shoulder. +"Yes! Go on!" + +"I knocks, sir. I pounds 'ard. I 'ammers and 'ammers hon the wood, sir. +'E don't answer--'e don't." + +Drew's face grew stern. "Well?" he asked still holding the butler's +eyes. "Well--what then?" + +"I knocks some 'arder. Then the second-man, 'e knocks. 'E 'its the door +with 'is 'eel, sir!" + +"Come on!" said Drew, turning and clasping Delaney's sleeve. "Come +on--something _is_ wrong!" + +The detective swept the Avenue with a sharp glance as he hurried across +the wheel-churned ice and snow. He signaled to Harrigan by drawing a +handkerchief. That operative detached himself from the shadow between +the two houses and moved toward the corner. He stood there on guard as +Drew hurried through the iron-grilled gates and thrust his knee against +the door. It opened. Delaney and the butler crowded in. They mounted +the inner stairs on tiptoes. Drew's hand went behind him in warning. He +turned at the top of the landing. The second-man was standing before +the library door with folded arms and a watchdog expression on his +cockney face. He remained in that position as Drew glided to his side. + +"Hear anything?" asked the detective. + +"Never a word, sir. Hit's blym quiet hin there. Hi think 'e's 'ad +something 'appen, sir. 'E never acted like that--before, sir. Sometimes +'e sleeps, but 'e always wakes hup when the walley comes after 'im, +sir." + +"'E does," echoed the butler with chattering teeth. + +"Are you sure you tried to unlock this door?" queried Drew, twisting +the knob. "Have you tried the outer lock? You might have shot the bolt +in your excitement." + +"The key to the houter lock, sir, is hinside!" + +"It is!" snapped Drew, pressing against the panel as he listened close +up to the chamfering. "It is, eh? That's funny." + +"'E put hit there, sir. The master did, sir!" + +Drew did not dwell further on this. He stared at Delaney, with unseeing +eyes. He bent and listened for a second time. He stiffened suddenly. He +jerked back. + +"Listen," he whispered tersely. "Everybody listen. What's that noise +inside? Hear it? Hear it, Delaney?" + +The operative dropped to his knees and pressed his ear to a faint line +of light below the door. He rose, dusting his knees. He swore audibly. + +"What is it?" asked Drew. + +"Sounds like the crow, Chief." + +"Stockbridge's magpie?" + +"Something like that." + +The Detective laid his ear flat against the key-hole. His face hardened +as he waited. He lifted his head and pointed with a steady finger. +"Listen!" he commanded. "There--listen. That's no magpie!" + +_A low whine like the howl of a wild thing rose to a reed note of +moribund terror. It died; then resumed its shrieking. It leaped the +octaves from no note to a blare of a soul in agony. Suddenly it struck +down the tone scale with descending steps of mocking laughter._ + +"Look out!" shouted Drew, bending his knees and gliding back to the +wall of the hallway. "Look out!" he repeated. + +"What are you goin' to do?" asked Delaney huskily. + +"Do? I'm going to break the door down! Look out!" + +The detective braced himself against the wall. He lunged forward and +crashed against the dark panel near the lock and bolt, with the energy +of a college fullback. He backed away and repeated the smashing blow. + +"Hold on, Chief," Delaney said. "That's no use. The door is two inches +thick. I had a good look at it. Wait!" + +Drew rubbed his right shoulder as Delaney turned toward the white-faced +butler. + +"You get an ax!" he ordered. "Beat it, and get a big ax, quick!" + +"The axes are in the furnace room, sir." + +"Get one! Bring it right up, you. Hurry now!" + +The operative turned toward Drew. "The only way, Chief," he explained. +"I've been in too many of Big Bill Devery's raids not to know how to +break down a strong door. I'm the man who took Honest John Kelsey's +house apart for him. It was built like a British tank." + +The puffing butler appeared with a fire ax. He handed it to Delaney, +who eyed the edge with concern. + +"Not sharp," he said, "but it'll do, at a pinch. Look out--everybody!" + +Delaney waved the servants away. He moistened his broad palms. He swung +the ax and crashed its weight into the panel nearest the lock. He +followed this blow with another. He panted as he rained swinging +slashes at the dark wood. It splintered. An opening was made. This +opening was enlarged by short-arm jabs until Drew laid a hand on +Delaney's shoulder and called a halt. "Let me see," he said bending +down. + +He straightened. He enlarged the chopped place with his fingers. He +ripped off the splinters until there was room for a palm to be +inserted. Delaney, dropping the ax upon the hall-rug, thrust through +his arm to the elbow. He bent his knee as he strained. His face screwed +into a knot. + +"Is the key there?" asked Drew. + +"Ye--s. I turned it. All the way, Chief. Here's the bolt. Both were +locked tight. Both locked, on the inside of the library." + +"Remember that!" snapped Drew, squaring his shoulders. "Everybody +remember that. It may be important!" + +Drew pressed Delaney aside. He seized the gold knob and turned it +slowly. He waited for a moment. Nothing sounded save the loud breathing +of the butler and the other servants who were crowded in the hall. + +The detective jerked open the splintered door. He hesitated and +listened. He pressed aside the portières with his left hand as his +right fingers coiled over the ugly hilt of a police regulation .44. He +advanced into the library, foot by foot. His fingers still coiled the +gun's butt. He stood rigid as he reached the fringe of the splendid rug +which was under the great table. His sweeping, close-lidded eyes took +in the details of the room. He saw the magpie in its cage. The bird's +feathers were ruffled. Its head darted in and out the bars with great +excitement. + +Drew frowned as he noticed a wreath of pale-blue smoke curling under +the dome of the rose-light. He sniffed the air with a shrewd intake. A +powder explosion of some kind had left a trace. The air, so close and +warm, was filled with acrid menace. + +The detective removed his hand from the revolver's butt and waved it +behind him as a signal to Delaney and the servants to stay where they +were. He took one step forward. The white writing paper and envelope +from the cemetery company were upon the table. The stump of a +half-smoked cigar draped over this table's edge like a gun on a +parapet. It was cold and without ash. + +The smaller of the two tables was overturned. The whisky bottle and +glass lay at the edge of the rug nearest the wall. The telephone +transmitter and receiver were upon the hardwood floor, where they had +fallen with the butts of two Havana cigars and the ash trays and match +boxes. + +Stockbridge was crumpled into a twisted knot against the rich +wainscoting. His head was half under his left shoulder. His iron-gray +hair was singed black over the left ear. + +Drew leaned with one hand on the corner of the table and peered +downward. He called the magnate's name. He repeated it. He turned +toward the doorway. His hand raised. His finger pressed against his +lips. + +"Stockbridge is dead," he told Delaney, who glided to his side. "He is +dead. He was shot to death in this sealed room. I wonder who did it?" + +"Ah, Sing!" shrieked the magpie. "Ah, Sing! Ah, Sing!" + + + + +CHAPTER FIVE + +"THE FIRST CLEWS" + + +The magpie's words, repeated over and over as Drew and Delaney stood in +the room of death, struck both men as a possible clew. It was more than +likely that the murderer or the murdered man had shouted something, the +moment the shot was fired. This exclamation might have been, "Ah, +Sing!" The bird had repeated something it had memorized, or retained in +its shallow brain. + +"Ah, Sing!" suggested Drew, keenly on the alert. "Ah, Sing, eh? Never +forget that! We may need it--later." + +"Sounds like a Chinaman," said the operative. "Stockbridge was shot by +a Chink!" + +"Get busy! Go over the room and look for a possible hiding place. You, +butler, stand across that doorway! Don't move from there!" Drew wheeled +and stared at the white faces of the servants which were framed in the +somber curtains of the opening to the hall. + +The detective swung back. He rounded the large table with slow steps. +He bent down. One knee touched the rug. He reached and grasped the +magnate's stiff arm. He worked it like a hinge. He felt of the muscles. +They were rigid. + +Rising, Drew again tested the air of the library. He glanced at +Delaney, who was opening the book-case doors. + +"What do you smell?" he asked sharply. + +The operative turned and sniffed with widening nostrils. + +"It's powder!" he said. "Gunpowder, Chief." + +"Sure?" + +"It's kind-a peculiar--at that." + +"Explain yourself--be clear!" + +Delaney scratched his head. "I'd say, Chief, it was smokeless powder. +It don't smell like the ordinary kind." + +"I saw smoke when I came in!" + +"That smokeless stuff smokes. It ain't altogether what they call it. +Remember the shootin'-gallery at Headquarters? There's smoke there when +the police are practicing with them steel-jacketed bullets." + +"You're right," said Drew. "Keep on looking about. I'm getting on. +Stockbridge was shot at very close range behind and under the left ear. +The weapon used was a small-caliber revolver. The bullet is undoubtedly +lodged in the lower brain. Powder stains are in his hair. The opening +is clotted shut. He fell forward. In falling he knocked over the little +table with its load of ash-trays, match-boxes, telephone, cigar butts +and the whisky bottle and the glass. He's been dead some time." + +"I 'e'rd no shot!" cried the butler from the doorway. + +Drew wheeled. "You wouldn't," he said sharply. "Delaney," he added, +"say, Delaney, get out your note book and pencil. I want to put down +everything we can think of before I send for the coroner. We'll take a +complete record. This thing is diabolical. You see nothing?" + +"Nothing," echoed Delaney as he slammed a book-case door shut, dusted +his fingers and reached in his pocket. "There's nobody planted in this +room--that's a fact, Chief. That's what gets me. How was the murder +done?" + +"Speculation is useless--now! Get ready for notes." + +"I'm ready, Chief." + +The detective strode across the library rugs and snapped on the wall +switch by jabbing at a mother-of-pearl button. Each time he jabbed, +more lights came on. The room flooded with soft glowing from concealed +globes. This glow brought out the full details of the palatial +interior. Drew chewed at his mustache thoughtfully. He measured the +walls with his eyes. He glided swiftly toward the windows. He thrust +aside the heavy curtains of one and glanced upward. + +"Closed and locked," he said to Delaney. "Put that down. There's snow +on the sill which has drifted through the outer slats. Put that down. +No sign of footprints. Put that down. Now, the upper part!" + +He climbed up on the ornate radiator box. His fingers went over the +catch. "Locked here!" he said, glancing down. "Locked and the same as +it was. Make a note of that!" + +He sprang down and examined the other window. He went over the sill and +the catch with absorbed intentness. His teeth bit against his upper +lip. He shook his head as he turned. + +"No chance for a bullet to have been fired through these windows!" he +declared positively. "No chance at all. This end of the library is +sealed as far as we are concerned. Now, we'll consider the only other +opening--the door!" + +"Double locks, Delaney," he called over his shoulder as he crossed the +room and pressed the butler back into the hall. "Double locks of the +superior order. Gold knobs and key-holes. The holes are not in line. +The chamfering is clean, except where you struck it once or twice with +the ax. No sign of outside tampering or jimmy work. I'd say we've +covered this door. Any suggestions?" + +Delaney tried both the inner lock and the bolt which was actuated with +a gold butterfly-wing of heavy construction. He studied the flat key. +It was gold-plated. He dropped to his knees and went over the entire +lower chamfering with his broad finger. + +He said, "No suggestions, Chief. This was locked twice, until we broke +a hole through with an ax. I don't see----" + +"Make a note of everything!" ordered Drew with a sharp glance at the +waiting servants. "Make a full record of what we have found--including +your exact interpretation of the magpie's words. What were they?" + +"Ah, Sing!" + +"I think the same. Let's look the bird over. Perhaps it will repeat." + +The two detectives strode to the bird-cage. "I'm going to send for +Fosdick and the coroner," said Drew hastily. "We've got to hurry. What +do you make of this bird? Could it have had anything to do with the +murder?" + +The magpie protested against this accusation. Its feathers ruffled. Its +claws clamped over the perch. Its tail extended upward and seemed to +dart with indignation. + +"Ah, Sid!" exclaimed Drew close up to the gilded bars. "Ah, Sid. Ah, +Sid!" he repeated as the bird sprang to the bottom of the cage and set +this jumping up and down at the end of the spring. + +"No go," said Delaney. "This black parrot don't like our looks." + +Drew fingered the cage. He tested the spring. He stooped and glanced +underneath. He tapped the belfry. It was of inlaid wood. It rang solid. +"No use," he said. "This is all, all right. Let's get to the other +matters before the clews get cold. Look everywhere for a possible +trapdoor or a secret panel. Test the walls. Move the book-cases. Turn +the pictures. Lift up the rugs. Then put everything back like you found +it. Fosdick will be on the job with both feet and the Homicide Squad, +before we know it. We haven't much time." Drew glanced at his watch as +Delaney started by moving out one of the book-cases. + +The detective ignored the body which lay upon the floor near the little +table. He was holding his investigation down to outside facts, and +bringing them to bear upon the crux of the matter. In this way, he +believed, he would secure better results. He did not want to be blinded +by an impossibility at the beginning. His first glance at Stockbridge +sufficed to assure him that the lethal instrument which had felled the +magnate was not in evidence. The bright light from a score of globes +would reveal any such object as a revolver or rifle. No one of the +servants had seen anything. They still were peering into the room like +men and women who had lost all they owned. Stockbridge, despite his +temper and sins, had been a good master to those who served him without +questioning. + +Drew glared at his watch for a second time, in preoccupation. He strode +to the library door and beckoned a hooked finger toward the butler who +towered over the other servants. + +"You!" he exclaimed. "You didn't obey orders. You didn't stay where you +were told to stay! Why did you leave this door at all?" + +"S' 'elp me, sir, I didn't, Mr. Drew. If I did it wasn't farther than +the foyer or the downstairs steps. I took very careful pains to call +the second-man, sir, when I went after you." + +Drew's eyes smoldered with inner fire. "I told you," he repeated, "I +told you to stay by this door and not leave it--even for a minute. You +went after the second-man, by your own admission. You went to the foyer +hall. You went to the staircase leading down to the lower part of the +house. In other words, you didn't watch the door, and you lost your +master through your own foolishness!" + +"But, sir, nobody could 'ave gotten through the door. Hit was locked +and bolted on the hinside, sir! I 'e'rd Mr. Stockbridge do that when +you left 'im! I did, sir!" + +"We may have been mistaken when we thought we heard that! Perhaps he +just fumbled with the locks, and left it unlocked." Drew eyed the +servant's red face with a keen-lidded glance. He waited. + +"That cawn't be right, sir," said the butler, after thought and a wild +glance about. "'Ow can that be right? I tried the door when the +telephone loidy called me hup! I tried hit twice. James tried hit! 'E +fixes hall the locks in the 'ouse, sir. 'E says it was most excellently +secured, sir." + +"How about that?" asked Drew, turning to the second-man. "What of that, +James?" + +"'E's right. I'm a little of everythin' about the 'ouse. I tends the +door and I watches the lights and locks, sir. I was born in Brixton, +sir, where the old man kept a lock-shop, sir. That's twenty years, and +more ago, sir. Beggin' your pardon, sir." + +Drew swung upon the butler. The second-man was the living picture of +truth. His dereliction, if any, might consist in sly tapping of the +wine-cellar. His nose attested to this habit, in a brilliant rosette. + +"You're partly to blame!" Drew told the butler. "There's nobody in this +room who could have committed the murder. There was nobody here when we +left Mr. Stockbridge. There is no way for anybody to get in, save +through this door. The same applies in getting out--escaping. If you +were awake and always here, and if you were honest," he added, "I could +presume that the master was slain by--well, let us say, unnatural +causes. Such things do not exist. This is a material age. Nothing as +much as a pin-head or point was ever moved save through a natural +cause. No bullet could be fired into a man's brain without a hand which +planned or pulled the trigger." + +The butler stared at Drew with blank expression. He gulped. His eyes +dropped. "I'm thinking," he said, "that the whole blym occurrence his +unnatural. I never left that door until they told me the telephone +company's loidy wanted me on the wire. It was then I left it." + +"Ah!" said Drew. "We're getting there. Then, if you are speaking truth, +and I won't help you if you are not, we have reached a point in the +case which will bear considerable thought. It is evident that +Stockbridge was murdered by a pistol shot, at or about the time the +table and contents were spilled over. In other words, the shot which +bowled him over brought down with it the telephone transmitter and +receiver. That is the thing which fixes, within minutes--perhaps +seconds--the time of the murder. The telephone girl will have a record +which will help us considerable. Many criminals have been caught--and +convicted by the time element. There is no alibi against truth! A man +can't be in two places at the same time!" + +Drew turned toward the door. He hesitated and wheeled. + +"You heard nothing fall in this room?" he asked sharply. + +"I did not, sir." + +"No shot?" + +"I cawn't say that I did, sir." + +"No telephone bell ringing? Ringing at any time after I left the +house?" + +"Not downstairs, sir." + +"You did!" + +"'Ow, sir?" + +"Didn't you tell me the telephone company rang up and wanted you to put +the receiver on the hook in the library?" + +"I didn't 'ear it ring. James brought the word, sir." + +"Then, what happened upstairs?" + +"'Ow do you know, sir? 'Ow'd you know it rang up there!" + +"By elimination! It rang then, in Loris' room? You said 'nothing +downstairs' in such a way I presume it rang upstairs." + +The butler stroked his chin. It was blue and close-shaved. The purple +of his cheeks and neck had deepened. He glanced about the hallway. His +eyes wandered toward the grand stairway which, coiled upward to the +second story. "I'm 'iding nothing, sir," he said. "Miss Loris often is +called up at night. She's very popular, sir. I 'e'rd 'er telephone +ringing once or twice while I was standing by this door, waiting for +the master to come out--which 'e never did." + +Drew hesitated. He plucked out his watch and glanced at the dial. He +turned swiftly. "Stay right there," he said as he parted the portières +and faced Delaney who wore the puzzled expression of a man baffled and +entirely at sea. + +"What did you find?" he snapped to the operative. + +"Not a thing, Chief." Delaney mopped his brow with his sleeve. "Nothing +at all!" he added. "Everything regular. Modern--very modern house! +Thick, new, fireproof, soundproof, million-dollar building. No +trapdoors or panels. No loose boards. No hole in the ceiling. No +nothing to hang a ghost on. The gunman who shot Stockbridge went right +up in blue smoke, Chief. I quit!" + +Drew glided around the table and kneeled by the magnate's body. His +swift, light-fingered touch went through the trousers and vest. The +pockets he turned inside out. The watch attracted his attention. Its +dial had been cracked by the fall. A splinter of glass pressed against +the minute hand. He rose with a low cry. He pressed the repeater and +listened to the time chimes. He counted the strokes. He had a test in a +million. Had the watch been tampered with by the murderer, the chimes +would have proved a lie. It was possible to set the hands to any +position. It would be difficult to change both the hands and the +repeater. + +"Delaney!" he said with his dark eyes glowing, "we've got the exact +time of the murder. As I told the butler--it is very important. Both, +chimes and hands, show that Stockbridge was shot at four minutes and +eighteen seconds past midnight--this morning! This is a fine watch. It +cost several thousand dollars. Robbery was not the motive. An ordinary +crook, and they're all ordinary--with few exceptions--would have taken +this timepiece." + +"That's all right," said Delaney with a quick frown. "That's fine, +Chief, but--but how did that exceptional--crook get into this room? How +did he get out? That's what I want to know!" + +Drew combed his fingers through his black hair. He described a complete +circle about the library, with his eyes taking in everything, before he +faced Delaney. + +"I don't know!" he said frankly. "I don't want to think of it, either. +We'll turn the case over to other men for the time. Let them do some +thinking. I believe we have secured everything we want." + +The detective dropped his glance to the telephone receiver upon the +floor at Stockbridge's elbow. He stooped, grasped the silk-insulated +cord, and fished it up. + +"I'll try to get Central," he said. "This has been off a long while. +She may have sent the trouble-man again." + +Drew worked the hook of the 'phone up and down. He was answered after a +short wait. The girl's surprised voice at hearing life at the end of a +dead set of wires was drowned in the detective's request to get him, +"Spring 3100--quickly!" + +"Hello! Hello!" said Drew as he got the connection. "Hello! Is this +Spring 3100? It is? Who's talking? ... Jones? This you, Jones? ... Say, +Jones, plug me in on the Fifth Deputy Commissioner's private house +wire!... Sir? ... I don't care! ... This is Drew talking.... Drew! ... +D--r--e--w! ... That's right ... Drew, of Drew's Agency!" + +The Detective turned. He eyed Delaney who was searching the floor about +the millionaire's upturned shoes. He tapped the receiver against the +transmitter's silver-plated edge. His eyes lifted. His lips hardened as +the diaphragm of the receiver vibrated harshly. + +"Hello!" he answered tersely. "Hello! This you, Commissioner? Is this +Fosdick? ... This is Drew talking. Yes! ... Drew.... Yes! I say, +Fosdick, there's been a murder committed at Stockbridge's.... You +know--the munitions magnate! ... The millionaire! ... Morphy's old +partner." + +Drew waited a moment. He dropped his eyes upon the body below him. + +"Yes!" he continued into the transmitter. "Yes, Fosdick. I hear better, +now. Yes--Stockbridge is dead! ... He's stone dead! He was shot down in +cold blood! ... Yes! ... Shot in the brain.... Yes! Send your best +operatives.... Yes! ... Send a fingerprint man and photographer. You'll +need 'em! ... Yes! ... Yes! ... Shot with a small-bore revolver, I +guess! ... Wound behind ear looks like it! What? ... No! ... Room was +bolted.... He was inside.... Butler on guard.... Windows closed and +locked! ... No! ... No! ... No! ... It wasn't suicide. He was +threatened twice, this time!... By letter and telephone call.... +What? ... What? ... No! ... He didn't shoot himself! ... There's no gun. +It's on the left side--close up! ... Hair is singed ... flesh is powder +spotted.... Burned? ... Yes.... You'll be right up?... Yes! ... I'll be +waiting! ... Come! ... come----" + +Drew lowered the receiver and clicked it upon the hook of the telephone +which stood on the hardwood floor. He slowly turned toward the open +doorway of the library. The servants had drawn back and out of sight. +Delaney leaned forward with both hands on his bent knees. A girl's +voice had sounded in the mansion. It came closer. The portières parted +with a silken sweep. Drew braced himself against the larger table. His +hand went back to his hip. It dropped to his side. He stared across the +flood of light with line-drawn eyelids. + +Loris Stockbridge, gowned in lace chiffon and cloaked with ermine and +sable, glided across the rugs and stood framed beneath the soft, +rose-light of the central dome. Her dusk-black eyes burned and blazed +like flame through tinder smoke as she confronted the detective. + +Clasped in the fingers of her jewelless right hand was a tiny, +ivory-handled revolver. + +"What are all these people doing here?" she asked hysterically. + + + + +CHAPTER SIX + +"HARRY NICHOLS" + + +Detective Triggy Drew flushed slightly beneath his olive skin. He +bowed, with his keen eyes fixed upon the little, ivory-handled revolver +clutched so tightly in Loris Stockbridge's right hand. He bowed for a +second time. His eyes lifted and his brows arched as he said +distinctly: + +"Miss Stockbridge, something very serious has happened to your father. +It happened in this library. It happened this morning. Won't you please +go back upstairs to your rooms until I call for you. At present I am in +charge of matters." + +"Matters? What do you mean?" + +The girl swayed slightly. She glanced down at the revolver as if she +were unaware that it was in her hand. Drew advanced a step in her +direction. He feared a woman and a gun more than anything else in the +world. Both were liable to form a dangerous combination. + +"Something happened," he repeated. "I'm very sorry for you, Miss +Stockbridge." + +"Happened!" she exclaimed. "Happened to him? You don't mean that +letter--that telephone call--do you?" + +Loris' splendid, dusky eyes, within the depths of which high lights +shone, wandered over the polished table. They fastened upon the +envelope from the cemetery company. They fixed where the letter lay +with one corner beneath the center piece. They lifted in thought. They +swung toward the waiting detective who had placed himself between her +and the body of her father. She divined this movement with quick +intuition. She stepped to one side and bent downward with a graceful +movement of her hips. She gasped and pointed a left hand finger, which +wavered and went up to her hair as her palm pressed against the side of +her head. She started sobbing--short, throaty sobs of poignant +distress. + +"Please don't," whispered Drew holding out a guarding arm. "Please +don't, Miss Stockbridge. Your father is beyond this earth. You should +not have come down here." + +"Dead?" + +The word came from the depths of a soul. "Dead?" she repeated with her +taper fingers spreading across her face. + +"Yes, Miss," said Drew with a catch in his voice. "Yes, he is quite +dead. He was slain in this room by a revolver shot which struck behind +and under his left ear. No one was in the library when he locked +himself in, save himself. No one was here when we broke the door down. +And, save his servants and you, no one was in this house. He was----" + +"Murdered!" Loris' voice had lifted to one wild shriek of final +conviction and grief. She swayed. Her knees bent beneath her skirt and +bulged outwardly. She sank into a slow faint at the detective's feet. +She pillowed her head upon the rug. A silence followed. + +Drew stooped, after a glance at the servants in the doorway, thrust his +body as a barrier, and reached along Loris' white arm until his hand +closed over the barrel of the little revolver. He untwisted her cold +fingers, and palmed the weapon under a shielding cuff. He rose, saying +to Delaney, who had hurried forward: + +"I'll take charge of this." + +"Sure, Chief. Plant it. She didn't have it." + +"She had it all right, but--we'll suspend judgment. You and the butler +carry her upstairs. Go easy. Her bedroom is on the third floor, I +think. That's the reason she didn't come down sooner. Perhaps, well, I +say, she didn't hear us breaking down the door. We are her agents in +this matter, now. Remember that, and say nothing to anybody. I'll do +the talking." + +Drew dropped his hand into his side pocket. It came out without the +revolver but with a handkerchief between his fingers. He mopped his +brow gracefully, then replaced the handkerchief. The motion was a +natural one. + +He followed Delaney and the butler with their soft burden as far as the +first steps of the stairway. He turned and strode back to the doorway +leading into the library. He faced about in this. He eyed the servants, +who lowered their heads beneath his accusing scrutiny. Focusing his +gaze to a searching squint he tried to single out a culprit from their +midst. There seemed to be none. Each face was terror-lined and drawn. +Each seemed to want to avoid his direct glance. None of all of them +faced him with boldness or assurance. It was as he expected things to +be. There was no evidence shown in the case that the servants of the +Stockbridge régime had ever threatened the master. They were old, tried +and trusted. They had the faults of their kind. These faults only +served to strengthen Drew's opinion that the murderer of the magnate +had struck from the outside, without benefit of inside information. The +letter and the telephone call were foreign. A note, pinned upon the +millionaire's pillow, would have been more effective. Nothing had been +tried like that. This proved to Drew that he could eliminate the +servants, for the time being. + +"Which one of you is the valet?" he asked with final resolve. + +"I am, sir!" + +Drew ran his eyes over an aged man in white vest and tight-fitting +clothes which were studded here and there with gold-plated buttons. The +fit of the stockings--the neatness of the low patent-leather shoes--the +smartness and aloofness of the individual, caused the detective to +smile slightly. The man was better dressed than his master. + +"Your native country is Germany?" said Drew. + +"It was, sir." + +"No, it is yet. You can't change that part of it. When did you come to +the United States?" + +"Fourteen--fifteen years ago, sir. The master brought me from England +where I was employed by the Right Honorable Arthur Sandhurst, sir." + +"You are now a naturalized American?" + +"Going on thirteen years, sir." + +"Come down to my office about noon to-morrow. I want to speak to you +then. I haven't time now. Be sure you bring that magpie with you." Drew +turned and jerked his thumb toward the front of the library. "Do you +understand?" + +"I do, sir!" + +"That's all!" exclaimed the detective. "One of you may stand by the +door until Mr. Delaney returns. The rest may go downstairs. Remember, +no talking to anybody but accredited police officers, who will soon be +here." + +"I'll stand guard!" announced the second-man with a pompous voice. +"Nobody'll get by me, sir. I'll 'ave them know I'm right 'ere, sir." + +Drew backed through the curtains as the second-man was speaking. He +dropped them behind him and started another search, which was done in +solitude and in silence. He went over everything in the library with +the trained eyes of an operative who had learned his profession in many +schools. He left deduction and surmise for a later hour. He was after +cold facts which might lead to an answer to the riddle. He held, with +some slight scorn, the theory of the armchair detective and the puzzle +worked out by retrospection. His experience had been, that only through +hard work could he expect to find his answer. He had been credited with +visiting six hundred laundries in search of a certain mark. He had a +note book filled with his failures to find the man he was after. The +men he had found caused him no concern whatsoever. They had gone to +prison and closed their accounts with him. + +He applied hard work over the minutes to the case at hand. He went over +the body of the aged millionaire. He took scrapings of the blood stains +on the floor. He scratched up some few atoms of dried whisky. He +examined the bottle. He searched each square inch under and about the +body. He went through Stockbridge's pockets and beneath his vest. He +tried everything in the way of getting facts which might bear on the +case. A tape measure furnished certain distances which were recorded +upon the back of an envelope. His data was complete, insofar as he had +time to go. He desired to spend at least twelve hours in the library. +This could not be. The case would be taken from his hands within +minutes. Already there was a stir in the front part of the house. The +bell had been ringing for some time. Delaney and the butler had +hastened forward to answer it. + +"The Central Office bunch!" announced the operative, parting the +curtains and staring in at Drew. "Here they are, Chief!" + +The detective stepped briskly out of the room and glided through the +foyer hall to the front door. Here Delaney joined him, as steps were +heard coming up from the servants' quarters as well as outside. It was +as if a raid were in progress. + +"Brass band methods!" said Drew. "You get out, Delaney, and go to our +taxi. Stay there! I want to speak to Fosdick." + +The door opened. A burly form blotted out the light from the Avenue and +stamped in, shaking the snow from his overcoat. It was Fosdick--Chief +of Detectives. + +"Hello," he said cuttingly. "Hello, Drew! What's this you've been +giving me over the 'phone?" + +The detective drew Fosdick aside and allowed five Central Office men to +stream into the hallway. + +"Go and see," he suggested into the detective's ear. "Go and see. I've +left everything just as I found it. The body is still there. The +servants have been kept in the house. Question them. I'm off, now. +'Phone me not later than eight this morning. I'll be at my office. I'm +acting in a private capacity. I'm protecting Loris Stockbridge--the +sole heir!" + +"Protecting!" exclaimed Fosdick. "What d'ye mean?" + +Drew dropped his hand to his pocket and crammed down the little +ivory-handled revolver. "Well," he smiled broadly. "You know what I +mean. She's alone in this world--save for her friends. The old man +called me in the case. I'm still in the case--remember that!" + +Fosdick gulped hard. "All right," he said, turning and peeling off his +coat. "I'll soon get to the bottom of this! Case looks easy to me. It's +suicide! That's all it ever could be!" + +Drew found his hat and coat where the butler had hung them. He went out +through the front door without answering Fosdick. He crossed the Avenue +on a diagonal which brought him to the waiting taxi where Delaney stood +muffled to the chin. The two men climbed upon the running-board. The +driver started up with a jerk, from his frozen position in the snow. +They rounded the block and stopped in front of the drug-store where +Loris had met the officer. + +The Central Office man who had taken O'Toole's place had little to +report. O'Toole had vanished toward the south. When last seen he was +close on the heels of the man in olive-drab. + +"Come on, Delaney," said Drew at this information. "We'll walk over to +Fifth Avenue and then downtown. The driver can pick up our men in the +alley. I want to clear my head of this muddle. A walk will do it!" + +Delaney fell in behind his chief. They turned the corner. They struck +through a side street and westward. They saw ahead of them the white +expanse of untrodden snow, and beyond this the faint blue barricade of +the Palisades. + +The hour was after three. The crisp underfooting brought wine to their +cheeks. The grip of winter air cleared both men's heads like a draught +of ether. They stepped out. Their shoulders went back. Their thoughts +passed from the case at the mansion to other things. The night had been +filled with a thousand disappointments. Greatest of these was the +stabbing memory that they both had been picked by the multimillionaire +to protect him and save him from his enemies. They had failed in this +trust. Their patron lay dead, and somewhere a whispering voice chuckled +over a victory. + +"Fifth Avenue!" announced Drew as they reached the corner. "Now, +downtown, Delaney," he added cheerily. "Old Kris Kringle has nothing on +us to-night. I believe we're the only ones out." + +The operative caught his chief's humor, and glanced into his face with +a smile. "Whew!" he breathed. "Whew!" he repeated from the depths of +his lungs. "I'm glad, Triggy, to get from that damn house and that damn +magpie and that----" + +"So am I!" said Drew, thrusting out his hand and linking his elbow into +the cove of Delaney's arm. "So am I. Fine night for the poor firm of +Drew and Company." + +Delaney glanced around and over his left shoulder. He blinked with +frosty lids as he saw the towering façades of Stockbridge's mansion; +its turrets and towers spiraled in the winter sky. He drew in his lips +and compressed them. He puffed them out as he turned. + +"I'm deducting," he said, "that there's more at the bottom of this +thing than we think. Put it down for me that the Germans are mixed up +in it." + +Drew walked on for a block before he answered. He gripped the +operative's arm by closing his own as he said: + +"Quit deducting! It's fatal! Get your facts! Get all of them. The +answer will come then, without an effort. It will be the right answer +or none at all." + +"Just the same, Chief----" + +"The trouble with you," broke in Drew severely, "the trouble is, that +you are forcing a conclusion to meet your own suspicions. The Germans, +with the exception of a small clique, are behaving very well in this +country at the present time. In other words, the most of them are good +Americans and sane." + +"That walley-sham?" + +"He is not even under consideration! Did you notice him?" + +"Sure, Chief!" + +"Anything strike you as peculiar?" + +"N--o." + +"There were tears in his eyes--the only ones shed in that house for +Stockbridge--outside of the daughter." + +Delaney gulped. "I didn't see them," he said frankly. + +"No! Well, I did--and when he wasn't expecting me to see them. A woman +is never wholly lost who can blush, or a man who can shed tears." + +"Sounds like good deduction," admitted the operative. "But then, Chief, +there are a lot of fine actors in this world. I think there has been +some in this case." + +"This case, Delaney," Drew said, "is like many others which appear at +first impossible of solving. All things can be solved by first +principles. Give me all the facts and I'll give you the answer to any +riddle. The answer will come! Don't try to write your plot until you +have words to form your story. Don't make the mistake of forcing an +answer to father a wish. In other words, Delaney, best of friends, we +haven't all the facts we are going to get in this case and therefore it +is idle to attempt to deduce who shot Stockbridge!" + +"Or how he was shot, Chief?" + +"It's almost the same thing. Both answers will come with hard work and +plenty of it. We must keep along the main stem. Truth is a tree with +many branches. It rises from the roots named cause, and reaches the top +called effect. It springs from motive up to crime in one straight stem. +We must trim away the branches and the false-work, and then we can see +the trunk." + +"There's one I'd like to trim right now," said Delaney, pausing in his +snow-caked stride. + +"Which one?" asked Drew. + +"That noise in the library like a cat getting its tail twisted." + +"I can explain that!" + +"It's been driving me to drink, Chief." + +"The telephone company, Delaney, have a device they call a howler. They +cut this device in on the wire when a receiver is left off the hook. It +is simply a high-frequency current generated for the purpose of +vibrating the receiver's diaphragm until somebody hears the noise and +puts the receiver back on the hook." + +"It's a howler, all right, Chief!" + +"Oftentimes a book or magazine gets under a receiver and lifts it up an +inch or more. This attracts the attention of the central operator who +thinks somebody is trying to get a number. When the situation is clear +to her that the receiver is off the hook, or that the circuit is closed +without anybody being at the receiver end, she notifies the +wire-captain or chief-operator. It was either one or the other who put +the howler on after Stockbridge was shot and the 'phone had fallen to +the floor. Is that satisfactory? Does that explain the noise we heard +in the library before we broke down the door?" + +"I see now, Chief. I thought all along it was spirits like the rest of +the job. Outside of spirits, what is the answer to the things that +happened in that house? I know it. I deduct it, Chief. The old man was +expecting somebody all of the time. He let this somebody into the +library when the butler wasn't looking. Maybe it was a woman, for all +we know. Maybe a German spy. Maybe anybody. This somebody got in an +argument with him over spoils on some deal, and shot him dead. That's +my idea, Chief!" + +"You've missed your profession, Delaney. You've disgraced the firm! How +did the library door get locked on the inside? How did that happen? Did +Stockbridge, shot through the brain, rise and do it? It was mighty well +locked--you remember!" + +"I never thought of that," admitted the operative. "Then it looks, +Chief, as if it was a case of suicide." + +"Fosdick said the same thing without having many facts. How could a +right-handed man shoot himself behind the left ear? How could he do a +thing like that and then get rid of the weapon without leaving a trace +of it? How--oh, well, get facts and you won't ask such questions!" + +"Then it was done by an outsider?" blurted Delaney, staring through the +wind-blown snow which came off the housetops. "It was done by the +fellow who 'phoned and wrote that letter, or had the letter written? I +don't see how he could do it!" + +Drew smiled at Delaney's candor. "Neither do I," he said simply. "But +we've crossed Forty-second Street and we're on the trail by everyday, +up-to-date methods which never fail if they are continued long enough +and men work hard enough. We'll start with Harry Nichols--the man in +olive-drab! I've his address!" + + + + +CHAPTER SEVEN + +"THE SPOT OF BLACK" + + +Delaney stepped behind his chief and followed in single file as the +detective swung from the Avenue at Thirty-ninth Street and turned +toward the east on the up-town side of the thoroughfare. + +The snow had ceased falling from out the leaden sky. A roar came to +them of the awakening city which was stirring in its last sleep. A tug +whistled hoarsely somewhere on the East River. Its blare and signal +echoed down the towering canyon. An answering rattle sounded from the +Elevated. A milk wagon churned by. A deep-seagoing hansom-cab, of the +vintage of ten years before, struggled along Madison Avenue as the two +detectives paused on the corner and sought a pathway through the snow +to the opposite side. + +"Some night," said the operative, pulling down his derby hat and facing +Drew. "A hell of a night to be out. Good thing we walked, though. My +head is clearing." + +"It needed clearing," said the detective. "Some of your deductions were +impossible. Whom do you suppose we're going to meet here?" + +"How should I know, Chief?" + +"Guess!" + +"Harry Nichols." + +"Who else?" + +"Search me, Chief." + +"Who's that over across the street in the shelter of the stoop? See! He +sees us! You ought to know who that is!" + +"He looks familiar," admitted Delaney. + +"It's O'Toole!" + +"That's right, Chief. It is! He tailed the lad in the fur benny from +the drug-store and came here. The lad in the drug-store was Harry +Nichols. The thing works out all right." + +"Get over to the other side of the street and tell O'Toole that he can +go home and get some sleep. Tell him to be at the office not later than +eight o'clock--this morning. Get what information you can from him. +This brownstone house with the sign out is our address. I'll wait on +the stoop." + +Delaney was over in three minutes. "All right," he said cheerfully. +"O'Toole says that Nichols left the drug-store and walked south. Trail +led to Fred's Old English Chop House where Nichols drank a split of +mineral water and had a chop with a potato. He 'phoned twice before +leaving. O'Toole don't know where to. The booth was soundproof and all +the lad did was to drop coins. He left a piece of paper in the booth. +O'Toole got it. Here it is, Chief." + +Drew slanted a torn portion of envelope and studied its surface. He +deciphered a scrawling handwriting into the words, "Loris, Loris, +Gramercy Hill, Attorney Denman of Cedar Street, will consult with him +in morning.... Drew's Detective Agency ... look out." + +"Umph!" said Drew, pocketing the scrap of paper with a thoughtful +frown. "That last may be a warning. Again it could be a mere notation. +What else did O'Toole find, Delaney?" + +"That's all, except that he put the boy to bed here at about one +o'clock. There's a 'phone in Nichols' apartment. O'Toole sneaked up the +stairs and heard it ringing. He had to come down for fear of queering +things. He said that's all, chief." + +The detective turned and entered the storm-door. He struck a match and, +shielding it with his hands, searched the names over the mailboxes. A +neat card, set in well-polished bronze, indicated, "Harry E. Nichols, +Apartment Three." + +"He keeps this place all of the time," said Drew, jabbing at the +button. "He's down on furlough or Government business. Nice place, +this," he added as the inner door-lock clicked and he thrust his foot +forward. "Looks like about two hundred a month. This is exclusively +bachelor!" + +"Them bachelor apartments," said Delaney with candor as he glided into +the hallway. "Them places like this ain't what they seem. There's some +big parties pulled off in them. I remembers----" + +"Sisst!" warned Drew, clutching the operative's arm. "Easy," he +whispered. "Come on. Somebody is waiting upstairs for us. See his head +in the light by the banister. Same chap, ain't it?" + +"Can't see, Chief. Might be!" + +"Nice house," commented Drew as his feet sank in a deep-blue hall +carpet. "Good ornaments and fixtures throughout the place. Nice house! +Just about what I'd expected. Here we are. I'll do the talking." + +A blond pompadour, under which was a pair of wide gray eyes that +blinked at them, greeted the two detectives as they turned the last +landing. A thick-lipped mouth, in which was considerable strength and +determination, opened and revealed a double row of strong, young teeth +that would have delighted an Army recruiting sergeant. + +"Well, what do you gentlemen want at this hour of the morning?" + +Drew squared his shoulders and pressed Delaney back a foot or more. + +"Harry Nichols?" he asked brusquely. + +"Yes, I'm Harry Nichols." + +"Miss Stockbridge's friend?" + +The gray eyes widened perceptibly. The lids dropped in heavy +calculation. "Who are you?" the young man asked point-blankly. "I don't +believe I ever had the pleasure of meeting either of you gentlemen." +Nichols glanced into Delaney's leaning face which was just over his +chief's shoulder. + +"No, you haven't," said Drew softening his tone. "We've never met, but +we may see considerable of each other. Here's my card!" + +Nichols took the card, tilted it to the light from the open door, then +dropped it into the right-hand side pocket of his lounging robe beneath +which blue pajamas showed. + +"Come in!" he said without committing himself. "Come in, and take off +your hats. I've only two rooms and a bath, here." + +Drew stepped upon heavy rugs and crossed the chamber to a chair. He +turned this, removed his hat, and sat down with his legs thrust +outward. His eyes roamed the place in slow calculation. Dark, old +masters, which were probably good in their day, stared down at him. A +little globe, petticoated in soft silk, gave a yellow light to the +walls and floor. It brought out Nichols' features in sharp, actinic +shadows. Drew continued his searching glance. A bed, with tossed +coverlet and sheets, loomed from an inner room. A table, upon which was +an officer's cap and gloves, stood between two doors that were closed. +One of these doors, Drew concluded, was the bathroom entrance, the +other might have been a closet. His eyes fastened finally upon a +telephone upon a dark-wood stand. He lifted his chin. + +"Montgomery Stockbridge is dead!" he snapped, darting at Harry Nichols +the keen scrutiny of a man salvoing a surprise. + +Nichols glanced at the 'phone. "I know that!" he said with rising +color. "I'm aware of that fact, Mr. Drew." + +"When did you first learn of it?" + +"See here! I have your card. I know who you are. I was almost expecting +you, or another detective. But,"--Nichols' voice raised to a determined +key--"but, sir, I am not talking to anybody about what you just told +me. How do I know who you represent--the police or the law or the----" + +"You have talked with Miss Stockbridge. She told you in the drug-store +that I was in the house. She has told you that I was called in by her +father. She undoubtedly 'phoned you, after she recovered from her +faint. You have the details of the dastardly murder--if ever there was +one! I represent her. I represent her friends. I have no other interest +in this case!" + +Harry Nichols drew out the card and studied it. He glanced at Delaney. +"Who is this man?" he asked. + +"My right bower. He's with me--and you and Miss Loris. We're together +in this. The police now have the case. What I want is to protect you +and her from the police. What will they do when they learn from the +servants--which they will--that Miss Stockbridge had _this_ gun in her +hand when she entered the library?" + +Drew extended his palm. In the hollow of it lay the little +ivory-handled revolver which he had taken from Loris. + +"What are they going to do when they learn about this?" he asked with +shrewd reasoning. "Particularly, Mr. Nichols, when the caliber of this +revolver is probably the same caliber of the bullet which entered, and +is still in, Mr. Stockbridge's brain." + +The gray eyes narrowed. The lips compressed until they were white. They +seemed drawn with pain. A faint hiss of surprise sounded in the room. +Harry Nichols turned and strode to an ornate mantel-piece upon which +was a single cabinet photo. He lifted it impulsively. He stared at the +picture of Loris Stockbridge as if in it lay inspiration, and resolve. +He set the photo down and wheeled upon Drew. His eyes blazed. + +"If you have no connection in this case, save as an adviser," he said +clearly and from his heart, "why are you trying to trap me or her? Are +all detectives alike? Would they rather see a man in jail than free?" + +Drew closed his fingers over the little revolver. He glanced upward at +Delaney's towering bulk which was near the doorway leading to the outer +hall. This door was the only way out of the apartment. The detective +gave no signal to the operative. His fingers uncoiled and revealed a +thumb pressing upon the silver-plated barrel from which the leaden +noses of six bullets showed as he turned it. + +"You are wrong," he said with simple naïveté. "You wrong me in this +matter. The affair at Stockbridge's will sooner or later bring you in +contact with the Police Department's Detective Bureau. Fosdick, the +district attorney, the coroner, may want to interview you. The +servants, the newspapers, idle tongues will connect your name with that +of Loris Stockbridge. This connection, taking in the fact that she had +a revolver of the same caliber as was used to slay her father, may +cause trouble. I want----" + +"How do you know it's the same revolver--the same caliber?" + +There was a stubborn defense in the young man's tones which somewhat +pleased the detective. It promised loyalty. + +"It may not be the same revolver," Drew said softly. "It may be that +the murder was not committed with a revolver. A rifle, held close to a +man's brain, would make the same kind of mark and burns. I do know +this, however, that the opening in Mr. Stockbridge's head is the same +size as my lead pencil--which I have measured and found to be under a +quarter-inch. It would seem then that twenty-two caliber might fit the +wound. I know of no other caliber very close to it." + +"An army rifle," suggested Delaney from the doorway. + +"It is larger," said Nichols with a quick frown. "The modified +Lee-Enfields, which we are now using, have a greater bore than the +British or German rifles. They are about .30 caliber." + +"Whatever the case," Drew said, "we must get to our first question. I'm +trying to find the truth and protect Miss Stockbridge from the police +in case she is suspected. Whose revolver is this? Who does it belong +to? How came she to have it so soon after meeting you in the corner +drug-store? Did she request it? Perhaps you will clear these points and +allow me to go ahead." + +"Before I answer your questions, Mr. Drew, before I say anything at +all, I would rather have a talk with Miss Loris. You see, we are too +good friends to act apart. I'll answer for her. She is innocent! She is +too good, too pure to have anything to do with it. She never shot the +old--Mr. Stockbridge." + +"He threw you out of the house on one occasion." + +Harry Nichols clenched his fists. "I'll do the same to you!" he +exclaimed. "This is my apartment. What right have you got coming here +and accusing Loris? I don't care who you are!" + +"Good!" said the detective, rising and stepping forward. "You said just +what I wanted you to say. And you said it like a man who can wear an +American uniform. Shake hands!" + +Harry Nichols did not exactly brighten under the professional flattery. +He held out his fingers, however. Drew clasped his hand after +transferring the revolver to his left palm. He twirled it as he stepped +backward. "Clean," he said. "It don't seem to have been used for some +time. But then, who knows? A gun can be wiped and polished,--even in +the barrel,--in a very few minutes." + +Drew glanced at Nichols with a silent question in his eyes. Delaney had +already sized Nichols up as a very clever young man. He was not far +wrong, as he learned when the detective's spoken question was shot +through determined lips. + +"Nichols," said Drew, "did you lend Miss Stockbridge this revolver? Is +it yours? I shall have to turn it over to the police sooner or later. +They will trace it by the number." + +"Is it fully loaded?" + +Drew turned the barrel with his broad thumb. He clicked the mechanism. +He broke it and held it out. + +"Yes," he said. "Yes, it's fully loaded. This is still a merry whirl +for six!" + +"Are you sure?" + +"Positive, Nichols!" + +The soldier's face cleared like a lake from a storm. He beamed upon +Drew. He smiled for a second time. He pointed toward the chair which +the detective had quitted. "Sit down," he said, "and make yourself at +home. This is a temperance dugout, but I've got some real good soft +stuff--grape juice or club soda. Which will you have?" + +"I'll take a cigar," said Delaney. + +Drew allowed a smile to creep over his lips. He waited as Harry Nichols +dipped into a kitchenette, then came back with three glasses of soda +and a huge black Havana. + +"Smoke up," he said good-naturedly to Delaney. "Light up and take a +chair. It's daybreak, isn't it?" + +"Yes, time we're going," said Drew, setting his empty glass upon the +offered tray. "We'll go in a minute. Now, as I told you and as you can +see, this revolver is fully loaded. It looks clean. I suppose you lent +it to Miss Stockbridge without any empty cartridges. These are the +ordinary lead kind which can be secured at any hardware store. You've +got some here, perhaps." + +"None here. They're all up at Plattsburg. We do some target shooting at +times. These little revolvers don't make much noise. You can use them +most anywhere." + +"That's satisfactory," said Drew, watching the glow of Delaney's cigar. +"That's all right. Now, when she 'phoned for the gun or you suggested +that she better have one with her, what did she say about the cemetery +letter or the threat over the wire? Did she fear anything else? Was +that her sole reason for having a revolver with her?" + +"You cannot expect me to answer for Miss Stockbridge, Mr. Drew. She is +available. You can talk to her. You represent her. I shall not say +anything concerning her. She is sacred. The revolver was not +discharged. It is the same as when I gave it to her in the drug-store. +Therefore, I'll trouble you for it. It's mine. I admit that." + +Drew rose from the chair. His left hand went out. His fingers clasped +Harry Nichols' shoulder with a fatherly pressure. + +"I'm going now," he said. "I'll leave the gun with you. If the police +want it, give it to them. Perhaps they will never hear of it. I doubt +if more than one or two servants saw it in Miss Loris' hand when she +came into the library. They may not tell Fosdick. He'll try to +rough-shod over them. He may arrest the entire household--including +Loris. That's his way. It's effective, but it's not my way. Now is +there anything that you want to say to me which will clear your mind of +this affair?" + +Nichols glanced from Drew's clean-cut face. His eyes rested upon the +telephone. "I'm going to call her up presently," he said. "I'll talk +with her. I'll tell her that you were here--that you left the little +revolver--that you stand ready to swear it was clean and fully loaded. +Then, when I hear what she has to say about everything, I shall call +you up. Is that satisfactory, Mr. Drew?" + +The detective turned the revolver in his palm and pressed it forward. +"Take it," said he, "and keep it under cover. I'm off with Mr. Delaney. +Thanks for the club soda." + +"And the cigar," added the big operative as he opened the door. + +Drew hesitated on the landing. He turned and went back. Nichols stood +by the banisters. The soft light from inside clear-cut the officer's +figure like a statue. + +"You can do me a favor," said the detective in a whisper. "A damn nice +little favor." + +"What is it?" + +"Have you an extra photo of the girl-in-the-case. One that's laying +around somewhere. I don't mean the one on the mantel." + +"What do you want it for?" + +"For myself. I admire that young lady." + +Harry Nichols disappeared through the doorway. He returned within a +minute with a cabinet-size photo upon the front of which was written, +"From Loris, January '18," in the vertical chirography much practiced +by social buds. + +"Thanks," said Drew unbuttoning his overcoat and thrusting the photo +within his breast. "I shall keep and cherish this, as one of my most +sacred possessions. Congratulations, young man!" + +The detective's words rang sincere. Nichols flushed. He stammered an +answer as Drew hurried down the carpeted steps and joined Delaney at +the storm-door. + +"Chief," said the operative as they reached the sidewalk and turned +toward Madison Avenue. "Chief, why didn't you pump that lad about +Stockbridge. You didn't ask him a thing about the old man." + +"Unethical to a client," reproved Drew linking arm with the operative. +"Come on! We must hurry! I've an idea--which is a very strange thing +for a New York detective to have--that Harry Nichols, if he stays in +town on furlough, will represent Loris in all matters. I don't know +where she could find a better counselor. He's a clam! He told us +nothing!" + +"Wise boy, Chief! Only fools and women talk to detectives." + +"Umph!" said Drew at this sally. "Umph! Well, come on. It's quit +snowing. It's daybreak over there in the east and I think the clouds +will clear before it gets much later. You----" + +"Say, Chief!" exclaimed Delaney clutching the detective's shoulder and +wheeling him around. "Say, stand right there a minute. Right in that +light. What's that on your chin? Right under the tip of your left ear. +Turn around a little more!" + +Drew raised his left hand and rubbed it across his face. He pinched the +lobe of his ear between his thumb and index finger. He whistled with +frosty amazement as he eyed his nail and thumb. + +"What to blazes!" he said. "What's that?" + +"Turn around! Right under this arc light. Say, Chief, how did you get +that spot of black on your neck? You've smeared it all over your +collar." + +"I don't know. What's it look like?" + +"Soot!" + +"Soot?" + +"Sure, Chief. Lampblack or soot!" + +Drew arched his dark brows as he rubbed his finger-tips together. He +held them up to the stronger light. He turned and glanced back through +the silent walls of the street down which they had walked. He took one +step toward the east. + +"Hold on!" said Delaney. "Where are you going?" + +"Going back!" + +"Why, Chief!" + +"Smell that stuff! Smell it!" Drew thrust his fingers under Delaney's +wrinkled nose. "Smell it, good and strong!" he snapped bitterly. "What +is it?" + +"By God, Chief, it's powder, I smell! Gunpowder, it is!" + +"Umph! I must have gotten it from that gat!" + +"You couldn't, Chief. That gun was polished up like a whistle. Besides, +how would the spot come to be under your left ear?" + +Drew furrowed his brow. He swung in the snow with new decision. "Come +on!" he said. "We'll think this over! I didn't see any soot on that +gat. I don't know where I got it either. Could it have been there for +some time?" + +"Sure, Chief. I just happened to notice it. Light's bright." Delaney +nodded toward the arc. + +"Did you get a good look at my face in Stockbridge's?" + +"Can't say that I did, Chief. I was too busy with that howler thing and +that magpie and that murder, to see anything. You might of got it there +without me noticing it. It wasn't there in the taxicab. I'll swear to +that." + +Drew passed his fingers across his nostrils like a man sampling +perfume. He repeated the motion. He scraped some of the powder from his +nails with a pocket knife and dropped the sample into the crease of an +envelope which he carefully folded and crammed into his pocket. + +"I'll have that analyzed," he said, as they turned toward Fifth Avenue. +"Another trifle in a chain of circumstance. Think it over, Delaney. It +resembles and smells like powder which has been burnt. You hurry along +home. Be at the office no later than nine. I'll keep on down Fifth +Avenue to the Flatiron Building. I want to walk and clear my head. I'll +get some coffee, pie and rolls, at an all-night restaurant. I'll take +time for a shave, shine and shampoo. Perhaps I'll jump into a Turkish +bath to finish up and get ready for work." + +"You're not going to bed at all?" + +"Not until I find out who murdered Stockbridge!" + +"Or how he was murdered?" said Delaney, with a puzzled frown as he +turned to go. + +"If I get the murderer, I'll find out how he did it!" snapped Drew, +with a parting glance. + + + + +CHAPTER EIGHT + +"TANGLED WIRES" + + +It was five minutes before nine when Delaney reached the ornate +entrance to the skyscraper wherein were the offices of Drew's Agency. + +He wandered into the express elevator, yawned a "eighteen, out" signal +to the elevator pilot and stepped from the cage with the general air of +a man who had spent a hard night without getting anywhere in +particular. + +Stopping in the operatives' room for a few minutes, he picked up scraps +of news concerning the case at Stockbridge's. There was a report, +moreover, that an extra was expected by ten o'clock. The air of +desertion about the suite told Delaney plainer than words that most of +the operatives were upon the case. The entire corps, with few +exceptions, had been working hard while he slept. The telephone-girl +and the assistant-manager, Harrigan, wound up each of his questions by +a nod or a jerk of the thumb toward the inner office where Drew was +sitting like a spider in a web which was being spun about the case at +hand. + +Delaney yawned, braced himself with a drink of ice water drawn from an +inverted-bottle, and stepped toward Drew's door. He knocked with tired +knuckles. He pressed forward as he heard a hearty: "Come in!" + +The operative eyed his Chief with sovereign amazement. Drew looked as +fresh as a daisy. There was a pink tinge upon his olive cheeks. These +cheeks had been close shaven. Oil glistened from the detective's black +hair. His mustache was trimmed and level with his upper lip. His eyes, +as he swung and fastened a clear glance upon Delaney, were almost too +bright. They were like the hectic fires of an inner furnace. + +Delaney searched about the room. He lifted one foot and then the other +with a tired motion. He leaned against a filing-case like a heavy dray +horse which had come to a final stop. He yawned behind his big, red +hand. + +"How d'ye do it, Chief?" he asked with a second yawn. "I'm dead on my +feet. All the sleep I got was about thirty minutes. I haven't woke up +yet. I met myself going to work this morning." + +Drew laughed quickly and motioned toward a leather chair. "Sit down!" +he suggested. "Sit right down, Delaney. Take it easy for a few minutes. +You seem tired." + +"It beats me how you can do it!" declared the operative, sprawling +across the chair and crossing his weary legs. + +"One or two hours' sleep is never any good. Better keep awake. You +remind me of the last rose of Sharon!" + +"I feel like a house-man in an all-night poker game. What's the use! +I'm going over to some bank and get a job as a night watchman, if this +keeps up. I can sleep my head off, there." + +Drew swung in his chair and eyed the papers on his desk. He swiveled as +Delaney inquired: + +"What's the news in the Stockbridge case? I've been asking Marie and +Harrigan. They don't seem to know anything except that everybody is +out--already." Delaney extended his huge mouth to a cavernous yawn. He +fished up his great, silver watch. "What's the news, Chief? Any +assignments for me?" + +"News? There's very little news, Delaney. No good news, yet! I've been +busy as a Chinaman on a contract, though. I can't let that matter get +cold. It's now or never in this case!" + +"What does our friend Fosdick say?" + +"He's all at sea! I've talked with him twice." Drew glanced at the +'phone. "He says the murder was a second Rue Morgue. He can't see any +light at all!" + +"He's come around to our deduction?" + +"There's no deduction in it!" + +"He says it's murder?" + +"Cold, curdling, cunning, crafty murder, Delaney. The coroner said it +would have been impossible for a man to shoot himself in the manner +Stockbridge was shot. They're right--both of them--and we're right. +I'll stake my badge on it! Particularly in view of the two threats. +Why, I was there when he was called up and given twelve hours on this +earth." + +Delaney glanced out the window. "Snowing again," he said, "I wonder if +there are any footprints in that back yard or alley. Wouldn't that be a +clue, Chief?" + +"To what?" + +"Well, you told me that the trouble-man said a tall lad climbed the +fence near the junction-box and beat it for Fifth Avenue. Maybe that +lad left footprints behind." + +"They're snowed over now!" + +"But if he made them, couldn't we find them underneath?" + +Drew's eyes narrowed. He leaned in his chair with a searching glance at +Delaney. "How long did you sleep?" he asked sharply. + +"About thirty minutes, Chief. Mary and the kids woke me up and I +couldn't get settled again. I did some thinking." + +"You must 'ave! That idea about the footprints is a mighty good one. +There was first a thaw, then a freeze, then a snow fall which preserved +everything. If we wait till spring there might be a set of prints +underneath the other sets. Two of our operatives were there. The +trouble-man was there. He scraped the connections. If we find a fourth +set of prints, that's our man!" + +"The tall lad?" + +"Yes, Delaney. We can build a box about the fence and start a thaw of +our own. I'll think it over!" + +"I'll go up and do it, Chief. I can make plaster-casts of all the +prints. There's a French system I heard of once. I can find out from +Farot over at Headquarters." + +"Keep it under cover for a while," decided Drew, sitting down and +drawing a sheath of papers to the edge of the desk. "Keep it quiet," he +added. "I'll think it over." + +Delaney rubbed his chin. He watched Drew rapidly thumb over the data. +"Say, Chief," he yawned. "I see another light." + +"What?" shot Drew over his shoulder. "S--o? Wait a moment before you +give it to me--you reminded me of something. Where was the spot of +powder on my face? The rubber in the Turkish bath said it was right +here." The detective turned and touched his forefinger below the lobe +of his left ear. "Right there," he added. + +"That's where it was, Chief. Just where you got your finger. It was on +the cord. Seems to me that it was circular in shape. Like a half-moon." + +Drew raised his black brows in reflective thought. He opened a small +drawer with a sudden dart of his arm. He poised a mirror so that the +light from the window brought out his left ear and neck. He dropped the +mirror to the desk. "Delaney," he said, "that's exactly the spot where +Stockbridge was shot!" + +The operative felt a cold chill dart up and down his tired spine. He +came to life with an oath, and a slap of his huge palm upon his knee. + +"Chief, you're right!" he exclaimed, leaning forward. "You're right! +That spot of black was just where the old man was hit. Now, what d'ye +make of that?" + +Drew drummed his fingers on the edge of the polished desk. He tapped +his toes on the floor. He coughed and picked up the mirror for a second +and longer glance at his face and neck. He tossed the mirror to the +desk and swiveled slowly. + +"What do I think of it?" he repeated, with flashing eyes. "I think +there are features to this case I don't like!" + +"Could it have been an accident, Chief? You might of got a bit of soot +from the gun and then scratched your neck. Maybe that Harry Nichols put +one over on us. The gun might have been fired, reloaded, and we never +noticed it. Looks bad for Nichols and the girl." + +Drew closed his eyelids tightly. His brow furrowed in deep thought. +"No," he said finally. "I don't think the soot or powder came from the +pearl-handled revolver. I don't think so! It would seem to me, Delaney, +that intuition is stronger than evidence. That girl and that boy rang +true. That valet is above suspicion. The servants are to be trusted. +Stockbridge trusted them and he was noted for his shrewdness in picking +men. The only mistake he ever made was Morphy. That individual was out +to do the old man. He was a biter, bitten! I think we'll eliminate, for +the time, Loris, Harry, the servants and German influences in the +matter at hand. What was your idea?" Drew rubbed his neck beneath his +ear, as he turned to his papers. + +"I've forgotten it, Chief. That spot drove it all out. No, wait--say! +I've been thinking--this morning laying there and listening to the kids +getting ready for school--that the powder we smelled in the library +wasn't ordinary powder. I know a firecracker, or a regular Chinese +smell when I get near one. That wasn't the kind I got. It was like +something else. It was powder--all right--but----" + +Drew lifted a sheet of paper. "I covered that," he said. "Analysis made +by Higgens, this morning, shows traces of smokeless-powder in +Stockbridge's hair and about the bullet hole. There's a difference. +Now, I'm going further than that. I'm going to have those scrapings I +got from my neck looked at. If they are the same as the powder that was +used to slay Stockbridge, we are getting on." + +"There's lots of smokeless, Chief." + +"That's the trouble--that's what we are right up against. Let's leave +the footprints and the powder for a few minutes. Both are important. +They'll wait. See here!" + +Drew raised a sheath of papers from his desk, turned with the chair, +and started thumbing over the data he had accumulated. + +"See here," he repeated absently. "First branch of the tree of Truth in +this case is a stubborn one. It requires considerable work on our part +to get to the end of it. I've sent out six operatives to scout the +telephone calls and get me some light on them. I've kept some notes on +what they have 'phoned in to me. The telephone company, the wire-chief +at Gramercy Hill, and an official I know, have been enlisted in getting +to the bottom of these calls. They have made progress. But, Delaney, of +all the devilish inventions of man, a telephone is the most subtle. +It's a wonder to me we have found anything. It's the crook's one best +tool. With it he can play safe, and we can't catch him!" + +"What have you found, Chief?" + +Drew held up a paper. "The first call, Delaney," he said, "was the one +to the cemetery company's superintendent, notifying him to excavate a +grave in the Stockbridges' family plot. Subtle suggestion, that, in the +light of what followed." + +"It was," said Delaney. + +"This call has received all of the attention it deserved. It's the +first of the series, and was perhaps made before the crook had time to +cover himself completely. It has been traced to a slot booth in the +Pennsylvania Railroad Station in the Woman's Waiting Room." + +"Woman's?" + +"Yes, Delaney. That is no criterion that a woman did the calling-up. +The girl there in charge of the pay-booths states that more men than +women use the 'phones in that part of the station." + +"Just our luck!" + +"The toll collected on this call must have been thirty-five cents, +including the war-tax. The superintendent says that the voice over the +wire was thin and tired. He says he thought it was Dr. Conroy. He never +gave the matter second consideration. Conroy, however, has a voice like +a bull. We checked that up." + +"Does the superintendent know Conroy?" + +"No! Except by name!" + +"Then, Chief, I don't see any use trying that lead. It begins and ends +in air." + +"It most certainly does! We'll cross it out. The next call for our +investigation----" + +"Which was?" asked Delaney, waking up. + +"Which was the one notifying Stockbridge that he had about reached his +span of life on this earth. I was there in that library when the call +came in. Again, from the millionaire's description, this time, we have +the thin, whispering voice on the wire. The man was probably the same. +He mentioned the cemetery letter which would establish that fact." + +"I'm following you, Chief. Go on!" + +Drew picked out a second sheet of paper from his pile. "We went after +this call at the time, or soon after the time it was sent in," he said, +tapping the sheet with his fingers. "I called the office here and had +Harrigan get in touch with George Westlake, third vice-president of the +telephone company. Westlake got busy." + +Delaney eyed his unpolished shoes with a sage wink. + +"Westlake turned things over," continued the detective. "He made a most +thorough investigation. We have his word that there is no record of +this call! The wire-chief at Gramercy Hill Exchange declares that it +never went through the switchboard. That the connection had been made +on the outside." + +"From the air?" + +"Looks that way. They tried everything and questioned everybody. No one +talked with Stockbridge through the switchboard at Gramercy Hill, at or +near that hour. Therefore, we must conclude, that, insomuch as I know +somebody _did_ talk with him at that hour, the connection was made, +either in the junction-box in the alley or behind the switchboard at +Gramercy Hill Exchange." + +"How about underground, Chief?" + +"Impossible! That is--almost impossible. The cables are in conduit and +sheathed with lead. It would be a poor place to tap in on a line. I'm +going to presume that the man who tapped in knew his business. The +junction-box in the alley is under suspicion. I think it was done +there, in this manner." Drew paused and picked up a third sheet of +hurriedly-written notes. + +"A junction-box," he said, "is merely a small switchboard where the +conduit ends and the house connections begin. It would have been easy +for an expert to disconnect the two leads which led into Stockbridge's +library, ring up with a low tension magneto, and then cut in with a +testing set and a battery current and do the talking. That is what the +trouble-man told us might have been done. He found no signs of +tampering. He saw a tall man escaping down the alley. It would seem, +Delaney, that this tall man is the one we're after. Perhaps, as you +said, he left footprints. But footprints, like fingerprints, are not +much use until you get the man who made them." + +"What d'ye deduct in this second call--Chief?" + +"That we've run squarely up against a blind wall. We'll drop it for a +time and go to the third call." + +"When was that?" + +"Stockbridge was murdered at four minutes and eighteen seconds past +twelve, by his own watch, Delaney. It was a very good watch! Now +allowing for a movement of the hands on account of the fall, how are we +to account for a telephone call sent into Gramercy Hill 9763--the +library 'phone--at exactly five minutes past twelve from a +slot-telephone booth at the east end of the Grand Central Railroad +Station on Forty-second Street?" + +"How did you get that, Chief?" + +Drew chuckled and wheeled in his chair. "I got it," he said, "by simple +arithmetic plus the vice-president's pull. Here's how it was found, +Delaney. Easy as two and two. You remember the howler?" + +"I'll never forget it, Chief! Not as long as I live!" + +"The howler established considerable in this case. The chief operator +remembers putting it on. She remembers the time. She looked back, after +being jogged by George Westlake, and found that some one had called up +Stockbridge a few minutes after twelve. It was probably this call to +the old man that caused him to be near enough to the telephone to knock +it over when he was shot. The operator did not hear the shot, but she +remembers a thin, piping voice asking for Gramercy Hill 9763." + +"The same guy, every time!" declared the operative, mopping his brow +with his sleeve. "I'd like to have that fellow for five minutes, +Chief!" + +"We'll get him! We've got the time established twice. Stockbridge's +watch fixes the murder at twelve-four-eighteen. The telephone call at +five minutes past twelve, and the howler put on soon afterward, checks +up. The old man was alive during the telephone call from the Grand +Central, and dead when the howler was put on for the first time. Do you +see that?" + +Delaney frowned. "I see it and I don't," he said. "I'm all balled up, +Chief. What with the magpie and the howler and a man shot in a locked +room and the spot of soot on your neck--I'm all twisted into a knot. I +think I'll go out and get a drink!" + +"No, Delaney, don't," said Drew. "You'll need your head in this case. +We're squarely up against class of the highest order. Since Sheeney +Mike and the gas-tube over the transom in Chinatown, I don't know of a +more baffling set of clews. All these calls--which seem so important in +the case--lead to a whispering voice of low pitch and timber. Perhaps +the police records will show such a man who is at large--very much at +large." + +Delaney furrowed his brows and screwed his face into a painful knot. +"I'm trying to go back, Chief, to the Morphy case and them crooked +witnesses he had. They all had loud voices--like wolves!" + +"Yes--I remember them. But then, Delaney, a man can change his voice. +That whole pack will bear watching." + +"You've eliminated some things that were worrying, Chief. But there's +some I don't see yet. It's impossible for a man to get shot like that +old millionaire was. We went over that room and that house. We frisked +good and plenty. There was nothing suspicious. The walls were thick. +The floor was hardwood. The ceiling was some kind of patent plaster, +that's like stone. I got two looks at the door, and you tried the +windows. Now what's the answer, chief? I'll say you are never going to +clear this case up. I don't think you can. It's going to be one of them +unsolved mysteries. If you do figure something out it ain't going to be +proved to my satisfaction. The thing couldn't be done the way it was +done!" + +"That's definite," smiled Drew, tapping the desk with the tips of his +well-polished finger nails. "You're talking in a circle. I'll solve the +case, or I won't sleep!" + +"It's impossible!" + +Drew sorted his papers and bent over them. He turned the swivel chair +by a pressure of his knee. His eyes narrowed as he studied Delaney's +lugubrious face which was sadly in need of a shave. + +"Impossible," he repeated softly. "There's no such word, Delaney. It's +a fool's excuse. Now I don't want you to be a fool. Don't make the +mistake of allowing a seeming impossibility to dull your efforts. +There's always a way around everything which looks high and impassable. +They used to go round the Horn. Now they cut through the Isthmus. They +used to think men were supernatural. Now they know that nothing works +without a law. I admit that I don't know how Stockbridge came to his +end. I don't want to dwell upon it, either. But this we do know, by +these papers, that he was well-hated, threatened and marked for death +by an individual or clique of individuals. That is all we know, and all +we ever need to know, in order to proceed on the basis that a material +agency struck out his life with a material substance--such as lead +propelled by smokeless powder." + +"Whew!" exclaimed Delaney, rising. + +"As for the library wherein he was slain," continued Drew. "As for it, +we must revert to simple geometry. Matter occupies space. A material +act was committed by a material body which got past all our precautions +and struck the magnate down. What is there in this world, which is at +one and the same time, material and yet capable of penetrating through +a door or wall without a trace? Give me that answer, and we'll get +results. What is it?" + +"Damned if I know! I'm all balled up! You talk like a college +professor. You mean something that is and something that isn't. Good +morning!" + +Delaney reached for the door knob with a gesture of disdain. Drew +wheeled and stared at him. "Wait a minute," he said softly. + +The operative turned and dropped his hands to his side. + +"You remember the magpie?" asked Drew. + +Delaney nodded. + +"Well, sit down and wait. It'll be here within five minutes. The valet +'phoned he was bringing it in a taxi. That was just before you came in." + +"Taxi!" snorted the big operative, stretching himself on the leather +chair. "Them valets have got it soft. Last night was the first ride +I've had in one for months, and----" + +Delaney's voice trailed to an end. He turned in the chair and saw +Harrigan's red face and auburn hair come slowly through the aperture +made by opening the door. + +"Well?" snapped Drew. + +"There's a funny lookin' guy out here, chief," said the +assistant-manager. "He wants to see you in person. He's got +knee-britches and a bunch of brass-buttons on his monkey-jacket. Says +he's a valet." + +"Has he got anything with him?" asked Drew. + +"He has, Chief! He's got a gilded cage with the damnedest looking bird +in it I ever saw. It ain't a parrot and it ain't a crow. It's a +blue-jay or something like that!" + +"Show him in!" Drew said. "Show him in. You can wait, Delaney!" + + + + +CHAPTER NINE + +"MEN AND MOTIVES" + + +The two detectives leaned back in their respective chairs and eyed each +other. Both swung and stared out of the window at the swirling snow +which salted across the window in an unending curtain of white. Both +returned to the locked stare so common to men who have worked together +in danger and know each other's merits. + +Delaney's eyes dropped first. He studied the rug beneath Drew's +polished shoes. He coughed behind his hand, and turned with a shrug of +his shoulders. He fastened upon the closed door a glance of expectancy +which brought a smile to the chief's lips. + +"Things are picking up," said Drew, with a short laugh. "Your +friend--the bird--has arrived." + +"My friend?" blurted the big operative. "It's no friend of mine! I'd +wring its neck, gladly." + +"It may be the key to the whole thing. Smarter men than the ones we are +fighting have fallen through less. You remember Eddy, The Brute, who +left his umbrella after him in the Homesdale Murder Mystery. Funny, +wasn't it? Took three months to plan the murder and left his rain-stick +behind. His initials were on it." + +"They can't get away----" started Delaney. + +"Here's your bird!" announced Drew, as a knock sounded on the door. +"Move over and let that valet stand there. I want the light in his eyes +when we're talking to him. Always get the light in the other fellow's +eye. Sisst!" + +The door opened to a crack--then wide. The valet came in with an +important strut. He turned and deposited a cage at Delaney's big feet. +The operative moved back with a grunt of disgust. He eyed the cage and +contents with a homicidal expression. His eyes raised and fastened upon +the valet. He hooked his broad thumbs in the arm-holes of his vest and +took a deep breath. + +"I hope you're satisfied," he said to Drew, who was smiling. "I hope +this black sparrow don't start anything. I'll finish it, sure." + +"What's your name?" asked the chief, turning and consulting a paper. + +"Otto Braun," said the valet. "Otto Braun, sir." + +"Born in Cologne ... year, sixty-three ... worked as valet and major +domo for British families ... came to America with Mr. Stockbridge, and +have been with him since?" + +"That's correct, sir," the valet said, with a start of amazement. + +"Are you married?" + +"Twice--sir." + +"Wife living?" + +"Both, sir. I'm paying a small alimony to both." + +Delaney grunted. His foot went out toward the magpie which had finished +hopping about the perches of the cage, and was listening with head +cocked sideways. + +"You--you have charge of this bird?" asked Drew, turning fully around +and facing the valet with heavy-lidded intentness. + +"I'm its keeper, sir!" + +Delaney coughed explosively. He leaned down to cover his confusion. He +jabbed a thumb at the bird. + +"It's savage," he rumbled. "It pecked at me!" + +"Easy," warned Drew, with a quick frown. "Easy, Delaney. I want to get +to the facts of this case. We're wasting time." + +"Go ahead, Chief." + +"I've had you come down here," said Drew, turning to the valet, "in +order to find out about that magpie. You had charge of it when Mr. +Stockbridge was alive?" + +"Yes, sir. I fed it and kept it clean, for the--master." The valet +sniffled slightly. Drew watched him with keen eyes. + +"Did it repeat much of Mr. Stockbridge's conversation?" he asked. + +"Repeat, sir?" + +"What I'm trying to get at is, whether or not the bird was in the habit +of repeating words that seemed to strike its fancy. Did it act like a +parrot?" + +"It's very much like a parrot, sir. Sometimes it was sulky and wouldn't +say anything for days. Other times, sir, we had trouble keeping it +quiet." + +Drew turned in his chair and fingered a paper. "I looked up everything +I can find in my library here, in regard to magpies," he said. "Is +there any difference between an ordinary magpie and a Spanish one?" he +added, turning. + +"I don't think so, sir. They can all be taught to talk--the same as a +parrot, sir." + +"Then if this bird should repeat a word, or two words, over and over +again it would be plausible to assume that some one had used the word +or two words. I want to make myself clear," Drew added with engaging +candor. "What I'm getting at is important in view of the fact that this +magpie used two words after we broke down the door to the library and +found Mr. Stockbridge murdered." + +Delaney leaned forward. + +"The words this bird used were 'Ah Sing,' as near as we can arrive at +them. Did you ever hear it repeat that couplet?" + +"I can't say that I have, sir." + +The detective lifted his brows and stared at the cage. "Repeat that," +he said to Delaney. "Repeat what we heard in the library." + +"Ah, Sing! Ah, Sing! Ah, Sing!" boomed the operative. + +The magpie ruffled its feathers and darted about the cage like a +sparrow in a barrel. "Keep it up," said Drew. + +"Ah, Sin! Ah, Sing! Ah, Singing!" roared Delaney. + +"That'll do! You've frightened it. Let it alone for a while. We'll keep +it here, Otto. I'll send it back in a few days. How's Miss Stockbridge +bearing the strain, up at the house?" + +"She hasn't left her room, sir. Mr. Nichols called. The Red Cross +people called. There's been lots of callers, sir, but she hasn't +appeared, sir. It's early, though." + +Drew glanced at his watch. "That's all," he said. "You may go." + +The door closed softly as the valet bowed, replaced his hat and passed +out without glancing back. + +"A good servant," said Drew, rising and kneeling down beside the cage. +"Now, Delaney," he added tersely. "Now, old sleepy head, we have the +key to the case locked here. I don't doubt but that you unconsciously +struck the right clew when you bawled your little hymn. You said, 'Ah, +Singing.' Now couldn't that be Ossining?" + +"By God, Chief, it could!" + +"Or, more likely, Ah! Sing Sing!" + +"Who said that?" + +"The bird!" + +"But who taught the bird?" + +"Nobody taught it! It might have been the last thing said by +Stockbridge--just before he was shot." + +"And the bird repeated it--to us?" + +"Certainly! A parrot or a magpie is a living phonograph. They reproduce +a sound, at times, without any idea of knowing what they are saying. +This bird may have been so frightened by the shot which was fired in +the library, that it recalled the words used by Stockbridge before the +shot was fired. These words, in my opinion, tell us that the +millionaire was 'phoning to some individual, probably the +whispering-voiced man. This individual and Ah, Sing! or Ah, Sing Sing! +or Ah, Singing! or Ossining! are closely allied. Now who of +Stockbridge's enemies does that fit?" + +Drew rose to his feet and dusted his knees. "Is that clear?" he asked. + +"Clear as mud, Chief! I don't get it yet!" + +"You will," said the detective, dropping down in his chair and reaching +for his papers. "See these," he added, swiveling and darting a quick +glance at the bird-cage. "These, Delaney, are a list of the old man's +known enemies. I have compiled this list from the secretary's +statements, my own newspaper reading, the facts we gained at Morphy's +trial, and from what Stockbridge told me in the library before he was +slain." Drew counted the list with a steady finger. "There's seven," he +said. + +"Is that all! I thought there was more 'an that!" + +"No! Seven is the number! He was well hated as you will see. First and +foremost we have Mortimer Morphy, who is serving from ten to twenty +years in state prison, with other indictments hanging over his +iron-gray head. He's the captain of them all. He lacks soul, conscience +and heart. 'The Wolf of the Ticker' they used to call him. I had the +warden on the wire this morning. He's ready to aid justice to the +limit. He says that Morphy, or rather Convict 87313, I think they call +them inmates up there, is well and working. He's in charge of the books +in the front office." + +"He'd never keep any books for me!" declared Delaney. + +Drew nodded. "Me, either," he said. "I have heard too much about his +past to trust his future. Stockbridge always feared him." + +"Does he fit what the black crow said?" + +"He does, most certainly! Sing Sing and Morphy are linked together in +every way. Morphy must have been mentioned on the wire and Stockbridge +shouted, 'What, in Sing Sing?' or words to the same meaning." + +"Go on," said Delaney, glancing at the magpie with round eyes. + +"Then comes Vogel, who was at state's prison, but whom they transferred +to the hospital at Glendale, where he is said to be dying of +tuberculosis." + +"I remember him. A little runt with a big nose. That might be the +whispering voice, Chief, if he's got T. B." + +"Hardly! I also had Glendale on the 'phone, or Harrigan did. They say +Vogel is right there and is going to stay there, if fifty guards will +keep him." + +"Next, Chief?" + +"The next is Vogel's partner, Ross. You remember him? A good-natured, +fat fellow with a bald head. He was always smiling. He's making little +rocks out of big ones in a convict camp near Lake George. He was at +Sing Sing, or Ossining, for a time. Most of the New York prisoners are +taken there first. It's a sort of clearing house for the other prisons +of the state." + +"Would he fit in with what this bird said, Chief?" + +"He might!" + +"Go on, I'm getting interested." + +"Then," said Drew, "we have the two brokers who handled Morphy's Blue +Sky, preferred; Flying Boat, and other swindles. They are at Sing +Sing." + +"What's their names, Chief? I've forgotten." + +"Greene and Goldberg! One confessed and one turned state's evidence. +They got off with from two to four years. A nice bunch of squealers!" + +"They'll be out pretty soon, Chief!" + +"Yes--but they're harmless. I don't think they had anything to do with +the murder of Stockbridge. The other fellow might." + +"Who's that, Chief?" + +"Finklestein--the banker. The one who went before the Grand Jury and +claimed exemption. He's somewhere on the outside. I think Flynn is +covering him. I sent him over to Jersey, where Finklestein has a place +near Morristown. We'll hear of him later." + +Delaney shifted his big feet and started counting on his fingers. He +widened his eyes. "There's one more," he said, as Drew leaned back. + +"Yes, there's one more. I kept him for the last. He's out of sight, +reach and hearing. You know who I mean?" + +"That guy who invented wireless boat, or flying boat, or them +movie-picture things in seventeen colors. I know who you mean. He beat +it, slick as any porch-climber. What's his name, Chief?" + +"Morphy's brother, Cuthbert Morphy! He's an electrical-engineer and the +inventor of all their shady promotions. He's the real brains of the +mob. You never saw him?" + +"No--did you?" + +"Can't say that I have!" declared Drew with a snap. "I call him one of +my failures. I've made enough. Remember how Flood and Cassady searched +for him after the others were arrested? He's cost us thousands of +dollars--without result. I charged it to Stockbridge." + +"Which way did he go, Chief?" + +"He beat it for Argentine. From there he went across South America to +Antofagasta. From there he disappeared like a rocket in No Man's Land. +No trace was found. For all we know, he might be right here in little +old New York--the best hiding place in the known world. I hate to think +of the places a man could plant in this town!" + +"Sure! But they always come around the old corner. Remember Dutch Gus, +the boxman. Five years, Chief, in every town on the map, and then he +was picked up at Forty-second Street and Broadway. Maybe your friend, +Cutbert, will show up some day?" + +"Cuthbert!" corrected Drew. "He's no friend of mine, Delaney. The +trouble is, we haven't got a single photograph of him. That shows he +was figuring on crime all his life. A man who don't get his picture +taken, is generally a man to watch." + +"He's slick, Chief. What does he look like?" + +Drew pressed a buzzer-button. "Look like?" he said, turning toward the +door. "Oh, he is a little fellow, quick-tempered and probably handy +with a gat. He's dangerous. I think Cuthbert Morphy is a good lead if +we can find him." + +"I never did like that first name!" Delaney blurted as Harrigan opened +the door to a crack. + +"What have you found out about Harry Nichols?" asked Drew, as the +assistant-manager stepped in softly. + +"Got Plattsburg, Chief," said Harrigan briefly. "Harry is O. K. up +there. Captain's commission. Three months intensive training. Going to +France soon. On fourteen-days' furlough in New York. Was floor manager +for Harris, Post and Browning. Quit good job to go in the Army. Harris, +of the brokerage firm, says Harry can come back and hang up his hat any +time. That's about all!" + +"Umph!" said Drew. "That's fine, in a way. He couldn't have a better +record. Now we'll lay him aside. What did Frick learn at Ossining?" + +"Frick 'phoned once. I was going to connect you with him but that +fellow with the bird-cage came in. Frick says the warden is O. K. and +will lend every aid. He saw Morphy in the Auditor's Department. Looks +worried, he says. Getting old! The visitor's list shows that he's had +an average of three visits a month. No sign of his brother. There's a +fellow calls, though, who might be Cuthbert Morphy. Answers general +description. They'll pinch him next time he comes. We never thought of +looking for him there!" + +"No! We were going to _send_ him there! It's like a crook, though, to +play with fire. What else did Frick say?" + +"Nothing more, Chief. He's looking around. He says he'll report as soon +as there is anything. He says----" + +"Buurr! Burrr! Burrrr!" + +Drew turned and snatched up the telephone receiver. He pressed the +diaphragm to his ear. "All right," he said tersely. "Connect me. Yes!" + +Delaney breathed deeply and watched his chief's face. + +"Hello! Hello!" whispered Drew. "Yes," he added guardedly. "Yes, +Commissioner.... What? You say that ... that the autopsy on +Stockbridge's body--head--shows what? Repeat it! I can't quite hear +what you are saying. Louder, Commissioner! That's better. Yes--all +right now, Fosdick. It shows.... It shows that the typo cupronickel +bullet found in--in, ... repeat that.... In Stockbridge's brain was not +scored or ... or what? ... Marked? ... Wait! I don't get your +meaning.... It was lodged in the soft tissues of the.... Yes! ... I +see! Go on.... There were no rifling marks on it.... What?" + +Drew turned and motioned toward the open door. Harrigan closed it +softly as the detective resumed his position at the 'phone. "Yes," he +said tersely. "Yes, Fosdick. That's important. I should say it was +important! ... New wrinkle, what? ... Why, I'd think at a quick jump +that the bullet which killed the old man wasn't fired from a regulation +revolver.... Yes, it couldn't of! ... It must have been fired from a +smooth-bore rifle or pistol!... What? ... Yes.... It seems that way to +me.... Are you dead sure?" + +Drew waited. He tapped the desk with a pencil. He reached with his +right hand and pulled a sheet of paper to him. "Go on," he said slowly. +"Yes, go on, Commissioner. Oh, I've been busy! Yes. You have! Well.... +I wouldn't of. No, I don't think that's the right lead at all. They're +all right. All right.... Go to it! ... Good-by, Fosdick." + +The detective flipped the receiver on the hook and slowly swung the +chair. His eyes darted first at Harrigan and then rested upon Delaney's +broad face. + +"That damn fool!" he exclaimed. "He's pinched the whole bunch of +servants. He's looking for the valet. The butler is under lock and key. +All that's left up there is the housekeeper and some housemaids and +Miss Loris. He better not touch her! Brass Band Fosdick! He's a mile +off the case!" + +"What about that bullet, Chief?" asked Delaney. + +"Oh! That's new! It's different and important. The coroner's inquest +shows--the autopsy, I mean--that the bullet found in the millionaire's +brain was a cupronickel affair of twenty-two caliber projected by +smokeless powder from a smooth-bore weapon held not more than three +inches from the old man's head." + +"Whew!" whistled Delaney. "That's going some, Chief," he added, rising. +"But what does it mean? I ain't got that at-tall!" + +"Nor I!" snapped Drew. "We're only getting deeper and deeper into +facts. After a while we'll have enough of them to solve the case. The +smooth bullet is important. It suggests many things--a home-made gun, +for instance." + +"Might have been an old Civil War gun, Chief." + +"I don't believe there was anything like that in Stockbridge's house. +You might inquire when you go up. He was very modern with his Flying +Boat stock and his improved munitions for the Allies. He has no old +collection of arms." + +Delaney stared at Harrigan. Drew swung to his desk and tapped the +blotter for a moment. "We'll get busy," he said briskly, as he swung +back again and faced the two operatives. "I've almost got my man. That +bird there," Drew pointed toward the magpie, "is our one best bet and +lead. I may be wrong, but I'll wager a good cigar there's a convict or +ex-convict at the back of this case. How else can we explain 'Ossining' +or 'Ah, Sing' repeated through the magpie to us. It's not an impossible +clue. It might happen. Let's move with both feet!" + +Delaney rose lankily and stood by the door. He braced his shoulders, +then shelved them forward as he reached a finger toward the bird-cage. +"Pretty Poll!" he said. + +The magpie darted about the cage like a shaft of blue light. It came to +rest with its tail feathers thrust through the bars. It peered with +beaded eyes at Drew who had snatched up a bundle of papers and was +sorting them. + +"Get busy, Delaney, on this assignment!" he said sharply. "Waste no +time. Run up to Stockbridge's and get me plaster-paris casts of all the +footprints you can find around that junction box. It's stopped +snowing," he added, glancing out the window. + +"All right, Chief." + +"Wait a minute. Stop somewhere on your way up-town and find out the +exact temperature changes last night. What I want you to get is a +record of every quarter-hour, so as to show when the early, packed snow +in Stockbridge's yard froze solid. The under crust!" + +"I got that in my head, Chief! That's my idea, exactly. If a tall lad +tapped in on the junction box early in the night his footprints will be +frozen close to the ground. The whole surface is level now, but there +ought to be ice-posts sticking up when I get done thawing." + +"That's right! You'll probably find the trouble-hunter's and one other +set of prints. The other set is our man's!" + +"What size feet did the trouble-hunter have?" + +"Small--about six!" + +"All right, Chief, I'm off." + +"Walt a minute." Drew studied a sheet of paper. "After you get the +temperature data, Delaney," he said. "After you get that and the +plaster casts of the footprints, go into the house and stay there. +Watch Miss Loris. Don't talk to Fosdick's men. Tell her to be careful. +Tell her that she is in grave danger. Remember that the same man who +threatened Stockbridge over the wire, also said he was going to get +her. Remember that, Delaney!" + +"Good-by!" + +"Get a shave!" shot Drew out through the closing doorway. + +"I'll do that little thing," came echoing back with a hearty chuckle. + +"Now, Harrigan," Drew said, shuffling the slips of paper like a deck of +cards. "Now, we're closing in on our man or men. See if you can find +Frick at the prison. 'Phone from the booth!" + +Harrigan was back within three minutes. He leaned over Drew. + +"Frick was with the warden," he whispered tersely. "He was easy to get. +He says that Morphy has been trying to telephone----" + +"What?" + +"Tryin' to telephone, Chief----" + +"What has he got to do with the telephone? What right has an inmate of +a prison got to phone? Unless--unless the warden thought the case was +justified--like in sickness or important business." + +"Maybe the warden allowed him, Chief. I didn't ask Frick!" + +"Get out there and ask him! Quick!" + +Drew waited with every muscle taut. He drummed the table with impatient +fingers. He thumbed the sheath of papers he had collected on the +Stockbridge case. He wheeled in his chair and stared out through the +frosted window with unseeing eyes. The vision came to him of a pompous +old man in prison gray, strutting about the front office with silk +socks and a Havana cigar. Drew had no sympathy with a certain kind of +convict. The misguided safeblower or house prowler might be excused for +a great many things. The pickpocket was a professional, who took his +chances as they ran. The gentleman bank-wrecker, with his overextended +tale of woe and his bid for the world's sympathies, was the one the +detective detested with all his soul. Such men, he believed, were +beyond the pale. They knew better. Morphy, for instance, had not only +gotten away with much of widow's and orphan's money, but he had wrecked +a score of homes and dragged down many with him at the final assizes. + +"So he uses the phone!" Drew repeated like an indictment. "Well! Well! +Well!" + +Harrigan stepped in through the door. Drew turned away from the window +and stared at the assistant-manager. "What did you find?" he snapped. + +"I found enough, Chief! Frick says that Morphy is the whole thing up +there. They call him the 'Assistant-Warden,' in jest. The Welfare +League won't have anything to do with him. They got him down for a +squealing 'rat.'" + +"You can't fool the Gray Brotherhood," said Drew. "Their rooms are too +close together. What about this telephoning? Who was it to?" + +"A telephone booth in the Subway Station at Times Square!" + +"Good God!" + +"Frick says it was! He tried to listen but Morphy came out and looked +around twice." + +The detective rose from his chair and grasped Harrigan's narrow +shoulders with fingers of steel. + +"Get out there!" he ordered through line-drawn lips. "Get out there and +phone from the soundproof booth. Ask my friend--the vice-president of +the telephone company--to find out for us whether Morphy or anybody +else in the prison telephoned at four minutes past twelve this morning. +Get that?" + +"That was when Stockbridge was shot, wasn't it, Chief?" + +"It was!" exclaimed Triggy Drew. + + + + +CHAPTER TEN + +"A WOMAN CALLS" + + +The business of a modern detective agency is managed in much the same +manner as a corporation or a large firm of corporation lawyers. Its +tentacles, or operatives, are spread over the globe. Its news and +assignments come in via wire. Its telephone and telegraph bills amount +to thousands of dollars every year. In no other way can satisfactory +results be secured. + +Drew had started his agency on a shoestring and ran it into a +"tannery," in the parlance of the street. He had made many mistakes. He +had once, to his knowledge, sent the wrong man to prison. This mistake +had been so costly, he never spoke of it. It was soon after the +conviction of the innocent man, that Drew gave up circumstantial +evidence and got down to hard work, wherein the evidence accumulated +was tempered with some degree of fact and common sense. + +The first Stockbridge case had been in connection with an absconder. +This man, Drew brought back in person from Adelaide. The work so +pleased the millionaire that when Morphy broke under the financial +strain and robbed everybody, right and left, Drew was called in to +bring the promoter to the bar of justice. It was a long fight, fraught +with danger and disappointment. The courts dragged. War broke over the +civilized world. Morphy fought fiercely--like a cornered hyena. He was +sent away, after dragging down his confederates. He had sworn at the +time of conviction that he would get Stockbridge if it took to the +longest day of his life. Drew remembered this oath and promise as he +waited for Harrigan to appear from the booth. + +He turned to the magpie and the cage. He studied both with keen eyes +which had been trained in the school of hard facts piled upon each +other until they pointed a way. Stockbridge had owned the pet for many +years. It was the one domestic trait in his make-up, save Loris. It +would be a strange thing, Drew concluded, swinging toward the window, +if Morphy and Morphy's confederates were to fall through a remembered +couplet dropped by the magpie. It was in the order of events, however. +It was the bright, particular finger which pointed toward the prisoner +at Sing Sing. Nothing would be more logical than for the bird to +remember the millionaire's last words--or dying words. They would be +shrieked aloud and unforgetable. + +"More snow," said Drew to himself. "This is a white day if ever there +was one. I wonder if Delaney got to the house in time?" + +He turned as a "Buurrrr! Burrrr!" sounded at the ringing-box below the +desk. + +"Hello!" he said sharply into the transmitter. "Hello! Who's this?" + +He waited as some out-of-town connection was made. A thin voice broke +in from the silence. The voice rose in timber. "Oh, Hello!" exclaimed +the detective, recognizing Flynn, one of his operatives. "Hello, +Flynn," he said. "What's the weather like out at Morristown? Yes! ... +Yes! ... Oh, is that so.... What? ... Too bad! ... Well, you better +come in.... Take the first train and jump on the job.... He's in +Florida, eh? ... Well, that lets him out.... Good-by, Flynn!" + +Drew reached for a pencil and scratched a name off his list before he +hung up the receiver. "That leaves six," he said, running his eyes down +the names of the suspects. "Six to go. We'll round them up--or out. It +looks bad for one or two of them!" + +He dropped the pencil to the desk with a flip of his fingers. He +replaced the telephone receiver on the hook. He twirled the chair and +leaned forward with his hands on his knees. + +"Nice bird, you," he said, addressing the magpie. "We're alone, you and +I. Why don't you tell me what you know--what you heard in that library, +when the millionaire talked over the phone and then received the +cupronickel bullet in the base of his brain? He said, 'Ah, Sing!' eh? +He said it, or we are jumping at conclusions. Have Delaney and I +erred--as once or twice before?" + +The bird strutted about the cage. It pecked at a hard, white fish-bone, +thrust between two bars. It dipped its bill into the water-holder, then +held high its head as it gulped. It switched its tail and hopped onto +the first perch. There it sat, with coiled claws, as Drew leaned +closer. + +"Ah, Sing!" he repeated confidentially. "Ah, Singing! Ossining! Sing +Sing! Let me hear you do your prettiest, birdie. Don!" + +The magpie lowered its head and peered outwardly. It lifted a wing with +ruffled dignity. Drew narrowed his eyes. "You were there," he +whispered. "You were in that sealed room--that double-locked and +triple-watched library. How did the murderer shoot down the old man? +How could he do it, Don? I think I know _why_ it was done. I'm fairly +sure who is directing matters. What I want to know is, what devilish +ingenuity of the criminal tribe projected that bullet into the old +man's brain? Answer that, Don!" + +The bird was as stately as a raven. It seemed to Drew that he heard an +echoed "Nevermore." He sat upright and took his hands from his knees. +"Answer that, Don?" he repeated. + +"Gone batty, Chief?" asked Harrigan, thrusting his shoulders through +the open door. + +Drew glanced up. He passed his hand over his forehead in a sweeping +motion as if brushing cobwebs from his brain. "Guess I am," he +admitted, with a sparkling glance at the paper held in the assistant's +hand. "Well!" he snapped, recovering himself. "Well, what luck? I see +that you got something!" + +"Yep! I got him, all right. He's hanging around the front office of the +prison seeing what he can find out. He says," Harrigan consulted the +paper. "He says, Morphy has been worried all morning. That he acts like +a man in a daze. Always----" + +"I don't want that, now! Didn't I send you out to call up the +vice-president of the telephone company? The same man who helped us +early this morning. Westlake!" + +"I was getting to him, Chief! He was busy when I called, so I thought +I'd get Frick again. That's all Frick had to say, except a----" + +"Well?" + +"Except he'll stay there until he receives instructions from you to the +contrary. Says he'll report if anything turns up." + +"Go on with Westlake!" The detective's voice hardened. + +"Well, I got him, finally. Had to wait till he cleaned out the callers +in his office. He's in charge of maintenance and equipment. He says +that their records show----" + +"Show what?" Harrigan had scowled at his own writing. "It took some +time to get this, Chief. Oh, I see. Well, the records of the +Westchester Company shows three long-distance calls from the prison +between six o'clock last night and this morning. The first one was at +seven-ten P. M. to a slot booth at the east end of the New York Central +Railroad Station." + +"Good!" snapped Drew. "Good! Go on! We're getting there!" + +"This call was for seventeen minutes. It was charged to the prison." + +"What was the booth number?" + +Harrigan consulted his sheet. "I didn't get that," he said, scratching +his head. "Westlake didn't give it to me." + +"Go on--we'll get it! Go on! What was the next call?" + +"The second call, Chief, was to the State Capitol Building at Albany. +It was for three minutes. No more! I guess that was the warden talking +to the Pardon Clerk, or something like that. We'll forget it, eh?" + +"Chop it out!" + +"The third and last call, Chief," said Harrigan with haste, "was to the +same telephone-booth at the Grand Central Station. Ah, here's the +number! That's why Westlake didn't give it to me on the first call to +the booth. Number, Gramercy Hill 9845, Chief. That's over near the east +end of the building--on the lower level." + +"A quiet place!" mused Drew. + +"Yes! Well, Chief, here is the time. The call was for twenty-two +minutes, extending from a quarter to twelve--midnight--to seven minutes +after twelve. It was charged to the Auditing Department of the prison." + +Drew rose from his chair. "That covers the hour in which Stockbridge +was murdered!" he declared, reaching for the roll-top of his desk +"That's nice work on your part." + +Harrigan flushed slightly. He leaned over and laid the paper upon the +desk. Drew took it, folded it with two fingers forming the creases, +then crammed it into his breast pocket The roll-top came down with a +bang. Harrigan lifted an overcoat from a tree, helped Drew on with it, +and found the detective's hat. + +"When will you be back, Chief?" he inquired. + +"Hard to say! Get me some French-gray powder. A little will do. I'm +going to see if I can get any fingerprints in that booth. They might +help!" + +"Will you be back by night!" Harrigan asked, leading the way through +the door. + +"Don't know! Get that powder! Tell Delaney, if he calls up, that I'm +hot after my man. Tell him to stick up where he is, till he hears from +me. Tell Flynn, when he comes in from Morristown, that he can relieve +O'Toole who is trailing Harry Nichols. I don't think there is much in +that. I'm covering every one--that's all." + +Harrigan opened the drawer of a cabinet and fingered about till he +found a small, round box of gray powder used for preserving +fingerprints. He turned with this and saw that Drew had crammed into +his side coat-pocket, a flat camera which the telephone girl brought to +him. "Got flash lights?" asked Harrigan. + +"Yes. There's some in the back of this camera." Drew slapped his +overcoat. "I got everything, I guess. Remember about Delaney and +Flynn." + +The detective moved toward the door which led to the hallway where the +elevators were. He turned as Harrigan laid a hand on his shoulder. +"What's that sticking out of your other pocket, Chief?" asked the +assistant-manager. "A paper, ain't it?" + +Drew flushed beneath his olive skin. He pressed the object down with +soft fingers. He turned and said simply: + +"That's a picture of the girl in the case. Forgot I had it. Good-by!" + +The door slammed as he strode over the white tiling and jabbed at an +elevator button with his right thumb. + +Swirled in wind-blown snow from the office buildings and wrapped to the +chin with the collar of his overcoat, Drew plunged, with head downward, +for the nearest subway station. + +He caught an up-town express, and, after three grinding station-stops, +he reached the Grand Central Station wherein was the telephone-booth to +which the calls had been sent from the prison. + +He made swift work of the matter at hand. Time was pressing. The +booths, to the number of three in that portion of the station, were +fortunately empty. + +Going over the slot-box and the tiny shelf in the center booth, which +bore the number "Gramercy Hill 9845" on the transmitter, Drew pulled +the door shut and dusted all the nickel work and the polished surface +of the receiver, with French-gray powder of superior make. + +He took three exposures by aid of small flashes. He opened the door and +allowed the smoke to escape. Pocketing the camera, after winding on a +fresh film, he entered the booth for a second time and inspected its +lower paneling for possible clews. + +An oath, close-bitten and expressive, escaped his lips as he discovered +a small hole drilled through the woodwork. He stooped and peered +through this opening. It led to the next booth. It had been made with a +long auger of quarter-inch diameter. Shavings lay upon the floor of the +booth. + +He emerged and investigated the second booth. The hole came through, +underneath the slot-box. It had been drilled in order to make a +connection between the two telephones. He found splinters and sawdust +at his feet. He backed out and stood perplexed. There was no way of +finding out just what sort of connection had been made between the two +booths. All evidence of wires had been taken down. Only an expert could +give an answer to the new riddle. Drew recalled Westlake as he rushed +to the subway-platform. + +He found the vice-president busy, with a score of men waiting in the +outer room of the telephone company's office. The secretary-in-charge +hurried in with his card and his urgent request for three minutes' +important matter which could not well wait. + +Drew, however, was forced to wait seven minutes by his watch. He chafed +at the delay. He crossed his legs at least once each leaden minute. He +feared that the trail was getting cold. Twice he rose, as if to go. +Each time the secretary had indicated patience by an arching of her +brows and a jerk of her thumb toward the ground-glass door. + +"Send in Drew!" boomed as the door opened and let out the caller. Drew +strode in with his notes in his hand. + +"Just a minute, Westlake," he said, dropping into a chair and leaning +over the desk behind which sat a good-natured official of the superior +order. "A minute! I'm in a jam! What d'ye make of this?" + +Drew related his discovery in the booths of the Grand Central. He went +right to the point. He explained the auger-hole, the shavings, and the +fact that it was the same set of booths to which the call had been sent +from the prison, over the time Stockbridge had been slain. + +Westlake listened with dawning light. He leaned back as Drew finished +talking. He smiled. He thrust his thumbs under his vest. "You're a +hardworking man, Drew," he said, "but you didn't get it all. Do you +remember the third call that I gave you this morning?--the one when the +chief-operator at Gramercy Hill put the howler on? It was from the same +booths you just mentioned!" + +"What?" + +"It certainly was. There's no use looking at the record. The number was +9844 Gramercy Hill. In other words we have the evidence to show that a +thin, whispering voice called up Stockbridge from one booth in the +Grand Central at the same time the prison was connected to the adjacent +booth." + +"For the love of Mike!" said Drew. + +"Yes--your case grows interesting, Chief. You've got a lot of tangled +leads and all that, but a little more work should untangle them. A +telephone engineer ought to make a crackerjack detective. He's trained +to unsnarl the worst snarls in the world. You ought to see some of our +wiring diagrams. It takes study to trace them out. You're learning!" + +"I don't know if I am, Westlake. I think that Morphy, up at the prison, +has been 'phoning New York. I believe he has a confederate in this +town. This confederate, we will say, received his instructions about +midnight last night. He bored a hole through the booths and called up +Stockbridge. But what was it all for?" + +"That I can't answer!" + +Drew rose from the chair and crammed his notes in his inner, overcoat +pocket. "What the devil did they do that for?" he asked with flashing +eyes. "Morphy calls up Gramercy Hill 9843 at, or about, midnight. +Gramercy Hill 9844 calls up Stockbridge. Stockbridge was killed by a +bullet in the neck as he's talking over the 'phone. Was the call to +warn him? Was it to threaten him? Was it to occupy his attention so +that the murderer could get in the room and fire the shot?" + +"Did you find out how he got into the room?" asked Westlake, leaning +forward. + +"I have not! The whole thing gets weird. I can't sleep! I'm not going +to sleep till I get some light on this!" + +"You look healthy," said Westlake, as he pressed the buzzer for the +next caller. + +Drew emerged from the elevator and hurried to the street with short, +quick strides. He crossed the snow and pressed open the door to a cigar +store. He fished out a nickel and called up his office. + +To Harrigan who answered, he said tersely, "Get Flynn up to the Grand +Central! Get him to the east-end telephone-booth, on the lower level. +Tell him I'll be there. He's back from Morristown, isn't he? He phoned, +eh? Get him to me! I need him!" + +Drew hung up with a swift flip of the receiver. He hurried to the +subway station and caught a local up-town. He had time to flash a +fourth and fifth set of photos before Flynn came puffing across the +lower level. + +"See here!" snapped Drew, drawing the operative into the middle booth. +"Bend down there where that hole is, and tell me what you see on the +varnish." + +"It's fingerprints, Chief. Two, three of them. Looks like somebody +pressed hard when they drilled that hole. The outer print is a good one +of a thumb. Left thumb, I should say." + +"That's right! I'm going to find out who made that impression, within +one hour. You stay here and grab anybody who tries to talk with the +prison. Frick is up there!" + +"How about O'Toole, who's watching Nichols?" asked Flynn. + +"Leave him stay on that assignment. I need you here. Stick now! Watch +everybody who talks over these three phones. Arrest anybody who +receives or sends a call to the prison. There's plenty of Central +Office men handy for a pinch. Fosdick will back them up!" + +Drew rushed for the subway. He realized that he had wasted valuable +time by not taking the complete set of fingerprint photos on his first +inspection of the booths. It was a detail he had overlooked. But then, +he could afford to make mistakes. The men or man he was after, dared +not make any. This was a thing he had often recalled in dealing with +super-criminals. + +Fosdick's rooms at Detective Headquarters, on Center Street, were +luckily deserted as he rushed down through the hallway. The +Commissioner widened his eyes as Drew handed over the camera, with a +request that the films be developed and prints made within twenty +minutes. + +"Can't be done that soon," said the detective. "Give us fifty minutes." + +"I'll make it twenty-five!" shot Drew. "I got lots to tell you, but +it'll keep. Get those prints and we'll land our man. The last two films +have perfect samples of finger-work. Our man slipped there! He signed +his own death warrant!" + +The Commissioner pressed a button. To the young man who came, he +explained the necessity of rushing the developing and printing of the +films. He turned as the messenger hurried out with the camera. + +"What about that bullet?" he asked. + +"Just as I said, Commissioner. It was fired from a smooth-bore pistol +or gun. What do you think?" + +"Oh, maybe not! Sometimes there isn't much rifling on an old revolver. +Those little twenty-two affairs are made out of cast-iron." + +"But the cupronickel bullet shows smokeless powder and high-class +criminal activity. I doubt if one of those little rods would take a +modern steel-jacketed bullet. They're used in automatics." + +"But automatics have good rifling. That bullet was as smooth as before +it was shot. Here it is!" + +Fosdick opened a drawer and pulled out a later-day projectile of the +lesser-caliber. + +"This is smooth!" he repeated with heat. "It was cut from the old +millionaire's brain. It ain't scratched. It never took the rifling it +was intended for. My theory is, that it was fired from a gun of larger +caliber. That is to say, it didn't fit the bore. A thirty-thirty rifle +might be used to hold a twenty-two caliber bullet. It would not take +the rifling of this." + +Drew shook his head. "That's hardly possible," he declared. "It's too +vague and doesn't suit me. We're going to find that the deeper we get +in this thing, the simpler will be the explanation. I remember any +number of cases which have been solved in this city where the mystery +was so wrapped up in speculation and the improbable that our minds +failed to grasp the simple thing which was the solution." + +"Then you think the lack of rifling on the bullet might be the opening +wedge to catching the man who shot Stockbridge?" + +"It could well be, Fosdick. The lack of a thing sometimes is just as +important as the visible clue. Do you remember the Rajah case at +Gramercy Park?" + +Fosdick leaned back in his chair and stared up at the ceiling. "Seems +to me that I do," he said, thrusting out his lower lip. "There was a +big jewel missing. Sort of an Idol's Eye case--wasn't it?" + +"Exactly! A white diamond was missing at a dinner. Lights went out as +they were passing the stone around the table. Lights came on again and +the diamond was gone. Everybody accused. A strange print was found on +the sideboard. Servants knew nothing about it. The print didn't +correspond to any which we took there. Seemed impossible and all that. +Well, the very fact that the print didn't correspond was the means of +finding the stone and the culprit. You remember it?" + +"Vaguely." + +"Simple! A Lascar who waited on the table slipped off his shoes, crept +into the room, secured the diamond and climbed to the sideboard where +he hid it on top of a picture. The thumbprint which we puzzled our +heads over was a toe-print! We got the fellow!" + +"I recall it now," said Fosdick. "I think one of our men thought out +the matter." + +"He didn't!" declared the detective. "We worked it out! The city +department had given up the case. This may be the same. I'll venture to +say that as soon as you get a good operative some private agency +secures his services. Now, Commissioner, confess up. What manner of gun +could fire a bullet, such as a cupronickel one, without leaving +markings?" + +"Smooth bore. An old flint-lock--for instance." + +"We'll grant that! They're clumsy, however. The shot which killed the +millionaire was fired at very close range through a smooth tube of a +greater caliber than the diameter of the bullet found in his head. If +it were fired through a gun which was rifled, then there was a collar +or collars on the bullet, which we didn't find. The same thing was +discovered by examination of the shells which the Germans fired at +Paris. There was no rifling on those long-range projectiles. The bands +dropped off after the shell left the gun." + +"Then this bullet was fired at long range?" Fosdick was openly +incredulous. + +"No! Again we have the impossibility or seeming impossibility. I +examined that library, both before and after the murder. No shot could +have been fired from the outside so that a bullet would reach the old +man. If that were the case there would have been an opening in the +walls or at the windows or the ventilators. Besides, we have the powder +burns on the millionaire's head. We are squarely confronted with a +paradox. Riddle me that paradox and we will go a long ways toward +finding the man who murdered Stockbridge." + +Fosdick frowned. "I can't see it at all," he confessed. "I still hold +to the theory that we should third degree all of the servants. I've got +some of them. If they don't squeal, I'll get the others!" + +Drew glanced at his watch. "Personally," he said, "I'm of the opinion +that you will not get anything out of them. I think it was a mistake to +arrest them. It would have been far better to trail the butler and the +doorman and see if they connected with anybody." + +"I'm doing this!" exclaimed Fosdick with asperity. "I've got charge of +this case, Drew. I got charge and I don't want any meddling. I've my +own methods." + +"All right," said the detective. "All right! I want a check-up on the +finger prints and then I'll be going. I had to come to you for this. +You have such an interesting collection." + +"Here's your answer!" said the commissioner, rising and striding around +the desk. "Take this bullet and look it over. Put it in your pocket. +And----" + +Drew turned swiftly. The messenger stood in the doorway. He came +forward as Fosdick nodded. He passed over the hastily developed prints +which Drew had taken. The commissioner glanced at them, frowned, held +them to the light, then said: + +"We'll try these on the Man Who Can't Be Beat! He's the best in the +world. He'll know in three minutes who made these prints if the fellow +is on our records." + +The fingerprint expert nodded to Drew as they entered a huge room which +was lined with mahogany cabinets in the manner of a filing system in a +mail-order house. Fosdick passed the five photos into this man's hand. +He smiled as the expert adjusted his glasses, pulled out a pocket +magnifying-glass, and leaned close up to the prints. + +"We're infallible!" exclaimed the Commissioner with superiority. "Watch +Pope get your man. He'll hound him out in no time. Eh, Pope?" + +The expert was not of a sanguine disposition in the minute which ensued +as he ran over the prints, studied them, held them to the light then +laid them down on a table and shook his head. + +"We have no record of this fellow," he said coldly. "It looks like a +man's print. Here's the thumb and here is the middle finger of the +right hand, I think. Hard to tell, sometimes. I'd say, as a pretty sure +thing, that we have no duplicates in our collection. Shall I look?" + +"Yes! Look!" said Fosdick. + +Drew felt that the case was slipping from him as Pope fluttered from +cabinet to cabinet, pulled out drawers, replaced them and tried still +others. + +"No go?" he asked as the expert shot back the last cross-index cabinet +and turned with shaking head. "No go? Try again." + +"Absolutely no record of the maker of these prints," said Pope, holding +out the photos. "He hasn't registered with us yet. Whoever made these +prints has never been arrested in the United States for a felony." + +"How about a misdemeanor?" asked Drew. + +"No! They're all in this cabinet. Even if he was picked up on suspicion +or for auto speeding or beating his wife,--if he has one,--he would be +here. I'm sorry, inspector." + +Drew pulled down the lapels of his black coat and turned toward +Fosdick. + +"Have you got a print of Finklestein?" he asked. "You remember the +fellow who was arrested in the Morphy case. He was afterwards released +for lack of evidence or else he claimed exemption. I've forgotten how +he got off. He's supposed to be in Florida or somewhere in the South. I +had a man out to Morristown who reports along those lines. I wish you'd +compare these prints with Finklestein's." + +"Go ahead," said the commissioner. "Go as far as you like. I don't +think that there is anything in these prints. You got the wrong +ones--that's all." + +"What's Finkle--Finklestein's initials?" asked the expert. + +"J. B.," said Drew quickly. "Julius B.!" + +A quick search through an alphabet-index, a consultation of two +drawers, out of which the expert pulled some tiny squares of cardboard, +and then a slow shaking of his head, brought Drew back to where he had +started from before taking the prints in the booth. + +"No record could be more different," Pope said. "Finklestein has a big +hand and very broad fingers. The fellow who made these prints has a +little hand with thin fingers. The whorls and loops are entirely +dissimilar. He comes under classification 2-4-X. Finklestein is in +cabinet 2-9-0. They couldn't be further away." + +Drew started out through the doorway with Fosdick following him. They +stood on the landing leading to the downstairs steps, where the +detective was about to leave the commissioner with a curt good-by. His +hand was out when he drew it back, dropped it to his side and wheeled +with sudden intuition. + +"Good Lord!" he exclaimed. "Are you and I detectives or children? Come +back to the fingerprint room. Hurry now. I want to see Pope. I forgot +something!" + +The expert rose as they entered. "Well?" he asked with arching brows +and a slight frown on his face. "Well, what is it?" + +Drew pointed a finger as steady as a rifle. He bared his eyes into +Pope's own. "Were you up to Stockbridge's house?" he asked swiftly. + +"Yes! Why?" + +"Did you take prints and photos of everything in the library? I +understand that this was done after I turned the case over to +Commissioner Fosdick." + +"It was done!" rasped Fosdick. "Of course it was done. It's always done +when a case looks like a homicide!" + +"This case looked worse than that!" said Drew. "It was slaughter!" + +The commissioner turned to the fingerprint man. "Where are the prints +and photos you took up at the house?" he asked. + +"Still in the developing room." + +"Do you think they are developed?" + +"I'll soon know, sir," he answered, pressing a button. + +The messenger entered who had attended to Drew's prints which the +detective took in the telephone-booth. + +"Get down to the developing room," ordered Pope. "Get me all the prints +and positives of Exhibit 12 of the Stockbridge case. Bring what is +already developed. Tell them to rush the others." + +The three men waited in silence for the return of the messenger. Drew +paced the floor thoughtfully. He clasped and unclasped his hands behind +his back. He had almost slipped in an important matter. It was a chance +he was taking, but a vital one in the case. The fingerprints taken by +the expert in the library might and might not jibe with those taken in +the slot-booth. If they were the same, or any one was the same, the +case would offer a new line for investigation. + +A sliding footstep at the door announced the messenger. He held a +sheath of curling papers in his hand. Pope reached and snatched the +photos. He ran over them with widening eyes. He sorted them into two +piles upon the table. + +"Five prints!" he announced, glancing at Drew with a sly smile. "Five +of these prints are the same as your set. In other words, the man who +made the impressions in the telephone-booth was also in the library at +or about the time of the murder!" + +"Impossible!" snorted Fosdick. + +"Ah!" said Drew. "Photos don't lie. Now we're getting there! That's the +first light I've seen in some time. It clears the case of the +supernatural. It puts it where it belongs--in the material world of +flesh and blood and hate and revenge." + +"It does that!" corroborated the expert, siding with Drew. "Now," he +added good-naturedly, "I'll help out some more. I've got a book of +notations made in the library. I spent two hours there this morning. I +flashed every print I could see. There's some of the butler on the +bottle and the tray. There's a number on the polished table. There are +at least six on the door knob, to say nothing of the smashed panel. I +suppose yours is among them, inspector?" + +Drew held out his right hand. "Look and see," he suggested with a short +laugh. "I've never been printed in my life." + +"That won't be necessary. These three prints which correspond with the +ones you took in the booth, settle the matter. There's no record of +this fellow in our cabinet. But--he was in that library!" + +"Where did he leave his prints?" asked Drew. + +Pope consulted a page of his note book. He thumbed over another page, +thrust his finger between the sheet and turned to the photos. "What's +the number on the back of that one?" he asked, nodding toward the +topmost photograph. + +"Ten," said Drew, turning it over and studying a penciled number. + +"Ten," repeated the expert. "That is a print which was flashed on the +corner of the little table which was overturned when Stockbridge fell +to the floor after being shot." + +"And the same man made it who made my prints in the booth?" + +"The same!" declared the expert dryly. + +"I don't see where you two are getting," said Fosdick. "How could a man +get into that library, shoot the old millionaire, get out again and go +over to a slot-booth?" + +"He might have been in the slot-booth first," suggested Drew with slow +smiling. "From the booth he went to the house and killed Stockbridge." + +"The fact is established," exclaimed Pope, "that the man you are after +was in the library and in the booth. That's all you can say. There's no +way to determine the exact hour these two sets of prints were made." + +Drew lifted a second print. "No. sixteen," he said, turning to the +expert. "Where was that made?" + +Pope consulted his book. He glanced up at Fosdick, who was ill at ease +over the development in the case. "That," he said, swinging his eyes +till they met Drew's, "that was made on the hardwood floor directly +under Stockbridge's body. We found the print, with others of the little +finger and middle finger when the coroner moved the corpse!" + +The detective stared at Pope. "You mean," he said shrewdly, "that the +man who made the prints in the booth and on the little table, also was +down on his knees arranging Stockbridge's body, or doing something like +that?" + +"He made a distinct impression on the floor despite the fact that the +body was moved over it. The polish and the varnish helped to hold this +impression. I venture to say that it is there yet." + +"Good!" said Drew. "I may have a look at it. I never went after prints +in my investigation. I left that to men who knew their business--like +yourself." + +Pope smiled. He glanced at his book for a third time. "What's the +number of that last print?" he asked. + +"Forty-four!" + +"Taken from the edge of the heavy door which was broken down by +Delaney, I guess. Looks like his work." + +"I had a hand in that," admitted Drew. + +"This print was close to the knob. There's none like it on the knob +itself." + +"Umph!" declared Fosdick. + +Drew glanced at the commissioner. He smiled as he laid his hand on +Fosdick's shoulder. "I've got you to thank," he said, "for letting me +use the brains and facilities of the police department. I think it +clears the case in a remarkable manner." + +"How?" asked the commissioner. + +"Well for one thing," Drew said, lifting the third photo. "For one +thing, we know that our man passed through the doorway before or after +the murder. He was in the library. He was in that booth which is a half +mile or more away from the mansion." + +"I'll grant you that, but what does it prove?" + +Drew laid the photo on the table and turned toward the doorway. "It +proves," he said, "that Stockbridge was murdered by a man who was never +arrested in New York." + +"That's a large order!" chuckled the commissioner. "There are a few +good citizens and a number of bad ones we haven't got--yet!" + +"I'm satisfied," said the detective, pulling his hat down over his +head. "I'm going to look for a man who is too clever for his own good. +He's stayed out of your clutches. He's forgotten more about telephones +than most men know. He's as slippery as an eel and as clever as the +very devil. In one thing only did he err, so far in this chase." + +"What's that?" asked the commissioner. + +"He didn't wear gloves on the job. That's where we may trip him up." + +"They all forget something," said Fosdick, as Drew hurried out through +the door with a bow toward the staring fingerprint man. + +The detective hurried down the steps,--passed the sergeant at the +entrance, and turned up his coat collar as he plunged from the building +and lowered his head beneath the down driving snow. The entire matter +was as he had told Delaney. He would have to find who made the prints! + +Deep, drifted snow barred his progress as he struck down through a +towering cañon and walked eastward. He had no coherent idea save the +one that he wanted the grip of the open places in his lungs and the +feel of freedom from stifling rooms and skeptical men. + +The case had resolved itself into a battle of wits wherein the culprit +who had murdered Stockbridge, by unknown means, had all the advantages. +He was unknown. He had the largest city in the world to hide himself +in. He could strike at any time and in any quarter. Also, the detective +realized, with a chilly oath, the murderer might already be fleeing the +city for the south or west. It would be a natural thing for him to do. + +Drew had one undisputed qualification for a detective. He was a worker. +He lacked the Latin sense of deduction, or the cleverness of a great +operative who secured his men through quick brain work and shrewdness. + +Hard work, and more work and still more work had won for him the little +position he held in the city. He did not overrate his own powers. He +had failed too often to hold himself too highly. Chance was a big +factor in the criminal game. The members of the criminal tribe worked +through luck and sheer audacity. Many escaped from the net and moved in +the underworld until they made their final mistake which was probably +so glaring it couldn't be overlooked. + +Despite the fact that the finger prints were not of record, Drew held +to the swirling conviction that the man he was after was of the +criminal horde. There was much to lead him to this belief. The +cleverness in connecting up the two telephone booths--the warning +through the mail to Stockbridge--the manner in which the murder had +been covered up in a score of details, all pointed to a criminal mind +of the cunningest order. It savored of practice in crime and study of +natural conditions. Its bizarre features placed it out from other +crimes and raised it to a class of its own. + +The snow which impeded the detective's steps, in some manner cleared +his brain. He began to review the series of events. He boxed the case +with returning shrewdness. He went over the points like a sailor +repeating the compass-chart. He even saw a light. + +This light was a star that guided him around a corner and then along +the long reach of a white-mantled street where children shrilled and +played. Snow-balls flew past his head. Sleighs and muffled taxis +churned by. Women in furs and heavy cloaks glanced up at his olive face +from which peered sanguine eyes bent upon a known destination. + +He paused at the foot of a flight of steps leading to a library. In +this building he knew there would be on file certain data concerning +three links of the chain which he was trying to forge about the +criminal or criminals who had slain Stockbridge. + +He entered the storm-door, shook the snow from his coat, and removed +his hat with a swinging bow as he drew erect in front of a prim lady at +a desk. + +"I want all the books you have on modern telephony," he said with a +winning smile. "I'm sure that you have one or two." + +The prim lady who knew a gentleman when she saw one, raised her brows +and rapidly thumbed over a filing-card system. + +"One or two," she repeated. "Why, we have over twenty. Now just what +branch of Telephony do you want? There are a number of divisions in the +subject. We have Smith on Central Office practice. We have Steinward on +Induced Currents in Relation to Magnetism. We have Oswerlander on +Switchboards and Carbon Transmitters. We have Burke on Circuits and +Batteries. We have----" + +"Hold on, please," said Drew, catching his breath. "I better try +something easy. One of those Juvenile books with simple diagrams and +switchboards or junction-boxes." + +Drew carried the book to an alcove which was deserted. He took off his +coat, hung it on the back of a chair, upended his hat and sat down with +a tired smile. Soon he was busy in the mystery of electricity in +relation to the telephone. He conned over the pages. He browsed along +like a novice trying to understand trigonometry. He frowned over such +terms as micro-ampere and micro-volt. He grew dizzy following wiring +diagrams which were far worse than any clue he had ever attempted. + +"A telephone engineer," he said half aloud. "A man who could trace out +this stuff ought to make a mighty fine detective. I never saw such a +snarl. Now what does hysteresis and laminations mean? What's the idea +of having an alternating current of low voltage on the same line with a +talking current of three volts? I don't see how they can get two +currents on one set of wires. Maybe they don't." + +He tossed the book to the table in front of him and rose with a frown. +This frown changed to a wrinkled furrow of half amusement as he hurried +back to the little prim lady. + +"Too deep for me," he said, referring to the book she had given him. +"That may be a beginner's treatise, but I'm in the kindergarten class +in electricity. What's a micro-volt?" + +"I'll look it up, sir," she said. + +"Never mind. I wouldn't know, after you did. Suppose you get me a book +on magpies." + +The librarian fingered her files. "Try Birds of England," she +suggested, coming from behind her desk and gliding like a pale shadow +over to a book-case. "Try this. It's complete. You'll find magpies and +starlings and piemags and any number of plates of six colors in this +splendid volume." + +"The one that interested me was black as a crow," he said, as he turned +toward his alcove. "Perhaps there are white magpies as well as white +crows. I never saw one, though. My bird's a deep one." + +The little librarian stared after Drew's vanishing form with a slight +pucker between her eyes. For a man of his solid respectability, the +series of actions were strange indeed. She sat down and wondered if he +was a moving picture editor trying to connect black magpies and +telephones. + +Drew appeared in two minutes. He leaned over the desk and startled the +lady with a request for anything pertaining to guns and projectiles. +These she had in plenty. A great many war books had been purchased +during the period which followed America's declaration. + +The detective erected a breastwork with the books she brought. He +conned them with understanding until he came to ballistics and +trajectory. He stopped there. He rose. His brain was crammed with fact +upon fact. He had the formulæ of smokeless powder and the analysis of +cupronickel bullets. He had absorbed muzzle velocity and angle of fire. +He fairly bubbled over with good humor as he thrust his hands into his +overcoat, caught up his hat and started out the door after glancing +back and bowing to the librarian who smiled a good-by. + +The street was dark save for the glow of the overhead arcs. He thrust +out his arm and tested the snow fall. It was not as heavy as when he +had entered the library. He went down the steps, turned toward the +north and plowed along the sidewalk. + +Suddenly the thought came to him to glance at his watch. He had +forgotten time and place over the hours in the pursuit of knowledge +which might and might not be applied to the case at hand. It was almost +six o'clock. + +"Lord," he said in surprise. "I'm going crazy. Two hours in a trance. +Now for work. I wonder what the operatives will have to report? They +ought to have something. I wonder," he added, peering under the fine +drizzle of snow, "I wonder where the nearest telephone is located? +Another block, I guess." + +His brain gathered up the skeins of the case as he hurried along. +Fingerprints, plaster-casts, smooth bullets, locked rooms and a +raven-black magpie, trooped into their proper formation. He dwelt +longest on the telephone information he had gathered in the library. +The case seemed bound up in whispering wires and broken connections +which might be spliced together with patience and hard work. + +The whole matter, from the call of the millionaire, down to the clew +discovered in comparing the finger prints at Detective Headquarters, +was a city-spread network of telephone connections which had to be +traced back to an elusive individual who flitted like a shadow or a +whirling dervish across the detective's vision. + +He reached the drug-store, paused outside, glanced up and down the +white-robed street, then pressed the door open and stamped inside. He +found a nickel. Dropping this in the slot and closing the booth, he +asked Central for his office phone. + +The connection was made with Harrigan on the other end. "What's new in +the Stockbridge case?" asked Drew in a whisper. + +He listened. He grew rigid as the faithful operative summed up the +entire series of reports. There were six of them. The last was from +Delaney. + +"Hang up!" the detective almost shouted in his eagerness. "Hang up, +Harrigan, and let me get him." + +Finding a quarter instead of a nickel, Drew dropped it in the large +slot and jiggled the receiver's hook until Central answered. + +"Get me Gramercy Hill 9764!" he exclaimed. "Quick! 9764 Gramercy Hill!" + +"That's her number," he said aloud. "Loris Stockbridge's number. It +must be her number. I haven't forgotten that, have I?" + +The time consumed in getting the connection seemed endless. Drew lifted +one damp sole from the floor of the booth and then the other. The +receiver's diaphragm clicked finally. "Hello!" he snapped. "Hello, +who's this?" + +He waited a full second. "This Delaney?" he asked. "Who?" he added. +"Oh! you're the maid! Well get me Miss Stockbridge or Mr. Delaney. Yes, +Delaney. D-e-l-a-n-e-y!" + +"This Delaney? ... No! ... Who?... Nichols? ... Harry Nichols? Hello, +Nichols! ... Is Delaney there?" + +The big operative's voice sounded with a rasp on the wire. "What's the +news?" asked Drew. "What's that you've been telling Harrigan? Something +about a coffin? A coffin? What--a casket? A hardwood casket. I'll be +right up! I'm coming!" + +The detective's olive face was the color of burnt pottery as he flipped +the receiver on the hook, thrust his knee against the door and charged +out of the booth and into the drug-store. He wheeled, turned his coat +collar up, drew down his hat and dashed outside as an astonished clerk +leaned over the prescription counter and stared after him. + +The message that Delaney had sent over the snow-crusted wires, and +along the underground conduits, was laden with menace. It drove Drew +westward through the drifts like a man who had a whip held over him. He +crossed two avenues before he sighted a taxi. He charged after this, +sprang to the running board, and shouted into the driver's muffled ear. + +"Drive like sin--full speed and more--up Fifth Avenue! I'll tell you +when to stop! The devils are not going to kill that little lady if I +can help it," he added, as he opened the door and climbed inside the +taxi. + + + + +CHAPTER ELEVEN + +"THE CLOSING NET" + + +Night was falling upon the greatest city in the world. After night +would come the myriads of electric lights in the huge Broadway +signs--the surface cars creeping through the snow-fall like glow +worms--the muffled pedestrians and the chain-tired taxis, with their +well-groomed patrons, hastening to ballrooms, cabarets and theaters +more luxurious than any dreamed of by Lucullus. + +Into the tide of this forming stream of wealth, Drew's taxi turned and +ground northward through the drifts. The detective had given no +definite address. He wanted the air of the Avenue for at least two +blocks, before he reached the Stockbridge mansion. He signaled as a +familiar corner came in view. He turned his overcoat collar up to his +chin and stepped out, as the driver brought the taxi to a slow stop at +the curb. + +"Stay around the corner!" he ordered. "Stay, till I send word. Here's a +dollar for supper. Get that and wait!" + +The driver touched his cap and reached for the bill. Drew swung +northward, threw back his head, and plowed along the snow-laden +sidewalk. Delaney's statement over the telephone had stirred every drop +of red blood in his body. Loris was in danger! This nerved him on. He +clenched his gloved fists as he reached the first side street. He +crossed the wheel-churned snow, with his lips gripped in a hard white +line. His eyes raised in heavy-lidded scrutiny of the towering turrets +and spires of the mansion. Lights shone from its windows as if in +defiance to the powers of darkness which encompassed the dwelling. + +A snow-crusted form stepped out from a basement shelter. Drew raised +his arm as a barrier when a figure of a man lurched in his direction. + +"Hello, O'Toole!" he blurted, recognizing the operative. "What are +_you_ doing here?" + +O'Toole jerked a mittened finger in the direction of the mansion. "Our +lad's in there," he said, thrashing his arms and flipping his finger +for a second time. "Harry Nichols!" he explained. + +"S--o! The whole case seems to be gathering again. Every clue leads +this way now. What did you learn to-day?" + +O'Toole yawned. "I got on the job early," he said with frosty breath. +"I waited. The lad came down. He got in a taxi and I'm right after him. +First he went to the Quartermaster's Offices at the Battery. Then he +went to Governor's Island. From there I trailed him to the Red Cross +Headquarters. He 'phoned Gramercy Hill 9764, at least three times." + +"To the girl in the case?" + +"Yep, Chief! He's gone on her. He tended to some funeral matters +connected with Stockbridge, bought some flowers--three dozen lilies of +the valley--then came on up here. I've been waiting a long time." + +"Seen anybody about?" + +"Delaney and some Central Office men--that's all! Shall I stay here?" + +"Not here! Jump back in the alley and watch the junction-box. I think +Delaney has been there. You'll find the snow melted in spots. Plant +somewhere, and keep your eyes open. Grab anybody you see tampering with +the wires to the house. I'm looking for trouble to-night. They +threatened Loris with a letter this afternoon." + +Drew did not stop to explain. He hurried on ahead of O'Toole, turned at +the iron-grilled gate, passed through and pressed the button. + +A Central Office man with a gold-badge showing, jerked the door open +and glanced out. He blinked sagely as he recognized the detective. + +"All right!" said Drew. "Let me in!" + +The door swung wider. Drew lunged through and turned. "What's new?" he +asked, pointing a thumb over his shoulder. "Are those servants still +under arrest?" + +"Some of them, Inspector," grunted the Central Office man. "I can't +talk much. Fosdick gave me hell for talking to a newspaper man. He left +word, though, that you could come in." + +"Thanks!" Drew said dryly. "Thanks! That's kind of him. You are holding +down this door?" + +"Sure, Inspector! The butler and the second-man are down at +Headquarters. I don't like the job, but orders is orders." + +Drew loosened his overcoat, removed his kid-gloves, stamped his +snow-covered shoes on the rug, and hurried past the library, where +stood a burly Central Office man on guard. He mounted the steps with +the running motion of a boy of fifteen. He glanced upward to where +velvet-soft light glowed at the entrance to Loris Stockbridge's suite +of rooms. Delaney stood framed in the opening. His huge bulk blotted +out the inner rooms. His face, seen in the high shadows, was long and +grim. + +"She's in there," said the operative, raising his chin over his lifted +arm. "Miss Stockbridge is in there. She's with her maid--one Fosdick +tried to pinch--and Harry Nichols. She's got a notice by special +delivery, that the coffin she ordered from the Hardwood Casket Company, +of Jersey City, will be delivered to-morrow. She never ordered any +coffin, Chief. Ain't that dirt--to a girl like that? What d'ye think of +it?" + +Drew's answer to Delaney's question was a grinding of teeth and a sharp +oath of defiance. He clutched the operative's arm in a nipping grip. He +led him into the tiny reception-hall of the suite. + +The detective paused on the threshold of a larger room. He dropped his +hand from Delaney's arm. He stabbed sharp glances here and there about +the interior. He widened his eyes as they came to rest upon a further +doorway, which was hung with soft tapestries gathered to the side-walls +by cords of silk. Beyond this doorway, like the vista of some rare +painting, shone an inner light of a woman's shrine. + +Silver and pearl and old rose blended into a bower such as is found in +palaces. Tiny medallions and plaques and miniatures--narrow framed +studies in oil--fans, vases, statuettes of ivory and rare china, a +hundred choice and dainty objects of haute-art were in that splendid +room. + +Drew advanced over a rug so soft and deep he felt like a peri entering +Paradise. He brushed aside the tapestries and strode swiftly forward. +His hat came off as Loris advanced to meet him from a large chamber, +wherein the color scheme had been worked out in black and white with a +suggestion of green-in-gold. + +He forgot the material things of that apartment as he bowed gallantly. +He thrust his hand forward and clasped strong fingers over her own. The +grief of her father's death had widened her eyes and set them in +circles of dark brows and tear-stained features. Her voice clutched in +her throat as she tried to speak. Her hand was drawn from his slowly. +It raised to her broad forehead beneath her blue-black hair, with a +passing motion that dispelled some of the doubt within her. She smiled +wanly. Her round, young breast rose and fell with the rustle of +perfumed laces. She swished her lavender gown behind her with a turn of +a white, supple wrist upon which was a tiny, diamond-studded watch of +superior make. + +"Courage!" said Drew. "Have courage! They won't get you!" + +"They--they," she breathed. "They have threatened me like they +threatened poor father. They sent a letter. Oh, I wish I were a man!" + +Drew flushed beneath his olive cheeks. He reached upward and turned +down his overcoat collar. He laid his hat on a chair, braced his +shoulders, and stared around the room. His eyes wandered from the walls +to the inner opening. "Who's in there?" he asked. + +"Harry--Harry Nichols. I telephoned for him. I was afraid. I admit I'm +afraid, Mr. Drew. You know what they did to father?" + +"Yes, I know. It was an error on my part. We did not take the proper +precautions. But this time--we will!" + +"I hope you do. I don't feel like myself, after last night. It came so +suddenly. I heard you people talking in the lower hallway. I went to +the bannisters and saw all the servants at the library door. And +then--and then, I went down without a particle of warning. It was a +shock, Mr. Drew." + +"One I could have spared you," admitted the detective. "It was +preventable," he added, turning toward Delaney. + +The operative stepped forward. He struck a chair with his foot and +tumbled it over. Picking it up and setting it down on its legs, he +flushed guiltily. + +"Be careful!" snapped Drew. "Get me that letter this young lady +received from Jersey. Get it! We'll look it over right now!" + +Delaney glanced at Loris. "She's got it," he said. "I gave it back to +her." + +Loris shuddered and pressed her hands to her breast. "I tore it up," +she whispered. "I was so excited and angry I tore it up. It's in the +waste-basket." + +"Fetch the basket!" said Drew to Delaney. "Go get it. We'll make this +room our headquarters," he added, swinging about on one heel. "We'll +stay right here and watch things, Miss Loris." + +The girl nodded prettily. Her courage came back with flushed cheeks. +She glanced up at Drew's strong jaw and face. The detective squared his +shoulder with a final shrug. "We'll stay here!" he said masterly. +"Though all the demons in hell are closing in on you, we'll stick. +We'll get them this time! I've almost got my man. If he moves his pawns +to-night, we'll round up the whole bunch and send them to the chair!" + +"Are there more than one?" + +"Yes! One is directing--another or others are doing his will. Your +father was slain in some mysterious manner which we have not, as yet, +determined. The man, or men, who caused him to meet with death, left +their marks behind them--fingerprints--footprints, voices over wires, +and other evidences of material deviltry. They blundered a score of +times! They should have killed that magpie. They did not wear gloves +when they should have worn gloves. They forgot, or overlooked, that +telephone calls can be traced. We've traced them. We've almost +succeeded. The trouble is, that time is short. What was in that +letter?" + +Loris turned toward the inner room. Delaney, followed by Harry Nichols +in full uniform, appeared. The operative held out a handful of scrapped +paper. + +"Ain't much to learn here, Chief. It's pretty well torn up. I remember +what it said, though." + +"Repeat it!" + +"It was from the Hardwood Casket Company of Jersey City. It was dated +this morning. It said that the coffin Miss Stockbridge ordered for the +lady who was about to die in her family, would be delivered to-morrow +afternoon by express at her town house, as ordered." + +"The curs!" exclaimed Drew. + +"Sure they are, Chief. The letter was signed by the manager. I think it +was the manager. I couldn't read his writing!" + +"Let me see the scraps." + +Delaney sorted them into a small stack and passed them to Drew. The +detective lifted each fragment, held it to the light, and placed it +into his right overcoat-pocket. "I get it," he said. "It looks genuine. +Did you telephone them?" + +"Nope! I was a-waiting for you to come up here. There's a phone here. +It's over there!" + +Drew nodded. "I saw it," he said thoughtfully. "We better be careful +how we use the phones of this house. They tapped the wires before, and +they can do it again. We're fighting very high-class devils." + +"It doesn't seem real!" blurted Harry Nichols. "I thought that death +only stalked in No Man's Land. It's right here, gentlemen!" + +Drew frowned and shook his head. He glanced at Miss Stockbridge. He +rubbed his hands softly. "No more danger," he warned in a confident +voice. "We've got twenty Central Office men in the house or about the +place. No bank was ever better protected. There will be no real trouble +to-night." + +"That's what you said the other time, to father," Loris suggested +without thought. "You did--you remember? You were in the library and he +felt so confident nothing would happen. Something did happen!" + +"I admit it!" Drew said with candor, "I admit everything, Miss Loris. +I'm partly to blame. The trouble was, I underestimated my adversary. A +man should never do that. This time, though," he added with glazed eyes +that roamed the walls. "This time is going to be different. Now, how +about all your rooms? We must be sure that there is no slip. We must be +sure----" + +"Sure, we must be sure!" interrupted Delaney. "I've looked everywhere, +Chief. Leave that to me!" + +Drew glanced at Loris, who had stepped toward Harry Nichols. He studied +the picture the two made, with their heads close together. The captain +held himself defiantly, but with that certain polish which goes with a +fondness for the things of life worth having. He had chosen a rather +pretty girl, and upon her he had lavished his attentions. He had defied +Stockbridge! This was motive enough for a crime. He was not the +criminal, decided Drew. There was that to the captain's resolute, +though thick lips, and his wide eyes, which assured the detective he +would not stoop to low things to gain his ends. He had enlisted +voluntarily. He had worked hard at Plattsburg. He had served, and was +upon the eve of going to Pershing. No man with such a record would slay +a girl's father to gain the girl. + +The detective erased Harry Nichols from his mind. "You two," he said +commandingly, "had better go into the library! I mean Miss +Stockbridge's writing-room. Stay there, please, till Mr. Delaney and I +notify you. Who else, beside we four, are in this part of the house?" + +"Only the maid," said Loris. + +"Go in, please, and wait. I'm going to lock everything up. We're going +to take every precaution this time. Frankly, I don't see how any agency +can do more than we have already. Were we dealing with ordinary crooks +or blackmailers, I would have you take a taxi and move to some Fifth +Avenue hotel. But it seems an unnecessary risk. This is the safest +place in the world, despite the letter from the casket company and the +former warning. What man can enter this place to-night--without our +permission?" + +"I'd like to see one!" blurted Delaney. + +Harry Nichols offered his arm to Loris. They passed from the view of +the two detectives with the locked, gliding stride of two dancers who +moved to slow time. Drew heard the portières which led to the +writing-room rustle downward and settle into place. He passed his hand +over his forehead and breathed deeply. + +"We'll get busy," he whispered tersely. "We'll search these rooms +again. Let's start with a definite foundation!" + +Delaney grunted at the uselessness of this as he reached and took the +detective's overcoat which was peeled off and extended to him. + +"Hang it on a chair," said Drew sharply. "Over there with my hat. Now," +he snapped, "what about the windows of this room, the little reception +hall and the bedroom over there? That's a bedroom, isn't it?" + +"Sure, Chief! I frisked it good. The Central Office men were up here +early in the morning. They went through everything. Fosdick, they say, +was like a bull. He said the thing couldn't be done." + +"It _was_ done!" + +"Did you get any clue, Chief, as to how it was done?" + +"It's as much a mystery as ever. But we're trimming the tree called +Truth with a broad ax. I'm going around this case to get the man or men +who did it. Then we'll find out how it was done!" + +"Oh!" Delaney's expression was thought-laden. "Just thought of it, +Chief. I got them plaster-of-paris casts. I got 'em down stairs. It was +some job, believe me. I took everything about that junction-box, after +I'd thawed the snow with hot blankets which a good-looking cook brought +to me." + +"Go down and get them!" + +Delaney hurried out through the tapestries of the room. Drew started +his search of the apartment by a study of the windows and the catches. +He opened one and glanced outside. Snow had drifted to the depth of +three inches on the sill. This snow was unmarked. He examined all of +the sills extending from the three rooms. He closed and locked the +windows. He backed off into the center of the reception room and +studied the situation from every angle. The furniture was fragile and +in sets of such splendid periods his eyes closed over them. The rugs +and tapestries--curtains and portières--sheathings of yellow +hand-painted silk from Nippon--rare ceramics and cloisonnés--a huge +peach-blow vase of the Ming dynasty and a hundred little jade and +jasper knick-knacks were the outward evidence of wealth. + +He opened the plate-glass cases and peered inside. He crawled under a +couch and backed out dusting his hands. He tapped with slow knuckles a +long cheval-glass by the side of which was a tiny gold-bracket and a +silver-plated telephone. He went the rounds of the walls, lifting +pictures, portraits and little military oils by French painters of the +Franco-Prussian period. He found nothing to excite his suspicion! + +Entering a simple bedroom, with its tiled flooring and its single white +bed, he spared this as he passed to the bath beyond, which had no +outlet save a ventilating shaft securely barred by a bronze grating of +close, fantastic-scrolled mesh. + +Delaney's heavy steps were heard in the reception hall as Drew +finished. Striding out into the larger room he frowned as the operative +deposited a blanket upon a Persian rug and began to untie its corners. + +"I got 'em here, Chief," explained the assistant with upturned face. +"There's five or six prints--all alike." + +"What? Repeat that!" Drew dropped to one knee. + +"Sure, Chief. There's only been one guy at that junction-box before the +freezing started. He made plenty of tracks. He came and went from the +fence to the box. It's a small foot. There was plenty of prints made +after the snow piled on top of these little prints." + +"The operatives?" + +"Sure, and the Central Office bunch! But these prints I got here are +the only ones under the snow. They stuck up when I melted away the +surface." + +Delaney offered a plaster-cast of the top of a footprint. It was +roughly done. It had been made, like the others in the blanket, by +pouring cold plaster within a retaining bulge of soap. The plaster had +hardened and brought out each detail. Drew traced his finger over the +toe. "Right foot," he said. "Now let's see the others!" + +"Here's a left foot, Delaney," added the detective slowly. "Only one +left and four right. That might happen. You didn't take them all. Well, +bundle them up and plant them somewhere. Put them under that couch, out +of sight. I've got an idea!" + +"What is it, Chief?" asked the operative as he drew on the knots until +he had gathered the corners together. "What's new? I can't see anything +in sight, at-tall, at-tall. One man--that's all I see." + +"And that's _all_ I see--the trouble-hunter--Delaney!" + +"But what about the tall guy who looked like a German? The fellow the +trouble-man saw getting over the fence and beating it for Fifth +Avenue?" + +"He didn't leave any tracks!" + +"Ah, Chief, get out! That ain't human!" + +Drew paced the floor with his hands clasped behind him. He wheeled with +sudden energy. "Go, you!" he exclaimed with a pointing finger. "Hurry +out of this house and telephone Gramercy Hill Exchange. Tell the +superintendent to send over that trouble-man. I want to compare these +prints with his shoes. He couldn't have been lying. There's no object +in that! But, Delaney, how could a man tap in on that junction-box and +never leave prints in the snow? That's my question!" + +"How could one shoot a man in a sealed room, Chief? There ain't much +difference!" + +Drew snatched out his watch. "Hurry," he said. "Get over to Gramercy +Hill Exchange--it's only three blocks from here. Ask Jack Nefe, or +whoever is in charge, for the trouble-man who fixed the phone last +night. He'll be able to tell us what part of the fence the tall fellow, +who looked like a German, got over. Perhaps he wasn't at the +junction-box at all!" + +"Who, Chief?" + +"The tall fellow! Perhaps he was skulking about the windows at the +back." + +"Perhaps he was a ghost," said Delaney to himself as he lunged through +the tapestries toward the staircase which led down from the third floor +of the mansion. + +Drew crossed the room and rapped softly on a panel by the portières +which covered the opening to the reading-room and library. He heard a +muffled word of warning. Loris Stockbridge glided across the rugs and +peered out. Her face was set and tear-stained. She had been sobbing +upon an olive-drab shoulder. + +"Pardon," said Drew with a slight sigh. "I beg pardon, Miss +Stockbridge. I want to look over the sitting-room and examine the +windows. Where is the maid?" + +Loris touched her eyes with a handkerchief drawn from her breast. She +replaced this and nodded over her shoulder. She parted the portières +with her unjeweled right hand. "The maid," she said softly, "is in her +room. That's back of this reading-room. Shall I call her?" + +"You and Mr. Nichols come in here, please," said Drew. "I'll knock on +the maid's door and look her over. We can't be too careful--remember +that. It's getting late," he added with candor. + +Drew allowed Harry Nichols and Loris to pass him as he held the +portières for them with a thoughtful bow. He crossed the reading-room, +examined the books and cases, glanced under a low divan, and saw to it +that each window was latched before he knocked lightly upon a further +door which was hidden by curtains. + +A maid appeared, in smart white apron and pursed lips of inquiry. Drew +regarded her not unkindly. He ran his eyes up and down her trim figure +from the black bow in her brown hair to the wide ribbons which laced +her trim French shoes. + +"How long have you been with Miss Stockbridge?" he asked. + +_"Merci, Monsieur!"_ she courtesied. "It has been for zee longest time. +_Cinq--sept, années, monsieur,"_ she counted mentally. + +"Good!" said Drew closing the door lightly. "Good little girl. We won't +bother you the rest of the night," he added as he turned a good key in +a perfectly good lock and dropped the curtains. + +"Now!" he said with a final glance about the reading-room, with its +morocco-bound tomes and glowing lights. "Now, let the worst come! Let +that come what may!" + +He strode through to the reception room, glanced slit-lidded at Loris +and Nichols, who had seated themselves in the deeper recess of a +splendid alcove, and hurried to the hall where Delaney was hastily +removing his coat, and showing other evidences of some answer to his +quest at the telephone exchange. + +"Well?" asked Drew as the bulk of the big operative loomed through the +tapestries. "Well, what did you find out over there?" + +"Enough, Chief!" Delaney's voice was hard. He glanced at Loris and +Nichols. His right eye closed in a warning wink of caution. + +"Come into this other room," said Drew. "Come right in, Delaney. This +way!" Drew lifted the portières, then dropped them after the operative +had stumbled forward. + +"What did you find?" he asked into Delaney's ear. "Out with it!" + +The operative glanced about the reading-room. He blinked at the glowing +electrics. He recovered his voice as he drew in a deep breath which +bulged his chest to barrel proportions. + +"I went," he said huskily. "I went to Gramercy Hill Exchange. Found the +superintendent.... Fellow, you told me to find, Chief ... I draws him +to one side.... I asked about this trouble-hunter.... He ups like I'd +hit him.... He says fellow quit to-day.... Says fellow.... Says he was +no good.... Says he was tapping joints instead of soldering them. Says +he only hired him on account of the shortage of electricians and +helpers ... because of the last Army draft." + +"Did you get his address?" + +"I got it, Chief.... It is over on Fifty-third Street near the +River.... I didn't go.... I wanted to see you first.... There's more." + +"Out with it!" + +"The superintendent says he never sent that trouble-hunter over here +last night.... There's a record of sending another man named Frisby." + +"Did you see--Frisby?" + +"I did, Chief." + +"What did he say?" Drew's fingers had clutched the operative's arm. +"What did he say?" he repeated grimly. + +"Said, that Albert--that's the trouble-hunter--had stopped him on the +way over here and took his place.... Said, he was satisfied.... Albert +could have _all_ the jobs on a night like last night. That's just what +Frisby said, Chief!" + +Drew loosened his fingers from Delaney's arm and turned slowly. The +portières swayed slightly. They shook anew. They parted at the center +and revealed Loris Stockbridge. Her eyes burned the soft gloom with +glazed interrogation. She raised her white hand and pressed back her +hair from her forehead. She stepped forward with her knees striking +against the stiff satin of her skirt. She swung from Delaney toward +Drew. + +"What were you saying?" she asked imperiously. "What did you say about +a trouble-man? What was it, please?" + +"I'm lookin' for one, Miss!" declared Delaney. "I was over at the +telephone company's exchange lookin' for the lad that was here last +night and fixed the junction-box in the yard back of the house. Mr. +Drew wants him." + +Loris turned toward the detective. "You want him?" she asked softly. +"What do you want him for? Please tell me. I don't like him, at all." + +It was Drew's turn to draw in his breath. He eyed the girl. He tried to +fathom the reason for her simple question and her objection. "Miss +Loris," he said, shrugging his square shoulders. "Why, it's a slight +matter. The man has disappeared. We can't find him. He's +flown--perhaps." + +"Is he a little chap with a satchel and a testing set?" she asked. "A +nice-mannered, soft-voiced little man who was so obliging, and yet +so--oh! I don't know what I have against him. He's so sly--don't you +think so, Mr. Dr--e--w?" + +"When did you ever see him?" asked Drew, feeling the blood rising to +his cheeks at a thought which surged through his brain. + +"Meet him? Why! he was here early this afternoon. He was all over the +house!" + + + + +CHAPTER TWELVE + +"SUSPICION FASTENS" + + +Triggy Drew had been trained in the hardest school in the world. Loris +Stockbridge's statement, delivered with such sincerity and so naïvely, +completely upset him. It was like a gentle reminder that, as a hunter +of men, he had failed. He took the blow with flaming cheeks and an +almost stopped heart. + +Delaney realized that something of moment in the case had happened. He +stared at his chief, then turned his eyes upon Harry Nichols, who +stepped through the portières and stood by Loris' side. + +"What is it, Chief?" asked the operative. "Was there anything in what +she said?" + +"Anything!" exclaimed Drew, recovering himself with a tossing shrug of +his shoulders. "Anything? Everything! The man we want is----" + +"Found?" breathed Loris clutching Nichols' arm. + +"Not yet--but _very_ soon!" said the detective with sanguine eyes. "We +want that trouble-hunter, Delaney," he added gathering in the details +for action as he spoke. "You'll have to hurry right over to the address +and see if you can round him up. If he isn't there--get him! I want him +brought here at once. He's got much to explain!" + +"I'll go right now," said Delaney, starting toward the reception room. + +"Wait," said Drew. + +Delaney turned at the portières. + +"Don't phone me here," the detective warned. "Don't do anything by +telephone. We're on the trail of a man or men who can tap wires. He or +they may have a confederate in this house. Be careful--get your suspect +and bring him here. We'll try him with the footprints. We'll check up +with the fingerprints. Then, if he don't cave in, we'll turn him over +to Fosdick and the Third Degree. I firmly believe that Albert, whom I +saw in the library and who was in this house in the early afternoon of +this day, is implicated in the murder. Strange that I never suspected +him." + +"I'm going!" growled Delaney, tearing his eyes away from Loris and +glancing through the curtains. "I'm right after him, Chief. I won't +stop till I get him, either." + +"If you don't make it in thirty minutes," said Drew glancing sharply at +his watch, "if you don't make it by then--come back here. Perhaps +something will have turned up in the meantime. Get that?" + +"Sure, Chief! Good-by!" + +Delaney had passed through the portières, crossed the reception room +and pressed aside the tapestries leading to the hallways, before Drew +stepped to the broad doorway and motioned for Loris and Nichols to take +their former positions. He waited until they were seated with their +faces in the shadow cast by the overhead silken hangings. He spoke +then, and to the point. + +"This case," he said, thrusting his hands in his coat pockets and +striding back and forth. "This case is clearing clue by clue. The +trouble-man, whom some one let into the house this afternoon, is the +missing link in the chain of circumstance and applied deduction. Who +let him in?" + +"I did!" + +Drew stopped in his stride. "You, Nichols?" he questioned sharply. "Why +did you let him in?" + +"Because I asked Harry to," defended Loris with heat. "I heard the bell +ring. I sent the maid downstairs. She came back and told me that a man +from the telephone company was waiting to look over the connections. +She said that he said that there was trouble with the wires." + +"I don't believe it!" exclaimed Drew; "that is," he added hastily, "I +don't believe there was anything the matter at all. In the light of +what Delaney has told me, that fellow came here last night, when some +one else named Frosby or Frisby was sent. Now why would he want to take +another's place? For one reason only--the same reason that he came here +this afternoon. This reason concerns your future health and security. +We had one death in this house which followed his first visit. We don't +want anything to happen after his second visit." + +"You are right, Mr. Drew," said Nichols. "I was careless. I went down +stairs and talked with the fellow. It was just a few minutes after I +arrived from downtown. He seemed so plausible that I asked the Central +Office Detective at the door, who gave the permission. It was all my +fault, I guess." + +"Where did this fellow go? What did he do in the house?" + +"He went into the library and tested the phone there. The connection +seemed to be all right. Then he went down stairs and tested the +butler's 'phone. The butler had been taken as a material witness by +Fosdick. I followed the man. He didn't do anything but test and then +talk with Franklin Official--I think it was." + +"Are you sure he talked over the phone? It's ridiculously easy for a +person to hold down the hook and make believe they are talking to most +anybody." + +"I don't know about that, Mr. Drew," said the captain, turning toward +Loris. "Did he talk to anybody when he used this 'phone, Miss +Stockbridge?" + +"I believe so, Harry. I really thought he did." + +Drew furrowed his brows in perplexity. There was no evidence shown that +the trouble-man had ever talked with anybody, via wire, from the +mansion. He recalled the first appearance of the lineman in the +library. That time both calls, to Central, might have been feigned by +holding down the hook and speaking into a disconnected transmitter. The +man was clever. He knew all there was to be known concerning telephony. + +"I'm a child," the detective concluded, swinging about the room in +perplexity. "One thing," he added aloud to Loris and Nichols. "One +thing! We are absolutely alone in this part of the house. I have locked +the maid in her room. No one can get through the door to the hall. +There's a spring lock on it. Delaney closed it when he went out." + +"And there's a score of detectives scattered about," said the captain +reassuringly, as he leaned toward Loris. "Why should we fear anything +at all?" + +"I wouldn't, Harry," said Loris, "if it wasn't for what happened to +poor father. Mr. Drew took the same precautions and had everything +locked and watched. It doesn't seem as if we were in New York at all. +It seems like some mediæval time and place." + +Drew reached for a fragile-looking chair, turned it, sat down and +thrust his custom-made shoes out across the rug in the direction of +Loris and Nichols, whose faces shone white and drawn in the soft light +of the alcove where they were seated. + +Swirling thought surged through the detective's brain. He went over the +case with dulled understanding. Briefly, he had eliminated the former +suspects and compressed the matter into a small compass. His conclusion +brought him to his feet with slow swaying from side to side. Some one +in state prison was probably directing matters. Some one in New York +was carrying out the arch-fiend's orders. This free agent had the nerve +of the damned and the cunning of Cagliostro. He had succeeded in +planting a confederate in the mansion, or entering himself, and slaying +Stockbridge. The entire case, concluded Drew, rested in capturing the +free agent before he could do further murder. Loris was marked and had +been from the first. + +"What servants remain?" he asked, dropping his hand on his right hip +pocket and feeling the bulge of an automatic there. "Which of the +servants, Miss Stockbridge, have Fosdick and his men left for you?" + +"The French maid," said Loris softly. + +"I saw her! She looks all right. She says she has been with you five or +six years." + +"Six--almost. It's been over six years, Mr. Drew!" + +"That ought to let her out of the case. Now, the next one?" + +"The housekeeper, Mrs. Seeley. She has been with us ten or twelve +years--ever since I can remember. Mother thought the world of Mrs. +Seeley." + +"Who else?" + +"Father's valet. They didn't arrest him." + +"He was down to my office. He looks all right. I'll cross him off the +list of suspects. Now, are there any more servants in the house?" + +"There's a French chef and a pantry man, I think. Also there's a poor +old darkey who tends to the furnace. I don't believe he leaves the +basement. I never see him, only on holidays." + +"The butler, then, and the doorman and the second man and the rest of +the servants have been taken down to Center Street for interrogation +and as suspects. That leaves us with very few to handle, Miss +Stockbridge. I'm going to start by securing the door which leads into +the hallway. Then we'll wait here." + +Drew hurried through the tapestries, stopped, and examined the lock of +the door before he shot home a second bolt which was functioned by a +butterfly of heavy gold alloy. He stood erect with both hands pressing +at his temples. It came to him with double force that the same +precautions had been taken when Stockbridge was alone in the library +downstairs. There was the lock of superior make and the winged-latch. +There was the two-inch, or more, door of dark wood. There were the +servants and detectives both within and outside the mansion. Yet the +millionaire had been reached in a secret manner through all the +precautions. + +"Things repeat, sometimes," mused Drew, fingering the catch and the +flat key. "The same conditions bring the same results. I----" + +The detective's voice trailed into a whisper as he heard footsteps +outside the door. He reached back to his pocket and waited. His heart +thumped like a prisoned bird within his breast. It was a case of +strained nerves. He felt the responsibility of guarding Loris. + +"Bah!" he exclaimed, recovering himself and squaring his jaw. "Bah," he +repeated. "It's somebody for me." + +He opened the door after twisting the butterfly and turning the flat +key in the lock. A blurred figure pressed forward. A gruff voice boomed +from a muffling collar. + +"Hello, Chief! I'm back in a half-hour! No luck, either!" + +Drew waited until Delaney had removed his overcoat and overshoes, which +he placed in one corner by a hall-tree. "What did you find?" he asked +glancing toward the tapestries. + +"The fellow's beat it for good. Landlady says he owes her one week's +rent. He cleaned out with a suit-case and left this." The operative +reached in his pocket and brought forth a single drill of quarter-inch +diameter. He held it out. "All I could find, Chief, after a quick +frisk. This was in the mattress." + +"Regulation lineman's wood-bit," said Drew as he examined the size +number on the shank. "This might have been the one used in boring the +hole between the slot-booths at Grand Central Station." + +"Then Albert is the lad, Chief?" + +"We don't know, yet. There's lots of bits like this one. Did you try it +for fingerprints?" + +"They're all rubbed off! I had to pull it from the mattress. It was +stuck in a hole near the foot of the bed." + +"Hold it!" said Drew. "Hold it for evidence. Put it with your plaster +casts. Now----" + +"Well, Chief?" + +Drew glanced at his watch. "I'm going out to that drug-store," he said. +"I want to phone. I can't use the phones of this house. The wires may +be tapped. You stay right by this door and wait till I get back. It +won't be more than ten minutes. Go get my hat when you're putting the +bit away. It's in the corner by Loris and Nichols. Tell them I'm +stepping out and that you will stand guard. They might hold me. She is +very nervous." + +Delaney was back at the detective's side, after a clumsy stride through +the tapestries. "Cute couple," he said, jerking his thumb over-shoulder +toward the inner room. "They're sittin' there so close you couldn't get +a sheet of paper between them. I like that colleen, Chief! She's the +kind you see on them magazine covers--only prettier." + +"A cat can look at a queen," quoted Drew, pulling down his hat and +opening the door wide. "Be sure and lock this after me," he warned. +"Lock and bolt it. Stand guard and don't let anybody in at all. I'm +only going round the block." + +Delaney shut the door and turned the key. He followed this action by +twisting the butterfly. Then he drew his gun and waited, grimly alert. + +Drew reached the drug-store after a brisk, lung-cleansing walk through +the down-driving snow. He dropped a coin in the slot and first called +up his office. Harrigan, who had remained at his post, answered for +most of the operatives who were out on the case and who had 'phoned in +at every opportunity. + +"Get Frick at the prison," Drew shot back, after making a few notes. +"Get him and tell him to call up this 'phone," Drew glanced at the +number over the transmitter. "Tell him to call up Gramercy Hill 9749 +and let whoever I station here, know to whom and to what number Morphy +is talking in New York. Get that?" + +"Sure," came back over the wires. "Sure, Chief. You want to pinch the +fellow he's connecting with?" + +"I certainly do," said Drew. "We can work it this way. As soon as I +find out from Frick where Morphy or anybody else is 'phoning from the +prison, I can get a man over there in time to make the arrest. The +superintendent at Gramercy Hill will help us out if the call comes +through his exchange. He can get the girl to stall for a minute or two. +I'll send Delaney here to hold this end of the wire. You keep him +posted as to developments. O'Toole, yes! He's planted in the alley back +of the house. He can't report. All the others are all right?" + +Drew hung up with a flip of the receiver. He backed out of the booth +and hurried around the corner. He reached the iron-grilled gate of the +mansion with his head down and the snow seeping between his collar and +his neck. + +"Rotten night!" said the Central Office man at the door. "I don't think +we'll hear anything from anybody. Them gunmen like the backrooms of +saloons too well to pull off a gun-play in this storm, Inspector." + +"You never can tell," said Drew, shaking his coat and hurrying toward +the stairway which led to Loris Stockbridge's apartment. + +Delaney opened the door after a repeated knock in Morse code. He eyed +his chief. He motioned toward the inner rooms. "All quiet," he said +with a broad smile. "Them turtle doves sure like to be left alone." + +"And you would too! Especially if you lost your only relative the night +before--lost him in the way she lost hers." + +The big operative gulped down the thrust. "What did you find out?" he +asked in a husky whisper. + +"Get your coat on. Get over to that drug-store and plant near that +booth--Gramercy Hill 9749. Frick, at the prison, is going to call that +booth up as soon as Morphy or anybody else there tries to get New York. +If Frick gives you a number, call up the superintendent at Gramercy +Hill and tell him who you are. He's on duty all night. He'll give you +the address of the number, and stall the call. That'll give you time to +rush to the address and grab your man." + +"I'll grab him, Chief!" rumbled Delaney, reaching for his storm coat +which was supposed to be fur-lined. "Leave that to me!" he added. "Jus' +leave it tu me!" + +Drew eyed the operative's huge hands. "I'll do that," he said with a +short laugh. "Now hurry! No, wait." + +"What is it, Chief?" asked Delaney in the doorway. + +"If the address is downtown, or in Brooklyn, what would you do then?" + +"I'd get the office, Chief, and have Harrigan rush over a man. This +super at Gramercy Hill ought to be able to stall that call long enough +for us to connect--with both hands and both feet." + +"Go to it!" said Drew, pressing Delaney out through the door. "Good +luck," he added as he twisted the key and shot the bolt. "Now we are +getting there," he said softly. "Unfortunately for that devil +up-the-river, he has to phone from _one_ place. That's the thing which +will beat him. I hate to think what would happen if he was outside +giving orders. He could get away with it, nicely." + +Drew never felt surer of himself in a case. He tested the lock and bolt +for a second time. He draped the tapestries and strode into the sitting +room with his shoulders held back--a sanguine light in his olive eyes. + +"Well, Miss Stockbridge," he said, pausing in the center of the room +and smiling. "I think we are on the verge of big things. The attempt +cannot be made to-night without we have plenty of warning." + +"Good!" exclaimed Loris, standing upright and arranging her lavender +gown about her slipper-tops. "That's the best news I've heard in a long +time, Mr. Drew," she added, glancing archly at the detective, beneath +her dark lashes. "Has that Mr. Delaney found any one?" + +Drew raised his brows. Loris' question was not exactly a compliment to +the big operative, who meant so well. + +"He hasn't found anything," said Drew, with soft, pleasing voice. "He +hasn't done that, but I'm venturing my future reputation that he will +find our man--the trouble-man perhaps." + +Harry Nichols stepped to Loris' side. "We were children there," he +admitted frankly. "At least I was. I never suspected him at all. His +manners were so pleasant. He seemed so weak and intent about his +business." + +"Ah!" said Drew, raising his finger. "That's it! He was intent about +_his_ business. Only, this particular business concerned the taking of +a human life in cold blood. Mr. Stockbridge was murdered by this fiend, +in the guise of a harmless trouble-hunter. How the murder was +accomplished and by what lethal method we do not know. I'm acting on +the theory that if we catch the man we will find out how it was done. +If I can't make him--Fosdick, Commissioner of Detectives, will. May God +help him if he doesn't talk to Fosdick!" + +"But can't we find out how father was killed?" asked Loris, with tears +glazing over her eyes. "It don't seem--it don't----" + +The captain caught Loris about the waist and led her to the divan in +the alcove. She sank down with her face covered with her hands. Soft +sobs, brought to her throat by the memory of the murder, caused Drew to +pace the rugs with alert, nervous strides like a man who would guard +her from some menacing shadow. He went to the ventilators and closed +them slightly. He crossed the room to the radiator-boxes and set them +in an open position. He adjusted a thermostat on the wall, to seventy +degrees. He stood back then and listened with both ears strained for +outside sounds. + +Snow sifted across the curtain-drawn panes with a cutting of fine +diamonds against diamonds. A wind whistled and moaned and swirled over +the turrets and towers of the mansion. An echo lifted from the driving +traffic of the Avenue. Below this echo, so faint it seemed like a +murmur of a distant sea, the city throbbed with the shifting of the +whimpering wind. Once it roared. Then afterward there was silence, save +for the sifting snow, and Loris' low, throat choke from welling sorrow. + +She sat up finally and dried her eyes. "I should be ashamed of myself," +she said, brokenly. "I must be brave. I fear something, though. It +seems to be in the room or the air. What is it I fear, Mr. Drew?" Her +question was vague. Her eyes shone hectically bright and strangely +alluring to the detective. + +"There's nothing to fear!" he declared with a direct glance. "I'm +armed! Then," he added as an additional encouragement. "Then, Mr. +Nichols is a soldier! You are in safe hands, believe me!" + +Harry Nichols bowed politely. "I've got a gun, myself," he admitted +candidly. "It's not that little one, either. It's army regulation. It, +or the ones like it, have been stopping the Huns. I guess we'll take +care of anything that comes up to-night, Mr. Drew. It's getting late, +isn't it?" + +The detective glanced at his watch. "I ought to hear from Delaney," he +said, replacing the watch and reaching for a chair. "Delaney is like +old Dobbin--faithful and slow." + +Drew sat down, pulled at the knees of his black trousers and rested his +heels on the thick soft pile of a Persian rug. Behind him was the +cheval glass and the telephone stand. Before him, and in the shade of +the silk draperies, Loris' eyes glowed alongside the captain's resolute +face. + +The minutes passed with the trio in the same position. The snow sifted +across the cold panes. The wind whined. Suddenly between gusts, Loris +asked point-blankly: + +"Do you suspect that man, Morphy?" + +"Yes; I do!" said Drew with a snap. "I believe that every single lead +we have points to him. I believe he planned to destroy your father ever +since the day of conviction. I believe----" + +"But he is in prison." + +"Ah!" said the detective, with bright eyes. "So is his master, Lucifer, +in the lower regions. He's there, but he has a long arm. Morphy's tool +in this affair is probably the telephone repair-man. You saw him. Mr. +Nichols saw him. I saw him. We all agree that he does not look the part +of a scoundrel and a scoundrel's tool. But," Drew paused and spread out +his hands; "but," he continued, "that's the reason he was chosen for +Morphy's murderous work. You can't send a thug into a drawing room--or +a library. You can't cut a sharp slice with a dull tool. This +trouble-hunter is all that the name implies--a hunter of trouble. I +don't doubt that we have the case rounded up, save for bringing him in. +Morphy, we can get at any time. He's in prison and he's getting very +close to the little green door that leads to the electric-chair. One +slip to-night, and we have him!" + +"Miss Stockbridge must go south after the funeral," said Nichols. "She +can't be jeopardized! She is nervous and has suffered acutely. I for +one am sorry we let her stay here. It is the place she should not be. +They know where to look for her!" + +"They're beat to-night," assured Drew, rising and stretching his arms. +"My! my!" he added, "this is slow, sleepy work. I'd ask for tea, but I +think it's best we stay locked in here. Don't you, Miss Stockbridge?" + +"Marie can get some. There's a service-waiter running up to her room. +Suppose I order tea, or coffee, and cakes. It might cheer us up?" + +Drew held out a warding arm as Loris rose and started toward the +writing room. "I'll tend to it," he said. "You stay right here close up +to Mr. Nichols. We're taking no chances at all." + +The detective parted the portières and knocked upon the maid's door as +he turned the key with his left hand. He waited as she gave the order +through a silver-plated speaking tube. He heard the service-waiter +rising. He leaned forward and took the tray with a sharp glance about +the maid's room. It was as clean and as neat as a work basket. A French +novel, with a vivid portrait of a poilu carrying a very sharp bayonet +on its cover, lay in the center of a white counterpane on the bed. + +"Good-night!" he said as he closed and carefully locked the door. He +reached downward and caught up the tray. He started across the +writing-room. He paused in its center as he heard: + +"Burrrr! Burrrr! Burrrrr!" + +Shrillingly the perfumed air of the suite vibrated with the silver +notes of the telephone. Drew hesitated, with the tray balanced in his +hand. He took one step forward as Loris swished across the +sitting-room, lifted the hard-rubber receiver and voiced a soft, +"Hello!" + +Drew let go of the tray and sprang forward. He parted the portières and +watched Loris' face. It changed between seconds to a flushed mask of +crimson-fear. She staggered back, dropped the receiver, and cried +"Harry!" as she sank to the floor. + +Drew darted across the rugs and snatched up the instrument. He heard a +low, chuckling laugh that died to a whisper and then to nothingness. He +flipped the receiver back on the hook. He turned with a savage twist. +He stared across the room toward Loris, who had risen to her knees and +whose head was against Nichols' olive-drab breast. + +"What was said?" he questioned sharply. + +A mass of turbaned, midnight-hued hair uncoiled and fell about the +girl's white face. Glorious eyes dulled, then glowed, with the fire +which was pulsing within her. Her lips trembled and went blanched as +she throated brokenly: + +"The man--the man at the other end said.... He said that his master had +ordered my coffin.... He said that I had only a few hours to live.... +He said that he would call me up again.... For me to be ready then, to +meet my Master and my--doom." + + + + +CHAPTER THIRTEEN + +"A SILENT PRISONER" + + +Loris Stockbridge finished speaking with a low sob which went straight +to the detective's heart. He advanced across the room and ran his arm +about her supple waist. "We'll help her to the divan," he told Nichols. +"That's it! Right over here and in the corner. She's all right. I'll +tend to that threat which came over the wires." + +Drew backed away and turned toward the telephone. He eyed it with cold +calculation. He took one step further, then wheeled and glanced at +Nichols. + +"I want to trace that call if it is humanly possible," he said with +decision. "We can find out, at least, from where it came. Suppose you +leave me here with Miss Stockbridge, and you go down stairs and around +to the drug-store?" + +Loris rested her weight on one elbow. She sat erect, with slowly +widening eyes. Her hands strayed to her hair and pressed it back from +her ears. She gained command of herself after a shudder had passed +through her slender body. She half rose. + +"I've heard that voice before!" she exclaimed, pointing toward the +'phone. "It was familiar, Mr. Drew. Now where have I heard it?" + +"Some friend of your father's?" + +"No, I don't think it was. But I've heard it in this house." + +"A servant--the valet?" + +"No! No, Mr. Drew, it wasn't the valet's voice. It was whispering and +consumptive. It squeaked. It sounded like a little boy's voice." + +"How about that trouble-man?" Drew advanced with keen steps. He felt +that he was very close to the truth. + +"It might have been. Only--only, Mr. Drew, it was +younger--thinner--squeakier. It was a terrible voice. It rings and +rings in my ears. It was so sure!" + +"Ump!" declared Drew with clenched fists. "It won't be so sure," he +said, squaring his jaw. "It won't be near so sure, next time. I think +it was that trouble-man you heard. Don't you remember anything he said +when he was in the house, for comparison?" + +"I just heard him say--I heard him say that the connections, I think he +called them, were all right. Then he went away, Mr. Drew." + +"Did his voice squeak then?" + +"It was rather low--like a boy's or a girl's. He seemed too polite. He +had his cap in his hand." Loris stopped speaking and stood erect. She +arranged her gown and glanced down at Nichols. "I feel stronger," she +said bravely. "I wonder what became of that tea?" + +Drew stepped into the writing-room and found the tea-pot upon its side. +He poured from this a cup of tea which he carried to Nichols. "Just +taste it," he ordered. "I want to be sure it isn't doped or anything +like that. That's it. Just a small swallow. It's all right, isn't it? +It isn't bitter?" + +Nichols handed the cup to Loris. "Drink it," he said with confidence. +"That's good tea--only a little cold." + +Drew took the empty cup and set it down on a small table. "You'll go +for me?" he asked Nichols. "I want it traced without using the wires of +this house. They might be tapped." + +"Be back in ten minutes!" said the captain at the tapestries, after +Loris had nodded. "Whom shall I ask for at Gramercy Hill?" + +"The superintendent--Jack Nefe! If he isn't there, get the chief +operator. Delaney will attend to that. Find out from what number the +call came. We might get that whispering devil right away." + +"I believe it was the trouble-man," said Loris, as Drew returned after +locking the door to the hallway. "Now that I think of it--I'm almost +sure it was. He just tried to change and lower his voice--that was +all." + +"Lower it?" + +"Yes, Mr. Drew. It was so faint that I hardly heard it at first. He +seemed afraid of something. Perhaps somebody was in the room where he +was telephoning." + +"That might have been. Well--he can't hurt or harm you that way. The +thing is for you to keep up your courage. Fear is a terrible thing if +you would let yourself be mastered by it. It might be their game to +break you down by a series of threats." + +"I won't do that. I've Harry and you to stand by me!" + +Drew pulled out his watch. "It's getting toward midnight," he said. "No +word yet from Delaney or any of the others on watch. I think that the +storm will clear soon. You can go to bed. Harry--Mr. Nichols and I'll +get a deck of cards and keep watch out here. We'll do sentry duty. He's +used to that!" + +Loris glided about the room. She stopped at the cheval glass and +arranged her hair with a series of twists that formed a turban secured +by loops. She swished around and glanced archly toward Drew. Their eyes +met bravely. Hers dropped under shading lashes. + +"I'm all right," she whispered with a half laugh. "I did look awful. It +was the shock of hearing that terrible man. How childish to call me up +and say what he did. He didn't mean it!" + +"Ah," said Drew, reaching in his pocket and bringing out a key. "Ah, he +did mean it, I think. He has overreached himself by telephoning. +Gramercy Hill Exchange is on the alert. There's Mr. Nichols with good +news, at the door. Now for his report." + +The captain came in, brushing snow from his olive-drab uniform. He +glanced at Loris as he strode across the room and took her hand with a +firm grip. "Delaney," he said confidentially, "was right at the booth. +He was sitting on a chair, propped up and talking with the prescription +clerk. He did the telephoning to Gramercy Hill. I don't know who he got +there, but they already knew about the call." + +Nichols turned toward Drew for confirmation. + +"That's right!" the detective exclaimed. "They should know! The +vice-president, Westlake, has left orders to record all calls to this +house. Where was that whispering voice from, Mr. Nichols?" + +"From Forty-second Street and Broadway." + +"Close!" exclaimed Drew, rubbing his hands. "The fellow took chances." + +"It came from a slot-booth in a cigar store in a big building. It only +lasted two minutes. The operator at Gramercy Hill says the first voice +she heard, asking for Gramercy Hill 9764, was harsh and loud. I don't +understand that." + +"Harsh and loud," repeated Drew, toying with his watch chain. "That's +odd. Was it the same man that Miss Stockbridge heard?" + +"The operator don't know. Delaney says maybe there were two of them. +One, who called up, and one who talked to this room." Nichols turned +and nodded toward the silver-plated telephone. + +"Hardly possible," mused Drew. "I think he changed his voice after he +got the connection. He didn't want Miss Stockbridge to recognize him." + +Loris glanced at the two men. "What will they do?" she asked anxiously. +"Will Mr. Delaney and the other detectives catch him by that call?" + +"Hardly," said Drew. "He was in and out within three minutes. The bird +has flown from there!" + +"But where will he go?" + +"I don't know, Miss Stockbridge. I wish that I did know. There are over +a hundred thousand telephones in New York he could use. It's impossible +to guess which one. The booths at the Grand Central are covered by one +of my operatives. The telephone company is on the alert for all calls +to this house. All they can do is to record them and tell us what +happens after it happens. We are trying now to get this whispering dog +when he is compelled to wait at a booth. If Morphy 'phones him from the +prison to-night we have him. The telephone company is going to delay +the call after getting the number. It would look natural. Then, we can +strike at the booth or place where the call is directed in time to +catch the man Morphy is telephoning to. Up to now, Morphy has not +'phoned or Delaney would have said something about it." + +"But can't you stop these calls?" asked Loris. + +"Very easy. We could order the wires disconnected. But then we wouldn't +catch our man. He would be suspicious and wait for another time." + +"The whole thing seems so strange, Mr. Drew. We're locked in here. The +house is so well guarded. All they can do is 'phone and yet we--at +least I am nervous. Why have I got that strange feeling?" + +"From experience!" declared Drew. "If we knew how your poor father was +killed there wouldn't be cause for worry. We don't know. It was so +subtle that we are confronted with the unknown in terrible form. You +feel a shadow and so do I. A reaching shadow about this splendid house +of yours. It isn't anything we can grasp and say, 'Come here! You're +under arrest.' It's the uncanny mystery of the entire case that holds +us three on the ragged-edge. I confess I have not been myself since +last night. The powers of darkness and Lucifer, himself, have nothing +on the people we are fighting." + +"How about running Morphy in the guard house, or whatever they have up +there?" asked Nichols. "Why not lay the case before the warden and have +him put out of harm's way? That's what they'd do in the Army!" + +"We can't prove a single thing on him!" declared Drew. "He used the +'phone--once or twice. Perhaps he has permission from the +superintendent of state prisons to do so. He has business interests +which require his telephoning, we'll say." + +"Then we're just going to wait right here?" asked Loris, stamping her +slipper. "Wait right here and let them do their worst?" + +"The city detectives would do the same thing I'm doing," said Drew on +the defensive. "They'd trap their men. Do you want to see the man or +men who slayed your father, escape? He will, or they will, unless we +give them enough rope to hang themselves." + +"Or wire!" said Nichols cheerfully. "No, Loris, Mr. Drew is right. He's +done everything. All we have got to do, is wait. Let's sit down for a +little while. Delaney said he might have word soon." + +Drew waited until Loris had pressed herself into a small compass at the +back of the divan, with Harry Nichols leaning over her in a shielding +position which was thoughtful and at the same time affectionate. He +strode toward the writing room and parted the heavy, silk portières. He +studied every detail. He dropped the portières and crossed the sitting +room to the doorway leading into Loris' chamber. This, too, he searched +with his eyes. Backing to the center of the room he dropped his chin in +thought. A sound outside the mansion caused him to turn and hurry to a +window. He brushed the curtain aside and tried to peer out. He rubbed +the frosted glass vigorously. His nose pressed to a white button as he +searched the side street. A taxi had come to a grinding halt directly +below the window. Its wheels spun upon the slippery surface. A man +leaned out of an open doorway and urged the driver on with a brandished +fist of ham-like proportions. The driver backed into the snow, dropped +into first speed and stepped on his throttle. The taxi leaped forward, +gripped the surface, and plowed toward Fifth Avenue in a welter of +flying ice and flakes. + +Drew sprang back and faced Loris and Nichols who had risen and were +standing together in the glow from the cluster over their heads. + +"What happened?" they asked in unison. "What was outside?" + +"Delaney!" snapped Drew, dragging out his watch and glancing at it. +"Delaney's got word where to find his man. He's on the trail at last! +It's twelve-two. We ought to have that fellow in a half hour." + +"The trouble-man?" asked Loris, with rising hopes. "Do you think it is +the trouble-man, Mr. Drew?" + +"Nine chances in ten, it is! I'm venturing a guess it is. If we get +him--if Delaney gets him--he'll know it. Delaney used to work under the +old-time police chiefs. They showed scant consideration." + +"But, he won't hurt him!" said Loris, with a tremulous exclamation. + +"That murderer! Why, Miss Stockbridge, isn't he plotting to slay you? +Didn't he kill your father? I wish I were in Delaney's place." + +"Me too!" declared Nichols, drawing closer to the detective. "Say, +Inspector, I want to congratulate you. I do." + +"Wait, Harry. Just wait! You two sit down and be quiet. This affair is +a personal one with me. I don't doubt that Morphy or perhaps some one +else in state prison 'phoned to the same party who phoned Miss Loris. +That was all we needed. Delaney jumped into a taxi and hurried downtown +as fast as the storm permitted. Perhaps the call came from the same +booth. I don't think so, though." + +"The one at Forty-second Street and Broadway?" + +"I don't think so, Nichols. This fellow seems to pick a new one every +time. He's very crafty. That alone shows a criminal mind." + +Drew paced the floor with soft gliding. He turned at the portières and +crossed to the tapestries. He returned and stood before Loris and +Nichols. + +"Captain," he said, "we can now begin to reconstruct this case. We can +get some of the dead-wood from our minds. It is apparent to me that one +of Mr. Stockbridge's sworn enemies--Morphy, for instance--confined in +state's prison, set about to slay both members of the family. He +secured a confederate whom he knew. This confederate has never been +arrested in the state. We have that from the finger prints in the booth +at Grand Central. We will presume that this confederate is the +trouble-man. He is probably an expert electrician. He either tapped in +on the wires the night Mr. Stockbridge was murdered or got behind the +switchboard and called up the library 'phone." + +"The switchboard?" asked Loris. "You mean the big place where the girls +are?" + +"Not exactly there. The wires run down and are tagged. It would be +possible for him to cut in somewhere between the switchboard and the +conduits. Now I don't know how it was done. There's several ways. But +wherever he tapped in, he must have used a magneto to ring Mr. +Stockbridge up, and afterwards a battery-set to do the talking. All +this Westlake says it would be necessary to do, so that the operator +would not notice a permanent signal on the board." + +"What was his object?" asked Nichols. + +"To cover himself. He first disconnected the wires and waited till I +sent for a trouble-man. Frosby, or Frisby, was sent. The trouble-man +took his place. He came here and looked the place over. He lied to Mr. +Stockbridge and I when he told us about that tall German in the alley. +If there was such a man there before the snow froze we would have his +footprints." + +"You haven't them?" asked Loris. + +"No. Delaney has a set made by this trouble-hunter when he was at the +junction-box. This must have been the time he either cut the +connections so that I would send for him, or it was the time when he +called up and threatened Mr. Stockbridge with death within twelve +hours. You remember that the telephone company have no record of the +call. Now the next call----" + +"Was there another?" the girl asked. + +"Yes--to your father at or about the moment he died. That was from the +Grand Central Station at Forty-second Street. There's a good record of +that. Your father knocked the telephone down when he dropped dead. The +operator noticed that the connection was open and put on the howler. +The record is clear on that." + +"But what is all this twisting and turning for?" + +"To throw us off, Miss Stockbridge. We're dealing with a crafty, +cunning mind. This mind took the extreme precaution of connecting two +booths at Grand Central so that a man in Sing Sing could talk to your +father without leaving a record at the Westchester Exchange or at +Gramercy Hill Exchange. How this was done I don't know. It could be +done with auxiliary batteries and looping so that the Gramercy Hill +operator thought the Westchester call was to a slot booth, while +another call from the next booth to this house was really the same +connection shunted or looped through. Westlake, vice-president of the +telephone company, says that there would be several ways of doing this. +He added it would take an expert in telephony." + +"I'm all twisted up, Mr. Drew. I suppose you understand it. But what +about that call to-night--the one that frightened me?" + +"The man was sure of himself!" said Drew without thinking. "He has his +plans made. He figures they will not fail!" + +"Oh, you mean----" + +"I mean, Miss Stockbridge, that he expects to slay you in the same +manner your father was slain. We have this advantage. You are not alone +in this room or these rooms. Your father was alone. The murderer will +have Mr. Nichols and myself to deal with this time! Be calm." + +"But--I don't see how he could--get in here?" + +"Nor do I. The point is that he got into the library and out again +without trace. He had an hour to do his work in. Here, he is running +every risk." + +"But he has already been here, Mr. Drew." + +The detective glanced keenly at Nichols, who had shot the statement +straight through clean white teeth. + +"I know it," Drew said with a trace of anxiety in his voice. "That is +disquieting. But we have searched these rooms and found absolutely no +trace of tampering with locks or ventilators or window-catches." + +"Could he climb up here? He might have climbing irons," added Nichols +glancing toward the windows. + +"A good porch-climber could do it," Drew mused, with his eyes sweeping +the curtains. "A very good one could. There are only three or four good +ones out of prisons. They never go in for murder." + +"Wouldn't money buy them?" asked Loris. "Mr. Morphy may have retained +one--with some of the gold he stole from poor father." + +"Retained," repeated Drew, turning with sudden intentness. "Retained, +is hardly the word, Miss Loris. Hired, is more to the point. Hired +assassins are not uncommon. We have the Becker case and the Hope +murder. We have----" + +Drew allowed his voice to trail to a whisper. "We have," he declared, +"our man! There's the front door bell! It's Delaney!" + +"You have splendid ears, Mr. Drew." + +"I have to have, Miss Stockbridge. Now," he added sharply, "you and Mr. +Nichols go into the library--the writing room. I think the case is +closing. There may be a little excitement if Delaney's got that fellow. +I, for one, am not going to stand much from him. Please go into the +other room. That's right. Stand there, Harry, in case we need a +soldier!" + +Drew advanced step by step toward the tapestries. He lifted his gun +from his hip pocket, examined it with narrowed eyes, then replaced it +loosely. He brushed the curtains aside and had the key out, as heavy +steps shook the upper stairway and a knock sounded on the panels of the +door. + +"Who's there?" asked Drew. + +"Delaney, Chief!" + +"All right! Just a moment." + +The detective glanced through the slit in the tapestries, saw +that Nichols and Loris were across the room, then twisted the +butterfly-latch, at the same time he thrust in the flat key and turned +the lock. + +The door swung open. Delaney's huge bulk blocked the way. He half +turned, cursed savagely, and clutched a pipe-stem neck with rude +fingers. "Come along, you!" he boomed. "Get in there!" + +The form of a man hurtled by Drew, fell and rose, then fell again +beyond the tapestries in the center of the sitting room. Drew, like +some lithe cat, was over him with a drawn gun. Delaney puffed across +the rugs and tried to speak as the detective leaned and studied the +chalk-pale face below shielding cuffed hands which were raised +impotently. + +"The trouble-man!" exclaimed Loris fearsomely. + +A Central Office detective slouched through the door, deposited a kit +of lineman's tools on the floor near the tapestries, then retired +discreetly. + +"It's him!" said Drew. "Please get back, Miss Stockbridge. We're going +to fix this fellow." + +"Oh, please don't strike him." + +"Please--Miss Stockbridge. I'll promise nothing in this connection. +This is the man who foully murdered your father." + +Loris shrank back and against Nichols' extended arm. Drew glanced at +her with swift concern. He dropped his eyes to the man at his feet. +"What happened?" he asked Delaney. "Has this fellow said anything? Done +any talking?" + +Delaney glared at the trouble-man. "Never a word has he said, Chief. +He's a clam. But----" + +"What's that? Go on, Delaney!" + +"Why, Chief, I wouldn't have brought him here if he hadn't said to +Morphy over the 'phone that _'it'_ was fixed in her room. Now what does +he mean by that _'it'?"_ + +"We'll find out!" declared Drew, dropping to the prisoner's side. + + + + +CHAPTER FOURTEEN + +"THE PRISONER SPEAKS" + + +The detective wasted no time searching the trouble-hunter's pockets. +His skilled fingers drew forth two envelopes, a note book and a small +roll of money, the least of which was ten-dollar bills and the +greatest, on the inside, spread out to three staring noughts and a one +in front of these. + +"One thousand and sixty dollars!" said Drew dryly, handing the roll to +Delaney. "This fellow's well heeled. Perhaps for a get-a-way. Take +that. Now here----" + +Drew tapped the envelopes with his fingers, spread them open and +removed their sheets of closely-written paper. + +"First letter," he announced with raising brows, "is from Standard +Electrical Co., of Chicago, recommending Albert Jones as a capable +electrician. I don't doubt it. He's capable of most anything." + +Delaney took the letter and waited with his eyes fastened upon the +silent figure who had not revealed his identity from the time of the +arrest. + +"Second letter," continued Drew, "is addressed to Albert Jones, General +Delivery, New York Post Office. It is from Ossining. It is signed +Mortimer Morphy. How careless," said the detective, rising in his +excitement. "How _very_ careless! It goes on to say that everything is +all right. That the appeal is pending with the governor. That uncle +Monty was expected to die and that aunt Lou was very low." + +Drew paused and glanced toward Loris and Nichols. "You know what that +means?" he asked. "Uncle Monty was Mr. Montgomery Stockbridge and aunt +Lou would figure out for you, Miss Stockbridge. Keep this, Delaney. +We're going to convict this man right here--whether he talks or not. +This letter was written to him two months ago. It shows premeditation." + +"He looks ill," said Loris. "His face is so white." + +"Dope!" snapped Drew, pressing down the prisoner's right eyelid and +glancing at the pupil. "A narcotic of some kind shows in the small +iris. It's like a pin head. Yen she, eh, Delaney?" + +"Guess it is, Chief. Frisk his cap and belt. They carry it there, +sometimes." + +Drew started at the prisoner's hair and went over his entire body with +careful fingers. A bulge, at the waist, resolved itself into a chamois +money-belt which contained five cartridges, a small handful of electric +fuses and a spool of fine wire. + +Drew eyed this last with furrowed brow. He pocketed it finally and +studied the cartridges. + +"Twenty-two, cupronickel, center-fire," he announced with a hard smile. +"That forges another chain. We're getting there. He was loaded for +something, Delaney." + +"Sure and he was. Look at those handcuffs, Chief. I made them tight as +I could." + +Drew handed up the cartridges and fuses and rattled the cuffs. The +prisoner protested by turning partly over. His eyelids fluttered and +opened full upon Loris. She shrank back between the curtains. Her hands +went up to her face in voiceless fear. "Please keep away," said Drew. +"This man is always dangerous. I want to trim his claws before I take +any chances with him. Delaney," he added, "get my overcoat and bring me +those plaster-casts. This case grows interesting. I wonder who the +fellow is? 'Albert Jones' doesn't convey much. He is a friend and tool +of Morphy. Poor Morphy! I wonder what he'll say when the governor gets +this evidence? He's buried now for twenty long years of penal service. +He picked a good tool, though. A smart man!" + +The prisoner did not brighten to any extent under the professional +flattery. His eyes closed. The cuffed wrists dropped down upon his +chest. He breathed slowly as Drew took the overcoat Delaney brought, +and found the photos of the finger prints which Fosdick and the expert +at headquarters had both declared were not on record. + +"A little ink," Drew said to the operative. "We'll smear this fellow's +thumb and see if his print answers to the print I found in the booth at +Grand Central. I'll venture that it does." + +Nichols extended a fountain pen which the detective opened, sponged on +the corner of a handkerchief, and returned with a chuckle of +satisfaction. + +"Ah," he said, gripping the prisoner's hand and smearing a thumb with a +rolling motion across the back of the print. "Ah, Delaney, see here. +The same whorls and loops. The same tiny V-shaped scar. One, two, +three--center right. This is the man. We have him deeper in toward the +place with the little, green door. He knows what I mean!" + +The prisoner's lips closed to a thin, hard line. A tiny spot of hectic +fire burned in the center of each cheek as Drew completed the searching +and rose. + +"Footprints, now!" he said with a snappy order. "Compare those plaster +casts you took at the junction-box back of this house. Are they the +same? There's a series of four screw holes in his rubber-heels, +Delaney. Do they compare with the casts. Measure them!" + +"Sure and they do," said the big operative, rising and pointing to the +small projections. "This lad, Chief, was the only one around that +junction-box till after the snow froze and drifted over. That's my +idea, Chief. It caught him, didn't it, Chief?" + +"Every little helps to forge the chain," Drew said. "He's in bad now. +His only chance is to tell us what he knows about Morphy? What was said +over the telephone wire? What did Frick say?" + +"It was this way, Chief," Delaney said. "I'm waiting talking with the +drug-clerk when there's a ring on the slot-booth 'phone. It's Jack Nefe +at Gramercy Hill. He says to me that Frick had just 'phoned and said +that Morphy had come out of the guard room, looked around, then, after +chinning with a keeper at the front gate, he had started going over a +telephone book for a number. Nefe said for me to hold the wire. Then I +gets a number, Chief. It's Gramercy Hill 11,678. Nefe said that was a +booth in the new Broadway Subway at Forty-first Street. I piles into a +cab and arrives there just as this fellow had finished boring a hole +between the two booths--11,678 and 11,679. I waits behind a +slot-machine. Some one rang up when he coupled the wires, listens, then +asks Gramercy Hill central for this 'phone here in Miss Stockbridge's +room. You see the game, Chief?" + +"Go on!" said Drew. "Be very clear!" + +"This fellow was connecting Morphy at state prison with this house +through the two slot booths. I sneaked up and waited for him to finish. +He's busy with a pair of pliers. I falls on him like a ton of bricks. +Then after I get the cuffs on, I listens in. It's Morphy roaring there, +with that big bull voice of his. He's mad 'cause he gets no answer. He +shouts over and over, Chief--'Bert! Bert! Bert! Is it planted in her +room? Her room. Is it there?'" Delaney paused and stared about the +sitting room. + +"What does he mean, Chief?" he asked huskily. "What is that _'it'?"_ + +"Go on!" said Drew tersely. + +"I got Morphy off the wire, Chief. I got Frick and then Frick got the +warden. He's a good fellow. He listened to me, then he calls some +guards and they drag Morphy through the prison and down to the coolers. +I guess they're down in the ground, somewhere. Anyway, Chief, he's gone +for good--unless they send him to the chair for his part in the murder +of Stockbridge." + +"He'll go! What I want to know now, Delaney, is this fellow's right +name. Morphy said 'Bert,' eh?" + +"Sure he did, Chief. 'Bert! Bert! Bert!' That's close to Albert. Albert +Jones, like's in the letter." + +"No! That would be a throw-off. He's some other kind of a Bert. Let me +see his cap." + +Delaney picked the prisoner's cap from the rug and passed it over to +Drew. The detective examined it, ripped the silk, and looked under the +lining. He straightened and handed it to Harry Nichols. + +"Can you make that name out?" he asked. "Your eyes are younger than +mine. Perhaps Miss Stockbridge can read it. It's Spanish, I think. +'Gusta' or 'Gasta.' The rest is obliterated with grease." + +"Antofagasta!" declared Loris suddenly. "It's Antofagasta, Chile." + +"Fetch the lineman's kit, the Central Office man brought," said Drew to +the operative. "Put it right here by this fellow's side. I--we are +getting close to the truth in this case." + +Delaney hurried back with the satchel. It was the same one that Drew +had seen in the library on the evening Stockbridge was murdered. It had +excited no suspicion then. + +"A magneto," said the detective. "First comes a ringing magneto which +has seen much service. Put that over there, Delaney. Spread a paper or +something. Ah," Drew added, "here's a set of small dry batteries +arranged in series. Three or four of them. I don't know just what +they're for, but Bert does." + +The prisoner's pale eyes blinked and were closed again as the lids +compressed in wrinkled determination. He moved slightly when Drew +pressed a knee against his chest. He coughed with dry catching deep +down in his throat. The detective felt of his pulse. It was faint but +steady--like a tired sleeper's. + +"He's coming out of it," Drew said. "He'll talk after awhile. Let's +see, what is this?" + +Delaney leaned over the satchel. "Another link," said Drew, drawing out +a telephone receiver without wires attached to it. "And here," he +added, "is the testing set with the sharp clamps. That's for listening +in or talking with other people's connections. I don't doubt that this +fellow knows his business. Here's a micro-volt meter that registers +fractions of volts. Here's an ammeter of the pocket size. I've seen +this kind on automobiles for testing dry-cells. Now, what is this?" + +"Looks like a full set of jimmies!" blurted Delaney. "That's a +sectional jimmy!" + +"He's got everything," said the detective, turning and glancing at +Loris. "Here, Miss Stockbridge," he said, holding up an empty cartridge +shell. "Here is the most important link in the chain against him. It's +a twenty-two shell which has been fired. See--wait--what's this, +Delaney? The cap on the end hasn't been struck. The cartridge was +discharged--the cap is intact. How could that be?" + +Loris and Harry Nichols leaned over the detective. He turned the tiny +shell around in his fingers. He sniffed it. He held it out so they +could see the end. "Discharged," he exclaimed, "without touching the +detonating cap on the end! That's odd! Very suggestive!" + +"Let me see it," said Nichols. "I'll tell. We have exams on these +things. This seems to have been fired," he continued with thought. +"It's been fired without concussion. I'd say it was heat that did it. A +match touched to the base here would fire the cap, which would, in +turn, set off the powder. There's a different color to the brass at the +cap end. It looks to me like a shell which has been clamped down by +three--no, four screws. There's marks on the rim. See them, Loris--Miss +Stockbridge? Right there. Right at my nail." + +"That's about right, Harry!" declared Drew, reaching for the cartridge. +"It was clamped down with small screws. It was ignited or set off by +heat. It forms part of a home-made pistol which conforms, to a hair, +with Fosdick's statement that the bullet never went through a barrel +that was rifled." + +"That's your own statement!" blurted Delaney. "Fosdick never had brains +enough to figure a thing out like that. All he knows is pinch everybody +two or three times. I've seen him do it." + +Drew eyed the prisoner. "So you see," he said softly, cuttingly, "crime +does not pay. The net has closed over your head. You erred a score of +times. You couldn't afford to make one little mistake. I could--I did! +I've made a hundred in this case already! It's the hound and the hare. +The hound loses the scent and brays on blunderingly till he picks it up +again. You lost me time and again. You fooled me in that lineman's +guise when you came into the library. Your make-up was perfect. You +said just the right things." + +The prisoner's lips curled in a thin cruel line. He rattled the cuffs +defiantly. His shoulders lifted then fell back upon the rug. + +"Bert!" snapped Drew. "Bert!" he repeated with awakening thought. +"Delaney," he said, turning and glancing up at the operative's broad, +flushed face. "I got this fellow located. What was the name of the man +we tried to find in the Morphy failure? The one we had a bench-warrant +for? He was indicted. The indictment was sealed. You know! It's a name +you didn't like. The fellow who escaped to Rio or South America? Who +afterwards went to Antofagasta. Ah, Cuthbert!" + +"That's it, Chief! Cutbert! Cutbert Morphy--the old devil's brother. +This is him!" + +Drew rubbed his hands vigorously. "It is!" he exclaimed, with his eyes +swinging over the prisoner's drawn features. "Cuthbert Morphy--a +brother's tool and confederate. We're getting on!" + +The detective rose and faced Loris and Nichols. "Captain," he said, "a +firing squad at sunrise would be the Army's answer to this man's +deviltry. Consider what he has done. He's worked back to New York after +a year as a fugitive. He connected in some manner with Morphy at Sing +Sing. Perhaps he went there as a visitor under the pretext of business +connected with Morphy's affairs. This scheme was hatched there in the +prison. It was financed by Morphy. It succeeded in so far as Mr. +Stockbridge was concerned. First the telephone call to the cemetery +superintendent. Then followed his visit to this house for the purpose +of fixing some fiendish device. Or----" + +"He might have fixed the windows, Chief," suggested Delaney. "He might +have opened a catch and climbed in afterwards." + +"He wasn't near the windows," said Drew. "He had something else in the +back of his crafty, twisted brain. He came and went out, with Mr. +Stockbridge and I watching him. He called up, then, and threatened the +death. He probably looped the library 'phone up with Sing Sing at or +about midnight. We have a record of both calls." + +"Why," asked Loris, as Drew paused in thought. "Why did he have Morphy +connected with father? I can't see, Mr. Drew, that part of it. The +rest, you have told is, is very clear." + +"Nor I yet," admitted the detective. "But that is a detail. It is +probably the criminal's ego, which is in every one of them, to notify +their prey that the hour has come. Morphy was an artist in crime. He +was a master mind in finance and chicanery. What better revenge could +he think of than to notify Mr. Stockbridge that death was about to +strike? It savors of Machiavelli and Borgia. Whom the gods destroy they +first make mad. He tried it on you." + +"Gods!" blurted Delaney with ire. "Devils, you mean, Chief!" + +"Yes, or worse!" said Drew, glancing sternly at the prisoner. "This +fellow," he added, "is the agent for the destroyer. Now how was it +done?" + +Delaney glanced about the walls of the room in apprehension. "I'll take +another look around," he suggested heavily. "Maybe with them new ideas +we can locate something that might be planted for the killing." + +Drew glanced sharply at the prisoner's face. A faint sneer was on the +thin lips. The wrists twisted and turned in the handcuffs. The steel +chain rattled metallically. Loris backed step after step toward the +shielding curtain and Harry Nichols. "Oh!" she said suddenly, as she +dropped her head against his breast. "Oh, Harry! there can't be +anything like _that."_ + +"Certainly not!" Drew hastened to ejaculate. "That's nonsense. If there +was anything planted in either of these three rooms, there's no one to +get in and operate it. I've searched! Mr. Delaney has searched. Do you +want us to search again?" Drew's lips were drawn with doubt as he +stared anxiously from Loris to Nichols. "I'll do it, captain, if you +say so. I think we've done enough work, however. The thing is to get +this fellow to talk. I don't want to give him over to Fosdick and the +third degree till we see if he is going to treat us right. He can turn +state's evidence on Morphy, who blundered. Then he'll get off lightly. +Morphy is the master mind." + +"He only smiles," said Nichols, tapping his breast suggestively. "I've +a gun here and I've a mind to use it. Do you think I want Miss +Stockbridge murdered like her father was murdered? I'll shoot that cur! +He's a whispering snake! A Hun!" + +"Don't!" sobbed Loris, as Nichols thrust his hand in his coat and drew +out a flat automatic of .44 caliber. "Don't, Harry! Perhaps this man is +innocent." + +"Innocent!" declared Nichols. "Why, Loris--why, Miss Stockbridge, you +don't think _that_, after all the things Mr. Drew has discovered. I'll +wager my commission he's guilty as Hell, and I mean it, Loris." + +"He's that!" Delaney declared. "He and his brother the devil are one in +sin. They're lost spirits." + +"Now everybody," said Drew, gathering in the group with his eyes, which +were strangely bright. "Everybody keep very quiet for a minute. Let me +think." + +"Sure and I will, Chief. I'm thinking I want to think, myself." + +Drew frowned at Delaney. He dropped his eyes and studied the prisoner's +hands. They were strangely white and remarkably small for a man who had +labored at telephone-repairing. The detective's glance rested on the +ink-stained thumb. His mind swung with this thought to the footprints. +Following the train he arrived at the first conclusion that an expert +in telephony could devise most any kind of a practical method for +opening a window or a ventilator. He dismissed this theory with a +glance about the room. The ventilator was well-hidden and inaccessible +to any one without a step-ladder. Considerable time devoted in climbing +upon a chair and a case of jade ornaments might reach it, but the +trouble-man had not been alone in the room when he inspected the +telephone. + +Drew went over the salient details of the Stockbridge tragedy. One fact +stood out. The windows had been well locked. The sashes were covered +with snow. A climber, even on the face of the house, would have +difficulty in springing a catch by a secret method, raising the window +and entering without leaving a track of some kind. He dismissed this +supposition as untenable. He turned to Delaney, fully puzzled. + +"Was there a climber's set in that bag?" he asked sharply. + +"I didn't see any, Chief. I don't think this fellow's a climber. He +ain't built like one. His shoes are smooth on the bottom and his hands +are all polished up around the nails. Looks to me, Chief, as if he +might be able to pick most any kind of a lock." + +"The locks are out of the question!" snapped Drew. "I examined them. +They're not in line. Has anybody here any suggestions?" + +Drew stared at the prisoner's drawn, white face as he asked this +question. "He wasn't long in this part of the house," said the captain. +"The maid watched him. She thought perhaps he might take something." + +"Fosdick is to blame!" said Drew almost losing his temper. "He should +have given strict orders at the door not to let anybody in till the +case was settled. It's all mixed up now. This man had ample opportunity +to cover himself. A clever sneak could do most anything under your eyes +without you seeing him operate. I suppose the only thing to do is to +turn him over to Headquarters. He'll get his!" + +Loris frowned slightly at Drew's manner. The detective did not act like +his former self. She watched him pace the floor between the prisoner +and the tapestries. He came back with a square set to his jaw and a +hard glint in his olive eyes which gleamed like steel behind velvet. + +"Stand him up!" + +Delaney stared at his chief. He opened his mouth, then closed it +firmly. "All right," he said, reaching down. "I'll stand him up if you +let me give him an upper-cut. I don't like these silent crooks. They're +snaky, Chief." + +"No unnecessary violence, gentlemen," suggested Nichols as Loris laid +her hand on his arm. "I'd like to have him alone for a few minutes--but +outside. Go easy. Perhaps he'll talk." + +"It may be your life or this man's!" gritted Drew, stepping up to the +prisoner after a sharp glance at Loris. "I pity him when Fosdick gets +hold of him. He'll talk then!" + +The prisoner swayed with Delaney's fingers gripping his collar in a +vice-strong clutch. His white-pale face, his narrow-set eyes, his +furtive glance to left and right like a cornered rat, brought Drew to +mind of a man who was slowly breaking down. He lowered his brows and +clutched the prisoner's elbow with strong fingers that pressed deep +through the coat sleeve. + +"Out with it!" he demanded harshly. "It's your last chance to save your +miserable skin. You're not going to get any mercy from the +Commissioner. You know what he'll do to you!" + +The prisoner twisted loose from Drew's clutch. His eyes wavered as he +stared at Loris for a long second, then dropped to the floor. They +closed in painful thought. Suddenly he blanched with passion. + +"I've no use for you coppers!" he screamed shrillingly. "I hate the +sight of you and your kind. Let me go! Let me go!" + +"Fine chance," whispered Delaney, tightening his grip on the prisoner's +collar. "You got a fine chance, you murderin', thievin', second-story +man! I'd paste you if the lady wasn't here! Sure I would, right between +the eyes!" + +"Easy," said Drew. "Leave him to me. He's thinking the thing over. I +don't mind telling him that the magpie beat him. That and the +carelessness of Morphy in calling up when he must have known that Frick +was in the front office of the prison. It's always the way, Bert. He +travels the fastest, up or down, who travels alone. It's the lone star +that gives us the trouble. There's nobody to peach on him!" + +The prisoner bit his upper lip. A slight sign of blood showed. He +tasted this with the tip of his tongue. His eyes narrowed in +calculation. He turned and faced Drew with slit-lidded intentness. + +"I haven't done a thing," he whispered. "You ain't got a thing on me." + +"Oh, no!" blurted Drew with heat. "I ain't got a thing. I've been +asleep since the time you murdered this girl's father. I've had ten men +on your trail since the beginning. I don't hold the first murder so +much against you as I do the projected one--which missed fire by a +scant margin. You slayed a man with your devilish ingenuity, but you're +not going to put it over on his daughter. I've seen to that! I notice +nobody has called up and said this was the Master talking. There's a +good reason." + +The prisoner fluttered his pale lashes and glanced at the telephone. He +closed his eyes with a smile shadowing his lips. + +"There's a good reason," repeated Drew. "You are not in some booth at +Forty-first Street to make the connection. Morphy is in the strongest +cooler. He's booked for twenty years. After that he'll get more. He +can't help you!" + +"Oh, you coppers," said the trouble-man. "Just give me five minutes and +I'd show you. I don't hold anything against the girl. I never saw her +before." + +"You lie!" + +"Why don't you take these cuffs off-a-me? I can't hit back." + +"I'd sooner take the chance outside," said Drew, glancing at Loris. +"I'd do it there!" + +Delaney tightened his grip and half held the trouble-hunter in the air. +He raised on his toes with the strain. + +"Oh, don't!" exclaimed Loris. "I'll have to ask you to stop this. I +can't let it occur in my house!" + +"Miss Stockbridge," said Drew with soft rebuke. "Miss Stockbridge, I've +been in the detective business for twenty years. I never saw in that +time a more dangerous man. He is the super-type who usually falls +through the errors of other men. This fellow has brains. He's an expert +in telephony and in wireless. There are a number of patents in the +patent office under his name." + +"Then he may be innocent, Mr. Drew." + +"He's as guilty as the Kaiser!" exclaimed Delaney, twisting the +prisoner around. "Look at him. He's been trying to murder the finest +little lady in the country. She never harmed anybody. She's devoting +most of her time to Red Cross work and the--Army," added the big +operative with a touch of brogue as he glanced at Nichols. + +"But he has not said that he murdered father," said Loris. + +"Sure an' he won't say it. I know the breed of this snake. He wants +nothing used against him in the trial. He'll have the evidence of us +four to show that he didn't say anything. I never saw an innocent man +who wouldn't talk!" + +"We're getting nowhere," objected Drew, taking command of the +situation. "Take him out, Delaney, and turn him over to the Central +Office bunch. They'll take him down to Fosdick!" + +The prisoner lifted his manacled hands. He dropped them after a slow +glance at Drew's square jaw. + +"Come on!" said Delaney with a jerk backward. + +"Wait!" + +Drew and Nichols leaned forward. "Well?" asked the detective, as the +prisoner bowed his head. "Well? Well?" + +"Is that true about my brother--Morphy?" + +"It is!" Drew said with ringing conviction. "It's true! He's out of +this world. He's buried alive and the key has been thrown away." + +"The jig is up, then," said the trouble-man, turning toward the +telephone. "Let me telephone," he said in a whisper. "I want to use +it," he repeated faintly. "I'll show you how that--that Stockbridge +died." + + + + +CHAPTER FIFTEEN + +"THE VOICE ON THE WIRE" + + +The prisoner lifted his manacled hands and held them toward Drew. "Let +me loose," he said, "and I'll explain everything that I've done! I want +it off my mind. I won't sleep until you people are satisfied. I know +you--you copper! I know Fosdick--the third degree artist." + +Drew frowned as he glanced at the cuffs. He scratched his dark hair and +combed his fingers back toward his ears. He turned and glanced at Loris +and Nichols in the opening between the two splendid rooms. + +"I don't like to take a chance with this fellow," he admitted. "Do you +want me to, Miss Stockbridge? It's your life he was after, and he may +be shamming now. You never can trust an opium addict. They have no +soul." + +"I've as much as a copper's!" + +"Shut up, you!" boomed Delaney, threateningly. "Shut up! There's a lady +in this room!" + +The prisoner clicked his cuffs together. He stared at the cheval glass +and the telephone. "A lady?" he repeated through the corner of his +lips. "A limb of the Stockbridge tree," he said bitterly. "I hold +nothing against her. I told you that before. But we promised the old +man we'll take care of her after we killed him, and she came near +going--let me tell you that. I could have killed her with twenty +words." + +"He's rambling," said Delaney, reaching for the prisoner. "The dope has +gone to his head. I don't believe there's any----" + +"Easy, Delaney," warned Drew thoroughly on the alert. "Don't make the +mistake of underestimating this fellow. He acts like a man who has +repented--who wants to right some of the wrong he has done. I don't +think we are taking chances in letting this fellow loose. He is +unarmed. I tended to that. If he wants to 'phone--let's let him." + +"Your case, Chief!" + +Drew reached in his pocket and brought around a police regulation +revolver. "I'll have this right here!" he snapped as he slowly raised +it. "You, Delaney, unlock one cuff and pass it to me. I'll wrap the +chain around my left wrist. If this fellow tries anything I'll tend to +his case--forever. These .44's are made for stopping purposes, eh, Mr. +Nichols?" + +"They certainly are, Mr. Drew. I think we can handle that little man +without trouble. What does he want to telephone for?" + +"What for, Bert?" asked Drew, swinging and confronting the prisoner. +"Do you want to say good-by to somebody?" + +"Good-by is right," whispered the trouble-man, extending his hands +toward Delaney, who fished out a small key. "Yes, it's good-by to +somebody. Unlock them!" + +"Hold on!" exclaimed Drew. "I don't like that tone. You'll have to act +better than that, Bert. What do you want to get loose for? What number +do you want? I'll call up." + +"No, I got to do it. I want one hand free--that's all." + +Loris stepped to Drew's side. "Can there be anything about the room," +she asked, "that he wants to use? Perhaps he'll pick something up and +use it too quickly for you to stop him." + +"I don't think so," said Drew grimly. "This gun, Miss Stockbridge, +happens to have a hair trigger. We'll chance it--with your permission." + +"I'm not afraid for myself--but don't you think the poor fellow should +be prevented from harming himself. He acts just like a man who wanted +to do something terrible. He seems to have given up hope." + +"A woman's intuition," mused Drew. "Perhaps a close one," he said +aloud. "You get back into the other room, Miss Stockbridge. Let Mr. +Nichols stand in front of you for protection. I'm going to grant this +fellow's request. Delaney, unlock the left cuff!" + +The key rattled in the tiny key-hole as Drew poised his revolver and +drew a sight between the prisoner's fluttering eyelids. "Stand right +there," whispered the detective tersely. "Right there," he added, +reaching with his left hand and taking the cuff and chain from the +operative. "Now, Bert, you're half free. What do you want with the +telephone?" + +The prisoner pinched his wrist and worked his hand like a hinge. A +white mark, which slowly changed to red, showed where Delaney had +clamped the handcuff down to its last notch. The trouble-man eyed this +mark. His lips hardened. He strained on the chain as he lifted his +fingers to his brow with a tired gesture. + +"Hurry!" said Drew. "Hurry, Bert, or we'll cuff you up again. Do you +want to telephone?" + +"Y--e--s!" The voice was tremulous and dry. "Yes! I'll use it. I'll +show you how that pirate--Stockbridge--was killed. The yellow +squealer!" + +Loris raised her chin proudly. She leaned against Nichols in the +doorway. "I won't stand for that!" declared the soldier. "You are being +insulted in your own house!" + +"Wait, Harry! Something is going to happen! I know it is!" + +"You're right, lady," whispered the prisoner. "It's going to happen +to--well, I don't care. I'm done. The jig is up!" + +Cuthbert Morphy shrugged his shoulders and turned toward Drew. He +stared at the menacing revolver with a cryptic smile. "Get your man +downstairs," he said, in hollow tones. "Get him to go in the library +and call up this number. Tell Central to connect the two 'phones in +this house. Shout into the library transmitter when the connection is +made." + +Drew frowned. "What's all that for?" he asked. + +"Do as I say." + +"I don't know about that. I give orders here. What do you want that +done for? I thought you wanted a number on the 'phone. I thought you +would get somebody on the wire who would explain everything." + +"Everything will be explained, Inspector. Everything! I told you the +jig was up with me. I mean it, too. There's nothing left but the +truth." + +Drew wound the handcuff chain tighter about his left wrist. He braced +his feet and turned to Delaney. "Go downstairs," he said, "and call up +this number. Do what this fellow says. The number is Gramercy Hill +9764." + +Loris and Nichols lifted their brows as they turned toward each other. +"I'm afraid," said the girl. "Something is not right, Harry." + +"It's the only way we'll ever find out what this man means. If they +take him away without letting him talk over the 'phone we'll never +know. Leave things to Mr. Drew. He's armed! I'm armed! There's no +danger!" + +"Get downstairs to the library!" Drew ordered. "Do what this man wants. +Shout into the transmitter. Go now!" + +Delaney lunged through the tapestries and unlocked the door to the +hall. He paused there in thought. He turned and glanced back. + +"Hurry!" exclaimed Drew. "Hurry now!" + +The big operative cursed audibly as he descended the two flights of +carpeted steps. He nodded to the Central Office man at the library +door. He passed inside, rounded the table and stood by the 'phone. He +picked up the receiver. His eyes wandered along the floor as he waited. +A dark spot showed on the hardwood. It was where the millionaire's +blood had gushed forth from the bullet hole in the base of his brain. + +"Gramercy Hill 9-7-6-4!" said Delaney with a bull's voice. + +"B-r-r-r-r-! B-r-r-r-r-! B-r-r-r-r-r!" sounded from the ringing-box of +the silver plated telephone in the sitting-room of Loris Stockbridge's +suite. + +The prisoner pulled at the chain as he leaned toward the telephone. +"It's ringing," he said in a thin whisper. "Let me--let me listen in." + +Drew studied the entire situation before he granted permission. Loris +and Nichols were framed between the silken portières. The captain held +his army regulation revolver at his hip. Loris leaned forward with her +dark eyes smoldering and intent. The blood had left her cheeks. They +were white and tersely set. She seemed older to Drew. He smiled +reassuringly, dropped his gun to his hip, pressed it against the +prisoner and shoved him toward the 'phone as a "B-r-r-r-r-" sounded +above the lifting roar of Delaney's voice in the depths of the great +mansion. + +The room became charged and surcharged with electricity. A crackling +sounded as Drew's feet glided inch by inch over the silk rug. The storm +outside whined and synchronized with the rise and fall of the great +voice shouting "Hello! Hello! Hello! Hello, you!" + +The trouble-man turned. His hand reached upward and lifted the +hard-rubber receiver from the hook. His lids fluttered toward Loris. +His eyes softened with memories. "I'm glad I didn't do it!" he hissed +across the room. "Good-by, lady--good-by!" + +"Be careful!" snapped Drew, pressing the revolver firmly against the +prisoner's right side. "Be careful! This is a hair trigger!" + +The trouble-man smiled a twisted, wan smile as he turned his head +toward the transmitter and said huskily: + +"Hello! Hello! You big copper! Shout on! See how loud you can curse me! +That's it. That--is--it!" + +Drew heard Delaney's voice rise in indignation. The taunt had spurned +him to greater effort. The metallic diaphragm of the receiver roared +and clicked. It echoed the voice. It stopped. It vibrated again. It +reached a reed-like tune of high-pitched anger. The prisoner closed his +eyes and stiffened. He pressed the receiver directly over his ear. He +drew back on the chain and to one side. Drew's face darkened with +suspicion. It was too late. The detective had time to spring away as a +cone of lurid light and flame shot out from the telephone diaphragm and +splashed across the prisoner's set face. A sharp detonation racked the +perfumed air of the room. Smoke wreathed about the astonished +Inspector's head, and floated upward toward the ventilator. + +Cuthbert Morphy's muscles relaxed. He spun, sank to his knees, then +pitched forward across the rug with a bullet in his brain. Drew +untwisted the chain with a wrist flip, sprang forward toward the +cheval-glass, and stamped his foot down upon the smoking telephone +receiver as if it were the head of a rattlesnake. + +He turned with clear light striking out from his eyes. He nodded toward +the leaning form of the girl and the erect one of the captain. He +divined in seconds how the murder of Montgomery Stockbridge had been +accomplished. The full series of events and clues flashed through his +brain. It was like an orderly array seen at a picture show. + +Cuthbert Morphy, guised as a trouble-hunter in the employ of the +telephone company, had devised a single-shot pistol out of a telephone +receiver and had caused it to be actuated by the human voice so that it +would always strike in the most vulnerable part of man's anatomy--the +ear. + +With this lethal instrument he had slain the millionaire, and, when +trapped and in danger of execution, he had employed the same method to +bring about his own death. It was a fitting end to a life of crime and +drug-brought imageries. + +Delaney, with drawn gun and wild of eyes, burst through the tapestries +and brought up with a dizzy lurch before the body of Cuthbert Morphy. +He stammered and glared downward. He swung his heavy chin and stared at +Loris and Nichols in the gloom of the further curtains. He clapped Drew +on the shoulder with a heavy hand. + +"Had to shoot him, eh, Chief? What'd he try? What--you got your foot on?" + +"An electric pistol," said Drew, with a grim smile distending his +olive-hued lips. "An infernal machine, Delaney. I hope it isn't a +repeater. Cut that wire! Both wires! Get your knife out and cut through +them, quick! I won't take any chances." + +The big operative pocketed his revolver with a back swing of his right +hand, brought it forward empty and ran it down his trouser pocket. He +brought out a buck-horn jack-knife, pried it open, stooped and slashed +through the two silk cords holding the receiver to the bottom of the +transmitter which had fallen from the bracket. + +Loris swayed with supple limbs. She raised her hands and pressed her +unjeweled fingers against her face. She sobbed once, then turned and +threw herself upon Nichols' drab shoulder. "Harry," she cried. "Oh, +Harry--what happened? I didn't see what happened!" + +The captain glided an arm about her waist and half-carried, half-led +her to a couch in the reading-room. "Rest here a minute," he said, +leaning down. "Be cool and as brave as you can. The trouble-man won't +trouble you any longer. He took his own medicine!" + +Nichols returned to the sitting room in time to hear Drew exclaim, +after Delaney had reached down and lifted the receiver, "The case is +closed! This closes it with a bang! Give me that electric pistol, +Delaney!" + +The operative handed it over. "Get a big rug," ordered Drew with sudden +thought. "Cover that fellow over till we call the Central Office men +and the coroner. I want to examine this receiver." + +"Right here on this little table would be a good place," suggested +Nichols, lifting off a handful of ivory ornaments and depositing them +on top of a glass case. "I'll spread a paper here. I'd like to see +what's inside that thing myself." + +"Do you know anything about electricity or telephony?" asked Drew, as +he turned the hard-rubber receiver in his hand and stared at the +listening end. + +"Very little, Inspector. But fire-arms are in my line and that seems to +be one." + +The detective nodded. "It's one, all right," he said, holding it out +with a steady hand. "Looks harmless, don't it? Two binding-posts on one +end. A rubber cap on the other. Notice that diaphragm." + +Nichols took the receiver and squinted at the rubber cap. "By George!" +he said. "This is odd. There's a tiny hole drilled or punched in the +center. It's about the same size as the bore of a twenty-two caliber +revolver." + +"Look at your hands!" said Drew. "What the devil," he added with +dawning conviction. "Say, Delaney, do you remember that spot of black +under my left ear. The one you noticed after we left yesterday morning? +The----" + +"Sure, Chief. That's where you got the smut--from that receiver!" + +"I got it when I picked up the telephone in the library downstairs and +tried to get Central. Do you remember how long she took? This is the +same receiver in all probability. The trouble-hunter removed it from +the library connections, loaded it, and brought it up here. It looks +like any ordinary receiver. The telephone company have some with +binding posts and some without. This is an earlier model." + +"The spot of black was from the first discharge when Stockbridge was +killed!" exclaimed Delaney. + +Drew ran his fingers around the inner rim of the rubber cap. He held +them up. "See!" he exclaimed. "No wonder my neck was marked. That +settles that mystery, Delaney. If we had any brains at all we would +have connected the soot and the telephone. If we had done that we'd +have solved the case early this morning, or yesterday morning. It's +after one, now!" + +"This hole," said Nichols, "was the only thing in the whole dastardly +scheme that could have been seen. It's the size of the end of a lead +pencil. Funny you didn't notice it?" + +"I looked everywhere but there," admitted Drew. "The receiver hangs +with the diaphragm end down. That's the reason I didn't see it. +Well--there's always a reason," he added. "Now, Delaney, fetch me that +trouble-hunter's satchel. We'll see what this pistol is made of and how +it is made. I venture to say that it is simple." + +Delaney awoke from his stupor and lifted a rug which he tossed over the +body of Cuthbert Morphy. He wiped his hands with a finite motion. He +wheeled and slouched lankily across the polished floor. He returned +with the lineman's kit. + +"Pliers," said Drew, as the big operative removed the straps and +reached his hand inside. "I saw a pair there when we had it open +before," the detective added, unscrewing the rubber cap of the receiver +and lifting the thin metal diaphragm from the face of two tiny magnets +which were wound with fine silk wire. + +"Regulation magnets," whispered Nichols, leaning over the detective's +shoulder. "They're regulation except there's a hole drilled down +between them. There must be a barrel all the way through the receiver." + +"We'll see. Got those pliers, Delaney?" + +The operative passed up a pair. "Ah," chuckled the detective, +unscrewing the binding-posts and lifting off a hard rubber cap. "Ah, +see here!" + +Delaney rose and peered over the captain's shoulder straps. The two men +watched Drew's nimble fingers trace out the mechanism of the electric +pistol. + +"It's simple!" declared the detective. "It's very simple and ingenious +in construction. It's a crowning wonder to me that some one hasn't used +this sort of device to carry out a wholesale slaughtering. Suppose they +never thought of it." + +Drew glanced at the silent mound under the Persian rug. "The wrong +road," he whispered tersely. "He took the wrong road. He was a +mechanical and electrical genius. He was a patent expert." + +Delaney worked his brows up and down. "Shall I call Miss Stockbridge?" +he asked. + +"I'll do it," Nichols said, turning and hurrying through the portières. +He returned with Loris leaning upon his arm. Her eyes were glazed and +tear-laden. She held a tiny, limp lace handkerchief between her +trembling fingers. + +"There's no danger," said Drew. "Come here, Miss Stockbridge," he +added. "I want to show you what was all ready for you." + +The detective raised the hard-rubber receiver. "Here we have the +diaphragm," he said, pointing. "It's a round plate of soft iron. It's +secured to the rubber by an insulated ring. It is the part you press up +to your ear when you listen at a telephone. There's a small hole +punched in this one. The same sized hole extends down through the +center core, or magnet. This hole isn't rifled. It couldn't well be +rifled save with special machinery. That's why the bullet found in Mr. +Stockbridge's brain was without longitudinal scorings. It was fired +from a smooth-bored pistol." + +"That's what you thought!" blurted Delaney with loyalty. + +"I was at sea," said Drew. "Now," he continued, "we have a live +cartridge at the opposite end of this core from the diaphragm. See it?" +Loris leaned over the little table. + +"Right here!" The detective pointed. "That is a twenty-two cartridge +with a cupronickel bullet. See the cap? See how it is held from coming +back by those tiny screws about the rim?" + +Loris nodded and gathered up her straying hair. + +"Now," continued Drew. "Now, this cartridge was exploded by the action +of the human voice. Here's a tiny spiral of very slender platinum wire. +It must be number forty, at least. That's very fine! This spiral is in +series with the winding about the magnets. The same current pulsated by +the human voice which actuates the receiver diaphragm, also passed +through this spiral. Now," Drew paused. "Now," he added with rising +voice, "here is a tiny charred piece of match-head, I guess. It was set +in the coil. It flared when the wire became hot. The heat was +sufficient to ignite the cap. See it!" + +"I see it!" exclaimed Nichols. + +"The action is simple," continued Drew. "A pulsation of the current +which was formed by the action of the vibrating, transmitter diaphragm, +also pulsated the fine wire before it went to the receiver magnets. The +louder the voice into the transmitter the more current--measured in +fractions of amperes--passed through the spiral. It became sufficiently +hot to flare the piece of match-head or whatever Cuthbert placed there. +This flare was communicated to the percussion cap, or fulminate of +mercury, at the base of the cartridge. This exploded the powder charge, +which in turn projected the cupronickel bullet forward through the tube +or the bore of the receiver and out through the thin, metal diaphragm, +and----" + +"What's that?" asked the operative. + +"Out through the hole in the diaphragm," continued Drew, "and right +into your ear or my ear, Delaney!" + +"Not into mine!" exclaimed the operative. "I'll never telephone as long +as I live, Chief!" + +"We'll all be careful," said Nichols, turning toward Loris. + +Drew gathered together the different parts of the telephone receiver. +"Evidence against Morphy," he said dryly, as he dropped them into the +side pocket of his coat. "They are our Exhibit A if he ever finishes +that twenty years in the cooler." + +Loris reached out her hand. "You saved my life," she said. "You saved +it, Mr. Drew." + +"I blundered and blundered and blundered on this case," admitted the +detective frankly. "Now I'm going to request you to wait a few minutes +before I call the coroner. Delaney has some questions. I feel sure he +wants to ask me one or two." + + + + +CHAPTER SIXTEEN + +"THE END" + + +Triggy Drew's eyes shone with triumphant fire as he turned and faced +the group gathered in the sitting room. + +He adjusted his coat lapels, clicked his heels and smiled politely. His +hand strayed up to his short-cropped mustache which was still neat and +well-trimmed despite the labors of the day. + +"Although the case is practically closed," he said with concern, "there +are features which are not entirely cleared up--even in my mind. +Perhaps we have a little time," he added, glancing at his watch. "Let's +go into the other room--away from these memories--and have a cup of +tea, if Miss Stockbridge will be so kind as to order some." + +Loris glanced at Nichols. She nodded as she turned toward Drew. He +moved over to the rug which covered Cuthbert Morphy's body. He stooped +and adjusted this. He rose and dimmed the lights by snapping off two of +the switches and turning a bulb in its socket. He hesitated as he +glanced at the telephone wires which Delaney had cut. + +"Central will wonder what has happened," he said half aloud. "The +connections leading to this house have given them a lot of trouble in +the last few hours. I suppose they haven't another trouble-man like +this one, though?" Drew pointed toward the shadowed rug which gleamed +with silk and rare woven designs. + +Loris raised her hand and grasped the portières. She shuddered +slightly. She allowed her eyes to wander over the room as if for a last +fleeting glance. They locked with the detective's own. She smiled with +a plaintive droop to her mouth. + +"I'll order the tea," she said invitingly. "Will you come in?" + +Drew bowed and followed her through the portières. Delaney already +stood by the door which led to the maid's room. Harry Nichols had +picked up a small book and was impatiently examining its pages. The +soldier turned and eyed the detective. + +"We'll sit down?" he asked, laying the book on a cushion. "I'm a bit +curious to know how you worked out a number of things. I think that +Miss Stockbridge is, too." + +"I'd like to be a detective!" exclaimed Loris, gliding across the room +and tapping with her knuckles on the door. "Wouldn't you, Mr. Delaney?" +she added naïvely. + +Delaney chuckled. "I would, Miss," he said with candor. "I'm not a +regular. I'm only a volunteer. Mr. Drew has me along to do the heavy +work. He says what I can't lift I can drag." + +Loris smiled as the maid answered by opening the door to a crack. "Tea +for four," she said. "Pekoe and tea biscuits--unless----" + +She turned and widened her eyes prettily. "Would you have anything +else?" she asked Drew. + +"Strong tea!" exclaimed the detective. "I'll take 'hops,' as we call +it. Make it very strong and then we'll settle some of these questions. +My head is none too clear. I've been under a strain. I'm frank to admit +that!" + +The tea arrived within ten minutes. Drew had prevented Delaney from +'phoning for the coroner or to Fosdick. "Some matters to clear up," he +whispered suggestively. "We'll leave this place with the case entirely +completed." + +Nichols arranged two chairs about a tiny teak-wood table. He had set +this table within the bay of an alcove. The space was small, with +Delaney's big feet very much in the way. + +Drew poised his cup and glanced from Loris to Nichols. Their heads were +very close together. The blue-black luster of the girl's hair was a +perfect contrast to the officer's blond pompadour which was slightly +disarranged. The light from above haloed with the soft fire of frosted +glass and cut prisms. + +The detective upended the cup, drank deeply, then passed it over to +Delaney. "Another, please," he said, watching the operative struggling +with a saucer which was far too fragile for his thick fingers. "One +more cup," he added. "No sugar." + +Loris leaned from the cushion at the small of her back and glanced +toward the portières with thought-laden eyes. "Poor misguided fellow," +she said softly. "I feel uneasy, Mr. Drew. Somehow or other I feel that +we were partly responsible for his death. I wish it hadn't happened." + +"I'll agree with you. We must forget more than we remember in this +world. Our time is short. The coroner and the Central Office squad will +have to be notified. I don't doubt that Fosdick will be surprised at +the turn in the case. He has some of your servants locked up, you +know!" + +Loris pressed closer to Nichols. "I wish that body wasn't in there," +she whispered. "Suppose he had other confederates who would break in?" + +"He worked alone," assured Drew, finishing the second cup and setting +it down. "I found no evidence of another crook. He worked single-handed +and single-minded. He made one mistake. Morphy was a bungler. A bungler +is a man who lets his artistic temperament get the better of him. Had +he allowed Cuthbert to slay both the--Mr. Stockbridge and yourself over +the 'phone, he would never have solved the case. It was the telephoning +from Sing Sing that opened up the entire matter." + +"The inevitable slip!" exclaimed Nichols. + +"Yes," said Drew. "They all make it. I could tell you of a thousand +instances. But back of the inevitable slip, as you call it, is +something deeper. It has not often been mentioned in dealing with +criminals." + +"What is it?" asked Loris. + +"Ego! Criminal ego! Most transgressors would go to the electric chair +if the newspapers would write enough about them." + +Loris raised her brows. "Is that the reason," she asked, "why Morphy +telephoned before he killed poor father?" + +"Exactly!" declared the detective. "Ego explains much that we call +revenge. Now," he added, glancing about and at a tiny clock on a +cabinet. "Now the questions from everybody! Make them short. Mr. +Delaney and I will leave in ten minutes." + +Nichols glanced at Loris. "You first," he said. + +"I've just one or two, Mr. Drew," she said. + +"What are they?" + +"Why did that poor dead man spare my life when he called me up the +first time? He could have killed me then." + +"I explained that. It wasn't _his_ vendetta." + +"Vendetta?" + +"That is what this case is. An almost successful attempt to wipe out, +or I should say obliterate, the Stockbridge Family--root and branch. +Morphy had nursed the thing for over a year. He had soured up there in +prison. His mind became abnormal. He conceived an abnormal revenge. +Also a personal one. He had every reason to believe that he would never +be discovered." + +"Then, Mr. Drew, he would have called me up on the phone later and done +what he did--to father? He would have told me who he was over the +telephone, and--and----" + +"Yes, Miss Stockbridge. Yes, be calm, though. He is beyond the pale +now. You will never hear from him again. Be assured of that!" + +Drew leaned in his chair and glanced at Delaney. The big operative +fidgeted in his seat, squirmed, reached for the tea-pot, then drew back +his hand and started drumming the table with his fingers. + +Nichols disengaged his arm from behind Loris and squared his shoulders. +He moved forward. "I'm going to ask a question for Miss Stockbridge," +he said. "Did you ever suspect her?" + +"Never!" declared Drew. + +"Or me?" + +The detective hesitated before he answered. His smile cleared the air +as he said. "Once--for about an hour. That was when I found out that +you were partly German. I got over it, though." + +"So did I," declared Nichols. "I got over the German part in no time. I +enlisted!" + +"That's a good answer! The best one I know!" + +Delaney turned to his chief. He drew in his legs. "There's a question +I'd like to ask," he said. + +"What is it?" + +"That magpie?" + +Drew eyed Loris. "It's her bird now," he said. "She may not want it +dragged back here again. I shouldn't think she would." + +"I don't!" exclaimed Loris. "I wish that you would explain how you +followed the clew, though. It talks so seldom, and then when it does +talk it says such nonsense it's a perfect enigma." + +"That bird," said Drew, "was the fine turning point of the case. Before +it was brought into the office, downtown, I had no clew to start from. +There was no indication to show from whence the blow had fallen. Your +father was slain for a motive. He was talking to Morphy when he died. +Cuthbert had connected the two men." + +"Through the two booths?" asked Loris. + +"Yes. Through the booths at Grand Central. Their conversation was +probably a brief one. Morphy undoubtedly gloated a minute or two, then +told Mr. Stockbridge that his time had come on this earth. Naturally +Mr. Stockbridge asked who was talking. Morphy answered by stating who +he was, and also that he was at Sing Sing. Mr. Stockbridge repeated +this statement aloud. He probably said, 'What, Sing Sing?' or 'Ah, +Ossining!' or words to that effect. The bird heard it and remembered it." + +"How strange!" exclaimed Nichols. + +"Not at all," said Drew, leaning forward. "It was just like a magpie to +pick out the one salient part of a conversation and repeat it. The +couplet 'Sing Sing' was one it had never heard. It is so striking to +even a bird. It probably came with such emphasis, there was no +forgetting it!" + +The group facing the detective was silent for a long minute. Delaney +moved uneasily as Nichols toyed with his cup. Loris breathed in +suppressed wonder at the tiny clew which had overthrown the best laid +plans on the part of Morphy and his confederate. It was like an echo of +a dead voice coming back to confront a murderer. She shivered as she +widened her eyes and stared at Drew. + +"There's another question," she said. "How did the trouble-man get into +this house in the first place, Mr. Drew?" + +"I was responsible. He forced my hand!" + +"How?" + +"By a clever subterfuge. He disconnected the library telephone wires at +the junction-box in the alley. He knew that sooner or later Mr. +Stockbridge would try to use the 'phone. He couldn't get a connection, +or I couldn't. It was the time I tried to 'phone and then notified +Gramercy Hill Exchange through another 'phone. He was listening in and +consequently caught the gist of my orders to Harrigan. He hurried to +Gramercy Hill Exchange and there met Frisby, another trouble-man, +starting out to investigate my complaint. He took Frisby's place, +hurried over and closed the library connection and then came into the +house, stating that we had sent for him." + +"Clever," said Nichols. "That was clever, wasn't it?" + +"Remarkably so!" exclaimed Drew. "It was a case of making the detective +on the premises act as a tool. It was like a safeblower asking a night +watchman to move a safe out on a truck. I never suspected that fellow +at all. I hardly looked at him when he was testing the connections in +the library. I even heard him rattling a pair of pliers over the +binding posts on the receiver. That was the time he took the old one +off and put on the loaded pistol. It was done very quickly." + +The detective paused and glanced at his watch. "We must go," he said, +staring at Loris with soft interest. "I'm afraid we're keeping you from +your sleep." + +"No. I want to ask you another question," she said eagerly. "I'm still +in doubt about the slot booths at Grand Central. Why were they used?" + +"As a throw off! That is what the English would call shunting. +Electricians use the same word. It means diverting a current or a +connection. Cuthbert did this so that his trail would be harder to +check up. He thought of almost everything." + +"He missed his vocation!" interjected Nichols. + +"And misused his talents," added Loris. "Think of being clever enough +to do all of those things, and stoop to murder. He paid ten times over. +He must have been under that man Morphy's power. So many men were. I +heard father say that when Morphy was arrested. He said Morphy was the +most dangerous man in the world. That he would cause trouble sooner or +later." + +Drew rose and nodded. "He did that!" he exclaimed with conviction. "He +came very close to getting away with it. But for the magpie and the +fact that he 'phoned from the prison at the same time your father was +murdered, there would have been no clew. Cuthbert would have entered +this house after you were slain, and removed the receiver. That would +have thrown the case into one of the unsolved mysteries. Electricity is +a dangerous tool in the hands of clever crooks." + +"It leaves no trace!" said Delaney, rising and standing by his chief. +"It isn't made out of anything except little shakes in the wire or +something like that." + +Drew smiled good-naturedly. "It's a mystery to most people," he said, +turning toward the windows and listening. "It's a bigger mystery to a +woman than to a man," he added. "It's a good agent if properly used and +kept within bounds. It brings back life as well as takes it. It creates +and also destroys. No one knows what it is. All that we do know about +it is its action on material substances--the power to transform +mechanical energy into vibrations and then back again into mechanical +energy." + +"Like a voice on a wire?" asked Loris. + +"Yes, Miss Stockbridge. The mechanical vibration of a diaphragm in a +telephone transmitter is changed to electrical vibrations, passes along +a wire and changes back to the same thing we had at the beginning. +Cuthbert took advantage of this fact. All that was sent into the +library was Morphy's voice on the wire. The wire left no trace. The +voice actuated the diaphragm and at the same time the fine heating coil +at the cap on the cartridge. The energy of the voice was sufficient to +raise the temperature of the coil. This raise in temperature flashed +some compound set in the wire. The flash started the fulminate of +mercury in the cap. The cap exploded the smokeless powder. It was a +series of steps each a little higher than the one below it." + +"Was there any other way of doing the same thing?" Nichols inquired, as +he rose lankily and stood over Loris. + +"Yes!" declared Drew. "I can look back over what I found in the +technical books about electricity and telephony and see several other +ways for Cuthbert to accomplish the same result. The electrical pistol +did not necessarily have to be actuated by the human voice." + +"How terrible!" Loris whispered, with her brow puckering. "Perhaps +others will use the same idea to slay their enemies." + +"We'll keep it a close secret," the detective said. "It rests with us +four, now. Outside of us, there is only Morphy who knows." + +"How else could the pistol be discharged?" + +"Two other ways that I see, Miss Stockbridge. It would be rather easy +to arrange a little magnetic trigger in the receiver. This trigger +could be actuated by an excess of current--say the connecting of a +hundred and ten volt lighting circuit on the line. It might burn out +the magnet wiring, but it would also release the trigger and fire the +cartridge." + +"That's like a door-catch?" + +"Yes," said Drew. "Like a door-catch operated by a magnet or like the +firing pin of a large cannon. They're not all operated by lanyards. +Some work with push-buttons." + +Nichols passed his hand over his brow. "I know another way," he said, +glancing down at Loris. "There is a way which is far cleverer than +Cuthbert thought of. It could be done by a tuning-fork or reed." + +"Certainly!" exclaimed Drew. "I never thought of that. A reed attuned +to a certain voice could be adapted to trip a trigger. Then the loaded +receiver could be set so that one of your friends who had a peculiar +voice, either high or low, would slay you. Rather terrifying revenge, +that!" + +"Beyond the pale!" said Nichols. "It's too bad this man Cuthbert didn't +exercise one-tenth of his genius in perfecting war inventions. He'd +have helped us a lot." + +Drew nodded and strode to the curtains at a side window. He peered out, +rubbed the frosted panes, and pressed his nose against the glass. + +"Stopped snowing!" he exclaimed, coming back and clasping Delaney's +arm. "You hurry downstairs and telephone Fosdick that we are waiting +for him. Tell him to notify the coroner that there's a subject here +which will interest him. We'll not explain everything to either the +coroner or Fosdick. No one save us shall know the secret of the +receiver." + +"Delaney," said Nichols, as the big operative started through the +portières. "Mr. Delaney." + +"Yes!" boomed back through the room. + +"Ask the Commissioner if he will release Miss Stockbridge's servants. +It was an outrage." + +"That's right!" exclaimed Drew, striding to the portières. "Tell him I +said so, Delaney. Tell him just what you think. Give it to him strong! +He bungled and he don't deserve a bit of sympathy." + +"Mr. Drew?" + +The detective wheeled on one heel and glanced back at Loris, who had +risen and was standing with her arm linked within Nichols'. "Mr. Drew," +she repeated with slow insistence, "won't you have another cup of tea +before you go?" + +"That I will, Miss Stockbridge. We three shall drink to the end of the +case. Have you asked all the questions you want to? I want to forget +this night as soon as possible. You were too close to death to suit me." + +"I don't think of any more questions," said Loris, disengaging her arm +and gliding across the room. "We'll get the tea. There is one matter. I +want to pay you for your splendid services." + +"Ah!" exclaimed Drew. "Ah, Miss Stockbridge, they were far from being +splendid. I lost my reputation in the first instance. I should never +have allowed your father to remain alone in the library. That was very +short-sighted on my part." + +"You couldn't think of everything." + +"I underestimated the gravity of the situation." + +"Perhaps father didn't explain how dangerous his enemies really were." + +"No, I don't think it was that, exactly. I had been reading so many +accounts of German spies that I connected this case with one of them. I +took precautions against anything that a German might think of. I +didn't figure on super-brains of the criminal order. Cuthbert Morphy +had them!" + +The maid appeared with the tray and hot water. Drew took the cup from +Loris with a bow. He allowed the tea to cool as he glanced at the two +lovers. They had grown closer together over the time of the +investigation. Nichols had that poise which is given to well-trained +army men. He never said too much. This was a trait which pleased the +detective immensely. It spoke volumes for Loris and her judgment in +placing her trust in him. + +"I actually hate to leave you people," Drew said, finishing the cup. +"But I must be on my way." + +Loris arched her dark brows. Her mouth parted into a soft smile. Her +eyes glistened with moisture. "Harry is going, too," she said, glancing +from Drew to Nichols. "He has to go! I'll sleep upstairs in mother's +old room to-night. The maid can watch. Perhaps the butler will be +back." + +"He'll be back!" ejaculated the detective, adjusting his coat collar +and stroking his mustache. "I'll see to that if I have to go over +Fosdick's thick head. You can expect all of your servants within an +hour." + +Heavy footfalls on the rugs outside the suite announced Delaney. He +came through the portières rubbing his hands in the manner of a man who +was well-satisfied with his errand. + +"I got them!" he boomed, glancing from Drew to Nichols and then letting +his eyes shine on Loris. "I got Fosdick, first. I told him what I +thought of him, too. I don't like him. Never did! He said he'd be right +up and see about things. He can see!" The big operative swung toward +his chief. + +"How about the coroner?" asked Drew. + +"He's coming as fast as his hurry-up wagon will let him. I told him +there was another--well, you know what I told him, Chief?" + +The detective lifted his lowered brows. "Yes! Yes!" he said hastily, +after a keen glance at Loris. "Yes. You did right. Now, get into the +other room and gather up all of the tools and plaster-casts and every +scrap of our own evidence. Put them in the trouble-man's satchel. Set +the satchel outside the door to the hall. Then wait for me. I'll be but +a minute." + +Delaney paused. "There's one thing," he said in a half stammer----"One +thing, Chief, that's been troubling me while I was 'phoning to the +coroner and to Fosdick." + +"What is it?" + +"If I can have that magpie? I'm going to give it to my wife--Mary--if I +can. There's no bird in the house." + +Drew turned toward Loris who had drawn Nichols to a window. + +"Can he have it, Miss Stockbridge?" he asked. + +"Certainly!" + +"Thanks," throated the operative, passing through the portières with +renewed energy. "Thanks," he added under his breath as he started +picking up the plaster casts and tools. "That's how we caught +'Cutbert,' and I'll nurse the bird like a Grand Opera singer." + +Loris glided from out the curtains and crossed the room. She stood a +moment under a cone of soft light which reflected downward and brought +out every detail of her gown and girlish figure. She turned and smiled +widely at Drew who stood by the portières. + +"I've almost forgotten something," she said, drawing out a chair and +sitting down with a graceful sweep of her skirt. "I've forgotten that +you are tired and that you have worked hard." + +"Not at all," said Drew. + +"Yes, you are tired and you have worked very hard. Harry will bear me +out in that. He was just saying that you would make a good major of +overseas forces. Why don't you join the army?" + +Drew reached into his right hand trouser pocket. He brought his hand +out with a small gold badge between his fingers. "I've already joined +the army," he said. "This is a Secret Service badge. Don't you know +that much work can be done over on this side? A burnt warehouse, for +instance, is equal to a victory for the Kaiser. My agency is almost +exclusively devoted to Government work. We never mention it, though." + +"I see," said Loris, reaching into a pigeonhole and drawing out a small +yellow check-book. "I'm glad," she added, picking up a mother-of-pearl +penholder and inspecting the pen-point. "I rather thought you would do +your share. I think everybody should to the limit of their pocketbook +and ability. Harry is." + +Drew bowed slightly. "That's right, stick by Harry," he said to +himself. "She's a sticker and then some," he added, frowning toward the +check-book and the poised pen. + +"Mr. Drew?" + +The detective took one step in her direction. He waited then. + +"Mr. Drew, how much money do I owe you? I'll pay you out of my account +until the estate is settled." + +The detective smiled broadly. "Nothing," he said, toying with his watch +chain. "I don't think you owe me anything in this case." + +"Oh, but I do!" + +"I don't think so. Your father retained me. He was--was slain through +my own carelessness. I think I owe you something." + +"I can't let it remain that way." Loris turned and widened her eyes. A +tiny pout sweetened her mouth. Nichols came across the rugs and stood +by her side. He turned to Drew. + +"That wouldn't be fair," he said. "You certainly earned your fee in +this case. Why, you look five years older than when you came up into my +rooms with that little pistol!" + +Drew touched his mustache. He closed his lips. Fatigue swept over him +as he said huskily: + +"I've aged, yes. Well, I guess I have. The responsibility was more than +I expected." + +"How much?" asked Loris, opening the check-book. + +Drew raised his eyes to the ceiling. A faint smile brightened his olive +skin and brought out the fullness of his cheeks. + +"Five thousand dollars," he said, without glancing at Loris. + +She dipped the pen into the ink well, leaned her elbow on the leaf of +the writing desk and hastily scratched a check with angular writing +which had certainly been cultivated in a select boarding school. She +turned, waved the check in the air, then rose and advanced toward the +detective, who had not lowered his eyes. + +"Thank you," she said, holding out the oblong of tinted paper. "I want +to thank you." + +Nichols stared at the detective. The soldier's eyes were like bayonets +beneath a parapet. He had thought the figure rather high. Loris had no +one to advise her save himself and the presence of Drew had tied his +tongue. + +"I want to thank you," repeated Loris. + +Drew lowered his eyes and reached for the check. He glanced at it, +started folding two edges, then smiled brightly as he crossed the room, +picked up the mother-of-pearl penholder and dipped it into the ink. + +"I'll endorse it," he said, flattening out the check with his palm. +"I'll endorse it so that it can be transferred." + +"To whom?" asked Loris. + +"Why, to where it belongs. Do you think that I could take it? It's too +much in the first place. In the second place I'm going to do my full +bit from now on. What do you say, if we endorse this over to the +American Red Cross? It'll buy beds and bandages and it'll help out all +around!" + +Loris lifted her eyes beneath her down dropping lashes. She smiled with +tiny puckerings at the corners of her mouth. The glance was so archly +sweet that Drew felt it was more than a reward. He caught her mood and +hastily dashed off his signature across the back of the check. + +"You present it to them," he said. "Take it with my compliments to the +treasurer of your own division. I'll venture they will not question the +signature." + +Nichols' hand crept out. It clasped over Drew's fingers in a soldier's +grip. The two men faced each other. Drew reached up his left arm and +patted the captain on the shoulder. "Two bars," he said. "I hope to see +stars there," he added sincerely. "Stars, when you come back from the +conquest of Berlin." + +"They'll be there!" declared Loris with flashing eyes. "Harry will get +them!" + +Delaney peered through the portières despite his instructions to the +contrary. + +"All set, Chief," he said. "I hear Fosdick downstairs." + +"Coming," said Drew, as he turned away from Loris and Nichols. + +The two detectives paused in the center of the room. The mound under +the splendid rug held their eyes for a fleeting moment. The ends of the +telephone wires lay across the hardwood floor. They glanced at these. + +"No trace!" said Drew. "We needn't tell Fosdick much. Come on!" + +Delaney held out the detective's coat and hat. Drew thrust his arms +into his silk-lined sleeves, pulled the hat down over his eyes and +swung as the big operative turned his shoulder. + +"Look," whispered Delaney. + +Loris Stockbridge and her lover stood under the glow from the soft +clusters of the inner room of the suite. The captain held his peaked +cap in his right hand. He also was departing. + +"Turtle-doves," Delaney breathed with almost pride. + +"Ah!" said Drew. "Ah, my friend, you must remember that we were once +that way ourselves. But now--but now, Delaney--there is a thing which +is sweeter than love's young dream. It is a tired man's sleep. I think +I have earned mine to-night!" + +THE END + + + + +ZANE GREY'S NOVELS + +May be had wherever books are sold. Ask for Grosset & Dunlap's list. + +THE LIGHT OF WESTERN STARS + +A New York society girl buys a ranch which becomes the center of +frontier warfare. Her loyal superintendent rescues her when she is +captured by bandits. A surprising climax brings the story to a +delightful close. + +THE RAINBOW TRAIL + +The story of a young clergyman who becomes a wanderer in the great +western uplands--until at last love and faith awake. + +DESERT GOLD + +The story describes the recent uprising along the border, and ends with +the finding of the gold which two prospectors had willed to the girl +who is the story's heroine. + +RIDERS OF THE PURPLE SAGE + +A picturesque romance of Utah of some forty years ago when Mormon +authority ruled. The prosecution of Jane Withersteen is the theme of +the story. + +THE LAST OF THE PLAINSMEN + +This is the record of a trip which the author took with Buffalo Jones, +known as the preserver of the American bison, across the Arizona desert +and of a hunt in "that wonderful country of deep canons and giant +pines." + +THE HERITAGE OF THE DESERT + +A lovely girl, who has been reared among Mormons, learns to love a +young New Englander. The Mormon religion, however, demands that the +girl shall become the second wife of one of the Mormons--Well, that's +the problem of this great story. + +THE SHORT STOP + +The young hero, tiring of his factory grind, starts out to win fame and +fortune as a professional ball player. His hard knocks at the start are +followed by such success as clean sportsmanship, courage and honesty +ought to win. + +BETTY ZANE + +This story tells of the bravery and heroism of Betty, the beautiful +young sister of old Colonel Zane, one of the bravest pioneers. + +THE LONE STAR RANGER + +After killing a man in self defense, Buck Duane becomes an outlaw along +the Texas border. In a camp on the Mexican side of the river, he finds +a young girl held prisoner, and in attempting to rescue her, brings +down upon himself the wrath of her captors and henceforth is hunted on +one side by honest men, on the other by outlaws. + +THE BORDER LEGION + +Joan Randle, in a spirit of anger, sent Jim Cleve out to a lawless +Western mining camp, to prove his mettle. Then realizing that she loved +him--she followed him out. On her way, she is captured by a bandit +band, and trouble begins when she shoots Kells, the leader--and nurses +him to health again. Here enters another romance--when Joan, disguised +as an outlaw, observes Jim, in the throes of dissipation. A gold +strike, a thrilling robbery--gambling and gun play carry you along +breathlessly. + +THE LAST OF THE GREAT SCOUTS, By Helen Cody Wetmore and Zane Grey + +The life story of Colonel William F. Cody, "Buffalo Bill," as told by +his sister and Zane Grey. It begins with his boyhood in Iowa and his +first encounter with an Indian. We see "Bill" as a pony express rider, +then near Fort Sumter as Chief of the Scouts, and later engaged in the +most dangerous Indian campaigns. There is also a very interesting +account of the travels of "The Wild West" Show. No character in public +life makes a stronger appeal to the imagination of America than +"Buffalo Bill," whose daring and bravery made him famous. + +Grosset & Dunlap, Publishers, New York + + + + +KATHLEEN NORRIS' STORIES + +May be had wherever books are sold. Ask for Grosset & Dunlap's list. + +MOTHER. Illustrated by F. G. Yohn. + +This book has a fairy-story touch counterbalanced by the sturdy reality +of struggle, sacrifice, and resulting peace and power of a mother's +experiences. + +SATURDAY'S CHILD. Frontispiece by F. Graham Cootes. + +Out on the Pacific coast a normal girl, obscure and lovely, makes a +quest for happiness. She passes through three stages--poverty, wealth +and service--and works out a creditable salvation. + +THE RICH MRS. BURGOYNE. Illustrated by Lucius H. Hitchcock. + +The story of a sensible woman who keeps within her means, refuses to be +swamped by social engagements, lives a normal human life of varied +interests, and has her own romance. + +THE STORY OF JULIA PAGE. Frontispiece by Allan Gilbert. + +How Julia Page, reared in rather unpromising surroundings, lifted +herself through sheer determination to a higher plane of life. + +THE HEART OF RACHAEL. Frontispiece by Charles E. Chambers. + +Rachael is called upon to solve many problems, and in working out +these, there is shown the beauty and strength of soul of one of +fiction's most appealing characters. + +Ask for Complete free list of G. & D. Popular Copyrighted Fiction. + +Grosset & Dunlap, Publishers, New York + + + + +THE NOVELS OF MARY ROBERTS RINEHART + +May be had wherever books are sold. Ask for Grosset & Dunlap's list. + +"K." Illustrated. + +K. LeMoyne, famous surgeon, drops out of the world that has known him, +and goes to live in a little town where beautiful Sidney Page lives. +She is in training to become a nurse. The joys and troubles of their +young love are told with that keen and sympathetic appreciation which +has made the author famous. + +THE MAN IN LOWER TEN. Illustrated by Howard Chandler Christy. + +An absorbing detective story woven around the mysterious death of the +"Man in Lower Ten." The strongest elements of Mrs. Rinehart's success +are found in this book. + +WHEN A MAN MARRIES. Illustrated by Harrison Fisher and Mayo Bunker. + +A young artist, whose wife had recently divorced him, finds that his +aunt is soon to visit him. The aunt, who contributes to the family +income and who has never seen the wife, knows nothing of the domestic +upheaval. How the young man met the situation is humorously and most +entertainingly told. + +THE CIRCULAR STAIRCASE. Illus. by Lester Ralph. + +The summer occupants of "Sunnyside" find the dead body of Arnold +Armstrong, the son of the owner, on the circular staircase. Following +the murder a bank failure is announced. Around these two events is +woven a plot of absorbing interest. + +THE STREET OF SEVEN STARS. Illustrated (Photo Play Edition.) + +Harmony Wells, studying in Vienna to be a great violinist, suddenly +realizes that her money is almost gone. She meets a young ambitious +doctor who offers her chivalry and sympathy, and together with +world-worn Dr. Anna and Jimmie, the waif, they share their love and +slender means. + +Grosset & Dunlap, Publishers, New York + + + + +R. M. BOWER'S NOVELS + +May be had wherever books are sold. Ask for Grosset & Dunlap's list. + +CHIP OF THE FLYING U. Wherein the love affairs of Chip and Della +Whitman are charmingly and humorously told. + +THE HAPPY FAMILY. A lively and amusing story, dealing with the +adventures of eighteen jovial, big hearted Montana cowboys. + +HER PRAIRIE KNIGHT. Describing a gay party of Easterners who exchange a +cottage at Newport for a Montana ranch-house. + +THE RANGE DWELLERS. Spirited action, a range feud beween two families, +and a Romeo and Juliet courtship make this a bright, jolly story. + +THE LURE OF THE DIM TRAILS. A vivid portrayal of the experience of an +Eastern author among the cowboys. + +THE LONESOME TRAIL. A little branch of sage brush and the recollection +of a pair of large brown eyes upset "Weary" Davidson's plans. + +THE LONG SHADOW. A vigorous Western story, sparkling with the free +outdoor life of a mountain ranch. It is a fine love story. + +GOOD INDIAN. A stirring romance of life on an Idaho ranch. + +FLYING U RANCH. Another delightful story about Chip and his pals. + +THE FLYING U'S LAST STAND. An amusing account of Chip and the other +boys opposing a party of school teachers. + +THE UPHILL CLIMB. A story of a mountain ranch and of a man's hard fight +on the uphill road to manliness. + +THE PHANTOM HERD. The title of a moving-picture staged in New Mexico by +the "Flying U" boys. + +THE HERITAGE OF THE SIOUX. The "Flying U" boys stage a fake bank +robbery for film purposes which precedes a real one for lust of gold. + +THE GRINGOS. A story of love and adventure on a ranch in California. + +STARR OF THE DESERT. A New Mexico ranch story of mystery and adventure. + +THE LOOKOUT MAN. A Northern California story full of action, excitement +and love. + +Grosset & Dunlap, Publishers, New York + + + + +THE NOVELS OF WINSTON CHURCHILL + +THE INSIDE OF THE CUP. Illustrated by Howard Giles. + +The Reverend John Hodder is called to a fashionable church in a +middle-western city. He knows little of modern problems and in his +theology is as orthodox as the rich men who control his church could +desire. But the facts of modern life are thrust upon him; an awakening +follows and in the end he works out a solution. + +A FAR COUNTRY. Illustrated by Herman Pfeifer. + +This novel is concerned with big problems of the day. As _The Inside of +the Cup_ gets down to the essentials in its discussion of religion, so +_A Far Country_ deals in a story that is intense and dramatic, with +other vital issues confronting the twentieth century. + +A MODERN CHRONICLE. Illustrated by J. H. Gardner Soper. + +This, Mr. Churchill's first great presentation of the Eternal Feminine, +is throughout a profound study of a fascinating young American woman. +It is frankly a modern love story. + +MR. CREWE'S CAREER. Illus. by A. I. Keller and Kinneys. + +A new England state is under the political domination of a railway and +Mr. Crewe, a millionaire, seizes a moment when the cause of the people +is being espoused by an ardent young attorney, to further his own +interest in a political way. The daughter of the railway president +plays no small part in the situation. + +THE CROSSING. Illustrated by S. Adamson and L. Baylis. + +Describing the battle of Fort Moultrie, the blazing of the Kentucky +wilderness, the expedition of Clark and his handful of followers in +Illinois, the beginning of civilization along the Ohio and Mississippi, +and the treasonable schemes against Washington. + +CONISTON. Illustrated by Florence Scovel Shinn. + +A deft blending of love and politics. A New Englander is the hero, a +crude man who rose to political prominence by his own powers, and then +surrendered all for the love of a woman. + +THE CELEBRITY. An episode. + +An inimitable bit of comedy describing an interchange of personalities +between a celebrated author and a bicycle salesman. It is the purest, +keenest fun--and is American to the core. + +THE CRISIS. Illustrated with scenes from the Photo-Play. + +A book that presents the great crisis in our national life with +splendid power and with a sympathy, a sincerity, and a patriotism that +are inspiring. + +RICHARD CARVEL. Illustrated by Malcolm Frazer. + +An historical novel which gives a real and vivid picture of Colonial +times, and is good, clean, spirited reading in all its phases and +interesting throughout. + +Grosset & Dunlap, Publishers, New York + + + + +THE NOVELS OF GEORGE BARR McCUTCHEON + +May be had wherever books are sold. Ask for Grosset & Dunlap's list. + +GRAUSTARK. Illustrated with Scenes from the Play. + +With the appearance of this novel, the author introduced a new type of +story and won for himself a perpetual reading public. It is the story +of love behind a throne in a new and strange country. + +BEVERLY OF GRAUSTARK. Illustrations by Harrison Fisher. + +This is a sequel to "Graustark." A bewitching American girl visits the +little principality and there has a romantic love affair. + +PRINCE OF GRAUSTARK. Illustrations by A. I. Keller. + +The Prince of Graustark is none other than the son of the heroine of +"Graustark." Beverly's daughter, and an American multimillionaire with +a brilliant and lovely daughter also figure in the story. + +BREWSTER'S MILLIONS. Illustrated with Scenes from the Photo-Play. + +A young man, required to spend one million dollars in one year, in +order to inherit _seven_, accomplishes the task in this lively story. + +COWARDICE COURT. Illus. by Harrison Fisher and decorations by Theodore +Hapgood. + +A romance of love and adventure, the plot forming around a social feud +in the Adirondacks in which an English girl is tempted into being a +traitor by a romantic young American. + +THE HOLLOW OF HER HAND. Illustrated by A. I. Keller. + +A story of modern New York, built around an ancient enmity, born of the +scorn of the aristocrat for one of inferior birth. + +WHAT'S-HIS-NAME. Illustrations by Harrison Fisher. + +"What's-His-Name" is the husband of a beautiful and popular actress who +is billboarded on Broadway under an assumed name. The very opposite +manner in which these two live their lives brings a dramatic climax to +the story. + +Ask for Complete free list of G. & D. Popular Copyrighted Fiction. + +Grosset & Dunlap, Publishers, New York + + + + +SEWELL FORD'S STORIES + +May be had wherever books are sold. Ask for Grosset & Dunlap's list. + +SHORTY McCABE. Illustrated by Francis Vaux Wilson. + +A very humorous story. The hero, an independent and vigorous thinker, +sees life, and tells about it in a very unconventional way. + +SIDE-STEPPING WITH SHORTY. Illustrated by Francis Vaux Wilson. + +Twenty skits, presenting people with their foibles. Sympathy with human +nature and an abounding sense of humor are the requisites for +"side-stepping with Shorty." + +SHORTY McCABE ON THE JOB. Illustrated by Francis Vaux Wilson. + +Shorty McCabe reappears with his figures of speech revamped right up to +the minute. He aids in the right distribution of a "conscience fund," +and gives joy to all concerned. + +SHORTY McCABE'S ODD NUMBERS. Illustrated by Francis Vaux Wilson. + +These further chronicles of Shorty McCabe tell of his studio for +physical culture, and of his experiences both on the East side and at +swell yachting parties. + +TORCHY. Illus. by Geo. Biehm and Jas. Montgomery Flagg. + +A red-headed office boy, overflowing with wit and wisdom peculiar to +the youths reared on the sidewalks of New York, tells the story of his +experiences. + +TRYING OUT TORCHY. Illustrated by F. Foster Lincoln. + +Torchy is just as deliriously funny in these stories as he was in the +previous book. + +ON WITH TORCHY. Illustrated by F. Foster Lincoln. + +Torchy falls desperately in love with "the only girl that ever was," +but that young society woman's aunt tries to keep the young people +apart, which brings about many hilariously funny situations. + +TORCHY, PRIVATE SEC. Illustrated by F. Foster Lincoln. + +Torchy rises from the position of office boy to that of secretary for +the Corrugated Iron Company. The story is full of humor and infectious +American slang. + +WILT THOU TORCHY. Illus. by F. Snapp and A. W. Brown. + +Torchy goes on a treasure search expedition to the Florida West Coast, +in company with a group of friends of the Corrugated Trust and with his +friend's aunt, on which trip Torchy wins the aunt's permission to place +an engagement ring on Vee's finger. + +Grosset & Dunlap, Publishers, New York + + + + +BOOTH TARKINGTON'S NOVELS + +May be had wherever books are sold. Ask for Grosset & Dunlap's list. + +SEVENTEEN. Illustrated by Arthur William Brown. + +No one but the creator of Penrod could have portrayed the immortal +young people of this story. Its humor is irresistible and reminiscent +of the time when the reader was Seventeen. + +PENROD. Illustrated by Gordon Grant. + +This is a picture of a boy's heart, full of the lovable, humorous, +tragic things which are locked secrets to most older folks. It is a +finished, exquisite work. + +PENROD AND SAM. Illustrated by Worth Brehm. + +Like "Penrod" and "Seventeen," this book contains some remarkable +phases of real boyhood and some of the best stories of juvenile +prankishness that have ever been written. + +THE TURMOIL. Illustrated by C. E. Chambers. + +Bibbs Sheridan is a dreamy, imaginative youth, who revolts against his +father's plans for him to be a servitor of big business. The love of a +fine girl turns Bibb's life from failure to success. + +THE GENTLEMAN FROM INDIANA. Frontispiece. + +A story of love and politics,--more especially a picture of a country +editor's life in Indiana, but the charm of the book lies in the love +interest. + +THE FLIRT. Illustrated by Clarence F. Underwood. + +The "Flirt," the younger of two sisters, breaks one girl's engagement, +drives one man to suicide, causes the murder of another, leads another +to lose his fortune, and in the end marries a stupid and unpromising +suitor, leaving the really worthy one to marry her sister. + +Ask for Complete free list of G. & D. Popular Copyrighted Fiction. + +Grosset & Dunlap, Publishers, New York + + + + +THE NOVELS OF STEWART EDWARD WHITE + +May be had wherever books are sold. Ask for Grosset & Dunlap's list. + +THE BLAZED TRAIL. Illustrated by Thomas Fogarty. + +A wholesome story with gleams of humor, telling of a young man who +blazed his way to fortune through the heart of the Michigan pines. + +THE CALL OF THE NORTH. Ills. with Scenes from the Play. + +The story centers about a Hudson Bay trading post, known as "The +Conjuror's House" (the original title of the book.) + +THE RIVER MAN. Ills. by N. C. Wyeth and C. F. Underwood. + +The story of a man's fight against a river and of a struggle between +honesty and grit on the one side, and dishonesty and shrewdness on the +other. + +RULES OF THE GAME. Illustrated by Lejaren A. Hiller. + +The romance of the son of "The Riverman." The young college hero goes +into the lumber camp, is antagonized by "graft," and comes into the +romance of his life. + +GOLD. Illustrated by Thomas Fogarty. + +The gold fever of '49 is pictured with vividness. A part of the story +is laid in Panama, the route taken by the gold-seekers. + +THE FOREST. Illustrated by Thomas Fogarty. + +The book tells of the canoe trip of the author and his companion into +the great woods. Much information about camping and outdoor life. A +splendid treatise on woodcraft. + +THE MOUNTAINS. Illustrated by Fernand Lungren. + +An account of the adventures of a five months' camping trip in the +Sierras of California. The author has followed a true sequence of +events. + +THE CABIN. Illustrated with photographs by the author. + +A chronicle of the building of a cabin home in a forest-girdled meadow +of the Sierras. Full of nature and woodcraft, and the shrewd philosophy +of "California John." + +THE GRAY DAWN. Illustrated by Thomas Fogarty. + +This book tells of the period shortly after the first mad rush for gold +in California. A young lawyer and his wife, initiated into the gay life +of San Francisco, find their ways parted through his downward course, +but succeeding events bring the "gray dawn of better things" for both +of them. + +Ask for Complete free list of G. & D. Popular Copyrighted Fiction. + +Grosset & Dunlap, Publishers, New York + + + + +STORIES OF RARE CHARM BY GENE STRATTON-PORTER + +May be had wherever books are sold. Ask for Grosset & Dunlap's list. + +LADDIE. Illustrated by Herman Pfeifer. + +This is a bright, cheery tale with the scenes laid in Indiana. The +story is told by Little Sister, the youngest member of a large family, +but it is concerned not so much with childish doings as with the love +affairs of older members of the family. Chief among them is that of +Laddie, the older brother whom Little Sister adores, and the Princess, +an English girl who has come to live in the neighborhood and about +whose family there hangs a mystery. There is a wedding midway in the +book and a double wedding at the close. + +THE HARVESTER. Illustrated by W. L. Jacobs. + +"The Harvester," David Langston, is a man of the woods and fields, who +draws his living from the prodigal hand of Mother Nature herself. If +the book had nothing in it but the splendid figure of this man it would +be notable. But when the Girl comes to his "Medicine Woods," and the +Harvester's whole being realizes that this is the highest point of life +which has come to him--there begins a romance of the rarest idyllic +quality. + +FRECKLES. Decorations by E. Stetson Crawford. + +Freckles is a nameless waif when the tale opens, but the way in which +he takes hold of life; the nature friendships he forms in the great +Limberlost Swamp; the manner in which everyone who meets him succumbs +to the charm of his engaging personality; and his love-story with "The +Angel" are full of real sentiment. + +A GIRL OF THE LIMBERLOST. Illustrated by Wladyslaw T. Brenda. + +The story of a girl of the Michigan woods; a buoyant, lovable type of +the self-reliant American. Her philosophy is one of love and kindness +towards all things; her hope is never dimmed. And by the sheer beauty +of her soul, and the purity of her vision, she wins from barren and +unpromising surroundings those rewards of high courage. + +AT THE FOOT OF THE RAINBOW. Illustrations in colors by Oliver Kemp. + +The scene of this charming love story is laid in Central Indiana. The +story is one of devoted friendship, and tender self-sacrificing love. +The novel is brimful of the most beautiful word painting of nature, and +its pathos and tender sentiment will endear it to all. + +Grosset & Dunlap, Publishers, New York + + + + +JOHN FOX, JR'S. STORIES OF THE KENTUCKY MOUNTAINS + +May be had wherever books are sold. Ask for Grosset & Dunlap's list. + +THE TRAIL OF THE LONESOME PINE. Illustrated by F. C. Yohn. + +The "lonesome pine" from which the story takes its name was a tall tree +that stood in solitary splendor on a mountain top. The fame of the pine +lured a young engineer through Kentucky to catch the trail, and when he +finally climbed to its shelter he found not only the pine but the +_footprints of a girl._ And the girl proved to be lovely, piquant, and +the trail of these girlish footprints led the young engineer a madder +chase than "the trail of the lonesome pine." + +THE LITTLE SHEPHERD OF KINGDOM COME. Illustrated by F. C. Yohn. + +This is a story of Kentucky, in a settlement known as "Kingdom Come." +It is a life rude, semi-barbarous; but natural and honest, from which +often springs the flower of civilization. + +"Chad." the "little shepherd" did not know who he was nor whence he +came--he had just wandered from door to door since early childhood, +seeking shelter with kindly mountaineers who gladly fathered and +mothered this waif about whom there was such a mystery--a charming +waif, by the way, who could play the banjo better that anyone else in +the mountains. + +A KNIGHT OF THE CUMBERLAND. Illustrated by F. C. Yohn. + +The scenes are laid along the waters of the Cumberland, the lair of +moonshiner and feudsman. The knight is a moonshiner's son, and the +heroine a beautiful girl perversely christened "The Blight." Two +impetuous young Southerners fall under the spell of "The Blight's" +charms and she learns what a large part jealousy and pistols have in +the love making of the mountaineers. + +Included in this volume is "Hell fer-Sartain" and other stories, some +of Mr. Fox's most entertaining Cumberland valley narratives. + +Ask for Complete free list of G. & D. Popular Copyrighted Fiction. + +Grosset & Dunlap, Publishers, New York + + + + +NOVELS OF FRONTIER LIFE BY WILLIAM MacLEOD RAINE + +HANDSOMELY BOUND IN CLOTH. ILLUSTRATED. + +May be had wherever books are sold. Ask for Grosset & Dunlap's list. + +MAVERICKS. + +A tale of the western frontier, where the "rustler," whose depredations +are so keenly resented by the early settlers of the range, abounds. One +of the sweetest love stories ever told. + +A TEXAS RANGER. + +How a member of the most dauntless border police force carried law into +the mesquit, saved the life of an innocent man after a series of +thrilling adventures, followed a fugitive to Wyoming, and then passed +through deadly peril to ultimate happiness. + +WYOMING. + +In this vivid story of the outdoor West the author has captured the +breezy charm of "cattleland," and brings out the turbid life of the +frontier with all its engaging dash and vigor. + +RIDGWAY OF MONTANA. + +The scene is laid in the mining centers of Montana, where politics and +mining industries are the religion of the country. The political +contest, the love scene, and the fine character drawing give this story +great strength and charm. + +BUCKY O'CONNOR. + +Every chapter teems with wholesome, stirring adventures, replete with +the dashing spirit of the border, told with dramatic dash and absorbing +fascination of style and plot. + +CROOKED TRAILS AND STRAIGHT. + +A story of Arizona; of swift-riding men and daring outlaws; of a bitter +feud between cattle-men and sheep-herders. The heroine is a most +unusual woman and her love story reaches a culmination that is +fittingly characteristic of the great free West. + +BRAND BLOTTERS. + +A story of the Cattle Range. This story brings out the turbid life of +the frontier, with all its engaging dash and vigor, with a charming +love interest running through its 320 pages. + +Grosset & Dunlap, Publishers, New York + + + +***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK WHISPERING WIRES*** + + +******* This file should be named 34046-8.txt or 34046-8.zip ******* + + +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: +http://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/3/4/0/4/34046 + + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at <a href = "http://www.gutenberg.org">www.gutenberg.org</a></pre> +<p>Title: Whispering Wires</p> +<p>Author: Henry Leverage</p> +<p>Release Date: October 8, 2010 [eBook #34046]</p> +<p>Language: English</p> +<p>Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1</p> +<p>***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK WHISPERING WIRES***</p> +<p> </p> +<h3>E-text prepared by Roger Frank<br /> + and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team<br /> + (http://www.fadedpage.net)</h3> +<p> </p> +<hr class="full" /> +<p> </p> +<p> </p> +<p> </p> + +<p class='line fs2r0 mt1 mb1 center'><span class='sc'>Whispering Wires</span></p> +<p class='line center'>ADAPTED FROM THE <i>SATURDAY EVENING POST</i> STORY</p> +<p class='line mb5 center'>OF THE SAME TITLE</p> +<p class='line center'>BY</p> +<p class='line fs1r2 mb3 center'>HENRY LEVERAGE</p> +<div class='figcenter'> +<img src='images/illus-emb.jpg' alt='' /> +</div> +<p class='line fs1r2 center'>NEW YORK</p> +<p class='line fs1r2 center'>GROSSET & DUNLAP</p> +<p class='line center'>PUBLISHERS</p> + +<hr class='dashed' /> + +<p class='line center'>Copyright, 1918,</p> +<p class='line center'>BY</p> +<p class='line center'>MOFFAT, YARD & COMPANY</p> +<hr class='th10' /> +<p class='line center'><i>First printing</i> . . . . September, 1918</p> +<p class='line center'><i>Second printing</i> . . . . September, 1918</p> +<p class='line center'><i>Third printing</i> . . . . October, 1918</p> + +<hr class='dashed' /> + +<p class='line center'>DEDICATED</p> +<p class='line center'>TO</p> +<p class='line fs1r2 center'>ONE WHO HELPED</p> + +<hr class='dashed' /> + +<p class='line mb1 center'>CONTENTS</p> + +<table class='toc' summary='toc'> +<tr><td class='tocc1'>I</td><td class='tocc2'><span class='sc'>“The Whispering Voice”</span></td><td class='tocc3'><a href='#ch01'>1</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class='tocc1'>II</td><td class='tocc2'><span class='sc'>“The Magpie”</span></td><td class='tocc3'><a href='#ch02'>15</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class='tocc1'>III</td><td class='tocc2'><span class='sc'>“The Man in Olive-Drab”</span></td><td class='tocc3'><a href='#ch03'>31</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class='tocc1'>IV</td><td class='tocc2'><span class='sc'>“The Murder”</span></td><td class='tocc3'><a href='#ch04'>46</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class='tocc1'>V</td><td class='tocc2'><span class='sc'>“The First Clews”</span></td><td class='tocc3'><a href='#ch05'>59</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class='tocc1'>VI</td><td class='tocc2'><span class='sc'>“Harry Nichols”</span></td><td class='tocc3'><a href='#ch06'>74</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class='tocc1'>VII</td><td class='tocc2'><span class='sc'>“The Spot of Black”</span></td><td class='tocc3'><a href='#ch07'>89</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class='tocc1'>VIII</td><td class='tocc2'><span class='sc'>“Tangled Wires”</span></td><td class='tocc3'><a href='#ch08'>107</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class='tocc1'>IX</td><td class='tocc2'><span class='sc'>“Men and Motives”</span></td><td class='tocc3'><a href='#ch09'>124</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class='tocc1'>X</td><td class='tocc2'><span class='sc'>“A Woman Calls”</span></td><td class='tocc3'><a href='#ch10'>144</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class='tocc1'>XI</td><td class='tocc2'><span class='sc'>“The Closing Net”</span></td><td class='tocc3'><a href='#ch11'>181</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class='tocc1'>XII</td><td class='tocc2'><span class='sc'>“Suspicion Fastens”</span></td><td class='tocc3'><a href='#ch12'>202</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class='tocc1'>XIII</td><td class='tocc2'><span class='sc'>“A Silent Prisoner”</span></td><td class='tocc3'><a href='#ch13'>222</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class='tocc1'>XIV</td><td class='tocc2'><span class='sc'>“The Prisoner Speaks”</span></td><td class='tocc3'><a href='#ch14'>239</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class='tocc1'>XV</td><td class='tocc2'><span class='sc'>“The Voice on the Wire”</span></td><td class='tocc3'><a href='#ch15'>260</a></td></tr> +<tr><td class='tocc1'>XVI</td><td class='tocc2'><span class='sc'>“The End”</span></td><td class='tocc3'><a href='#ch16'>277</a></td></tr> +</table> + +<hr class='dashed' /> + +<p class='line fs1r4 center'><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_1'></a>1</span>WHISPERING WIRES</p> + +<div> +<a id='ch01'></a> +<p class='line mt3 center'>CHAPTER ONE</p> +<p class='line mb2 center'>“THE WHISPERING VOICE”</p> +</div> + +<p>In the greatest city of the modern world, in +the Metropolis of Guilt and Guile—where +Alias and Alibi ride in gum-shod limousines +while Mary Smith of the pure heart walks the +pavements with broken shoes—there is a mansion +so rich and so rare that it stands alone.</p> + +<p>Turret and tower, green-bronze roof, Cararra-marbled +portico and iron-grilled gates +brought from Hyderabad, have made this mansion +the show place and the Peri’s paradise for +those who parade the Avenue called Fifth, in an +unending sash of fashion.</p> + +<p>Out from this palace at the close of a winter’s +day, there flashed the tiny pulsations of voice-induced +currents of electricity which reached +the telephone-central, were plugged upon the +proper underground paper-insulated wires and +entered, even as the voice was speaking, the +cloud-hung office of Detective Drew.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_2'></a>2</span>Triggy Drew, as he was called, was dark, +stout and forty-one years of age to a month. +He crooked his elbow, removed his cigar and +pressed the telephone-receiver to his ear.</p> + +<p>The voice that came over the whispering +wires was as clear as a bell within a bell. It +said:</p> + +<p>“Montgomery Stockbridge wants you.”</p> + +<p>Drew hung up the telephone-receiver. He replaced +the cigar in his mouth. He wheeled in +his chair and pressed a buzzer. To the operative +who entered he said:</p> + +<p>“Delaney, watch things while I’m gone. I’m +called up-town!”</p> + +<p>The operative reached and handed Drew his +coat. He took the swivel-chair before the desk, +as his chief clapped on a hat, turned his eyes +toward the ground-glass door, and passed out +with a brisk stride.</p> + +<p>“It’s a big case,” said Delaney leaning back. +“Triggy is on somebody’s trail. Maybe German—maybe +not!”</p> + +<p>Drew nodded to the waiting operatives in the +outer room of the suite. He swung into the +hallway with his brown eyes glowing like a +man who walked out of realism into romance.</p> + +<p>The elevator plumbed eighteen stories. The +corridor was clear. A taxi stood at the curb. +Into this Drew stepped, gave the address and +was gently seated as the driver released his +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_3'></a>3</span>brake, set the meter, and dropped through first, +second and into third speed.</p> + +<p>Past Wall Street the taxi flashed. It rounded +toward the Bowery, which showed that the +driver knew his map. It struck up through the +car tracks, across to Washington Park and there +took the long longitude of Fifth Avenue as the +shortest and quickest way up-town.</p> + +<p>Drew had no eye for the passers-by. He was +repeating two words over and over like a novice +counting the same beads. Montgomery Stockbridge +was a name to conjure with in the Bagdad +of Seven Million. He had made many enemies +and much money. His wealth ran well +above seven figures.</p> + +<p>The taxi came to a gliding halt. Drew stepped +out in front of a church. He tossed the driver +two one-dollar bills and some silver. He waited +as the taxi merged in the traffic. He turned and +glanced keenly up and down the Avenue. Then +he hurried north for one square, paused before +the mansion of turrets and towers, and pressed +a button which was set in the doorway.</p> + +<p>The door opened to a crack, then wide. A +butler barred the way. To him Drew said, “Mr. +Stockbridge sent for me.”</p> + +<p>The butler bowed with old world civility. He +took the detective’s hat and coat. He waited until +Drew removed his gloves. He bowed for +a second time and led the way over rugs +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_4'></a>4</span>whose pile was as thick as some Persian temple’s. +They came finally, after an aisle of old +masters, to the inner circle of latter-day finance +and money-wizardry—the celebrated library of +Montgomery Stockbridge.</p> + +<p>The Munition Magnate sat there. He turned +as the butler announced the detective. He shot +a gray-thatched pair of eyes up and over a mahogany +table upon which a white envelope lay. +He smiled coldly. His thumb jerked toward a +leather chair into which Drew sank and leaned +his elbows upon the table.</p> + +<p>Stockbridge coughed dryly. He blinked and +studied the detective’s face for a long minute. +He glanced from the envelope up at a cone of +rose light which hung from a cluster of electric-globes. +His expression, seen in this light, was +like an aged lion brought to bay. His wrinkled +skin was tawny. His hands coiled and uncoiled +like claws. They moved prehensilely, as though +cobwebs were in that perfumed air of wealth +and security. They poised over the envelope as +if to snatch the secret or delusion hidden there.</p> + +<p>“See that letter!” declared the Munition +Magnate, closing his fist and banging the table. +“See it? D’ye see it?”</p> + +<p>Drew widened his eyes at the outburst. He +crossed his legs and nodded.</p> + +<p>“It’s blackmail!” Stockbridge snarled. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_5'></a>5</span>“Rank-scented blackmail of the cheapest order.”</p> + +<p>“A threat of some kind?”</p> + +<p>“Threat? Yes—a threat, in a way. It’s +clever, but it won’t <i>work</i> with me!”</p> + +<p>Drew recrossed his legs. He touched his +short-cropped mustache with the fingers of his +right hand. He coughed as in suggestion. His +brows lifted as he studied the envelope from a +distance.</p> + +<p>Stockbridge snatched it up suddenly. He +slapped it against the edge of the polished table. +He turned and found a cigar to his liking out +of many in a humidor beneath a smaller table +at the right of his chair. He bit on this cigar, +struck a match, and dragged in the smoke with +deep inhalings before he turned and opened the +envelope, exposing a letter which he rapped +with the knuckles of his left hand.</p> + +<p>“I’ll beg to be excused,” he said half-apologetically. +“I’m not myself. This letter, you +know. I want you to ferret it out. I want you +to find out who sent it, and make him or her +pay. Make them pay in full!”</p> + +<p>“May I see it?”</p> + +<p>Stockbridge hesitated. His eyes ran across +the paper. His lips curled in an ugly, thin-visaged +smile which wrinkled his yellow face. +“See it? Yes!” he snapped, volplaning the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_6'></a>6</span>sheet across the table with a vicious jerk of his +wrist.</p> + +<p>“Ridgewood Cemetery,” said Drew lifting +the letter. “Heading, Ridgewood Cemetery,” +he repeated softly. “Dated yesterday,” he added +with a sly glance at Stockbridge. “Signed by +the superintendent, I suppose. Yes, by the superintendent. +He scrawls worse than I do. +Well, it looks official and smells—ah!”</p> + +<p>Stockbridge worked his brows up and down +like a gorilla. He chewed on his cigar with +savage grinding of gold-filled teeth.</p> + +<p>“Smells graveyardy,” continued Drew. “I +get flowers and urns and new-turned earth. +This seems to be the bare announcement that +the grave you ordered dug in the family plot—is +ready and waiting.” Drew glanced up.</p> + +<p>“Quite so,” sneered the Magnate.</p> + +<p>Drew stroked his upper lip. He turned the +letter over. He held it to the rose-light and +studied the water-mark. He raised his black +brows and said sepulchrally:</p> + +<p>“Who is dead?”</p> + +<p>Stockbridge stiffened. “Dead?” he exclaimed. +“Why, nobody is dead! Damn it, +Drew, there’s nobody dead at all!”</p> + +<p>The detective frowned. “Somebody in the +immediate family?” he questioned. “Somebody +you are expecting to pass away soon? Some +one on their sick-bed, for instance?”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_7'></a>7</span>Stockbridge snatched the cigar from his +mouth and threw it to the rug. “That letter’s +a stab, Drew!” he exclaimed. “It’s a +damn insult to me and mine, if you want to +know. I’ll have the author of it, or know the +reason why. I’ll spend fifty thousand to catch +the miscreants. They’ll not monkey with me!”</p> + +<p>“The writer of this seems to be the superintendent.”</p> + +<p>“Yes—that part’s all right. He knows nothing +save what you see there. This threat concerns +Loris and I. We are the only two who +will ever be buried in our family plot.”</p> + +<p>“What does she know? Has she seen this +letter?”</p> + +<p>“Yes!”</p> + +<p>“Knows nothing about it?”</p> + +<p>“Nothing.”</p> + +<p>“Has no enemies?”</p> + +<p>“Certainly not! She’s just a girl!” The +Magnate’s eyes softened slightly. He glanced +around for a cigar.</p> + +<p>Drew laid the letter on the table. “It seems +to me,” he said, “that you have not explained +everything. When did you get this letter, Mr. +Stockbridge? What time did it arrive?”</p> + +<p>“It came in the late mail last night. I showed +it to Loris at supper. Then I called up the +cemetery people this morning. Got the superintendent. +He said that ‘Dr. Conroy’—our +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_8'></a>8</span>family physician—‘had phoned him and ordered +the grave dug.’ Said, ‘A death was about to +occur in the Stockbridge family.’ Conroy never +sent any such message!”</p> + +<p>“Umph!” broke in Drew.</p> + +<p>“Yes! He assured me of it. Was terribly +put out!”</p> + +<p>“It seems to me,” said Drew, “that the entire +matter is a practical joke of the low order. +I see nothing else to it—so far. It isn’t even +clever.”</p> + +<p>“I’m not so sure,” Stockbridge said huskily. +“It may be <i>very</i> clever. It may mean that +death is coming—to me or to Loris. There’s +men in this city who are capable of anything!”</p> + +<p>The break in the Magnate’s voice brought +Drew to the edge of his chair.</p> + +<p>“Whom do you suspect?” he asked professionally. +“Motive goes before crime—you +know. Sometimes a warning is sent—more +often there is none. Clever men do not telegraph +a blow.”</p> + +<p>“I suspect the whole city!” declared Stockbridge.</p> + +<p>Drew smiled sincerely. It was plainly evident +that the Magnate was suffering from the thrust +about Loris and the graveyard. The detective +had never seen him so unsettled.</p> + +<p>“How about Germans?” he asked. “You’ve +made a lot of ammunition—haven’t you?”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_9'></a>9</span>“Ye—s. I’ve still holdings in Standard Shell, +Preferred, and Amalgamated Powder. Also, +there is my interest in Flying Boat.”</p> + +<p>“Could the Germans be after you for any +reason at all?”</p> + +<p>The Magnate weighed the question from a +score of angles. He reached and secured a second +cigar. “I don’t think so,” he said with a +dark frown. “I don’t think they would bother +with me. I’m more or less retired. I’ve drawn +out of a lot of things. Younger men are turning +out the ammunition now.”</p> + +<p>“Then which of your friends might be responsible +for this letter?”</p> + +<p>“Well put!” exclaimed Stockbridge. +<i>“Friends</i> may be right. Friends now, or former +friends who have rounded on me.”</p> + +<p>“Name some!”</p> + +<p>“There’s Morphy!”</p> + +<p>“We settled him. We should never hear from +him again.”</p> + +<p>“I’m not so sure! You don’t know him like I +know him. He’s a vindictive devil! He got ten +to twenty years in state prison. You remember +the case. He lost his appeal to the Governor, +only last week. I blocked it through Tammany +affiliations. You know what that fiend in stripes +is capable of doing. He would sell his soul to +get me!”</p> + +<p>Drew grew serious. “Yes, I know,” he said.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_10'></a>10</span>“Then there is—well, there are others. Ten, +at least! What man can rise in this slippery +city without pushing a few down the ladder? +Wall Street and Broad Street and New Street +are full of curb-stone blackmailers who knew +me when I was struggling with my companies. +They saw me take chances they themselves +feared to take. They hounded me, then. Thank +God, I got above them!”</p> + +<p>Drew leaned over the table. “A few names,” +he said. “Something specific. Who of all of +them would be capable of phoning the cemetery, +representing himself to be your family physician +and ordering the grave dug? Who might +think of a thing like that?”</p> + +<p>“Well, there’s Harry Nichols, for instance. +He’s an ass with a champagne thirst and a +shoestring salary. I threw him out of the house +the other day. He was calling on Loris. Think +of that! He’s probably sworn to get me.”</p> + +<p>“How old is he?”</p> + +<p>“About twenty-three—or four! Smokes, +drinks and plays golf!”</p> + +<p>“Name some others,” suggested Drew artfully.</p> + +<p>“Morphy!”</p> + +<p>“I got him.”</p> + +<p>“Morphy’s brother who escaped when we +had Morphy indicted. I don’t know where he +is. Then there’s Vogel and Vogel’s friends. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_11'></a>11</span>Oh, there’s a pirate crew of them. Some were +mixed up in the first Flying Boat failure. They +would all like to see me in Ridgewood Cemetery. +I’ll fool them!”</p> + +<p>“You’ve given me Harry Nichols, Morphy, +Morphy’s brother, Vogel and Vogel’s friends. +That’s four and a few outsiders. Can you think +of any more?”</p> + +<p>“Not at present! One of them is responsible +for this letter. I want you to get busy. If +you won’t take the case, I’ll get an agency that +will. There’s plenty!”</p> + +<p>“I’ll handle it,” said Drew, “when it gets +to be a case. As it is now, Mr. Stockbridge<span style='white-space: nowrap'>––</span>”</p> + +<p>“Buuurrruuurrr! Buuurrruuurrr! Buuurrruuurrr!”</p> + +<p>The Magnate started. He lowered his cigar, +balanced it on the edge of the table, and turned +slowly in his chair. He leaned over a smaller +table which was littered with bronze ash-trays +and inlaid match-boxes. He lifted the receiver +of the insistent telephone. He pressed this to +his ear.</p> + +<p>Drew watched him narrowly. The terseness +of a static charge of high voltage was in the +great library. The face of the Munition Magnate +grew cold with hauteur. It changed over +the seconds to venom and red anger. His neck +purpled. The diaphragm of the telephone instrument +hissed its message. His hand clutched +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_12'></a>12</span>the hard-rubber receiver with white strength. +A click followed as the connection was broken. +Stockbridge dropped the receiver upon the +hook. He turned slowly and stared at Drew +with eyes that had aged over the moments. +Wrinkles shot from their corners. Sullen light +gleamed in their yellow depths.</p> + +<p>“What happened?” questioned Drew half +rising from his chair and leaning over. “Who +phoned?”</p> + +<p>The Magnate’s chin described an upward arc. +His lips grew firm. Bulges showed at the sides +of his jaw.</p> + +<p>“What—who was it?” asked the detective.</p> + +<p>Stockbridge stared at the letter upon the +table. His neck changed from purple to a pasty +ochre. A green sheen, like of death, overspread +his crafty features. He was stricken with the +clutch of fear.</p> + +<p>Drew waited and thought rapidly. “What +happened?” he asked with persuasion. “Nothing +serious—I hope?”</p> + +<p>“Serious,” said Stockbridge absently. “Serious!” +he snarled. “Yes, it was serious! It +was a death threat! It was what I had expected. +It follows the letter. They—he will get +me! He—he<span style='white-space: nowrap'>––</span>”</p> + +<p>“Who?” asked the detective.</p> + +<p>Drew heard the table creaking as Stockbridge’s +muscles stiffened—as the Magnate’s +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_13'></a>13</span>hands clutched the edge of the polished surface.</p> + +<p>“Who?” he repeated on the alert for possible +clews.</p> + +<p>“Who! I don’t know! But they will—he +will!”</p> + +<p>“Easy,” said Drew. “Take it easy, sir. This +is a modern age. We are in the heart of civilization. +Nobody is going to <i>get</i> you! I’ll see +to that!”</p> + +<p>“You can’t see! This man knows everything. +He said that I would be dead within twelve +hours. That I would be in my grave in seventy-two +hours. He mentioned the grave at Green—Ridgewood Cemetery. He gave secret details +of my life which few alone know. Early follies +of mine. An actress. A deal in War Babies +and an electrical stock which was hushed up. +I was the silent partner in that. How should +this man know all of these things about me?”</p> + +<p>“Just what did he say?”</p> + +<p>“I’ve told you! He said enough! He threatened +to kill me despite all the precautions I +would take. He said I was marked for a death +which all the police in the world couldn’t solve. +That I would be killed in spite of every effort +to save me. What is it—poison? Have I already +been given poison?”</p> + +<p>Drew reached across the table and clutched +the magnate’s left wrist. He pulled out a flat +watch and timed the pulse. “Normal, almost,” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_14'></a>14</span>he said softly. “You’re normal, despite the +shock. Your temperature is fair. I don’t think +it was a toxin he meant. That deadens a man +and brings slow coma.”</p> + +<p>“Well, what did he mean?” The magnate +had found his voice and his old-time nerve. +“What would you do in my case?” he said +cunningly.</p> + +<p>Drew glanced at the telephone. He raised his +brows and swung, full-staring, upon Stockbridge. +His finger pointed between the money-king’s +eyes. It was as steady as an automatic +revolver.</p> + +<p>“Did you recognize that voice?” he asked +sharply. “Tell me the facts. I can’t go ahead +unless you do. I must work from facts!”</p> + +<p>“No!” declared Stockbridge. “No, I did +not! I never heard it before. I<span style='white-space: nowrap'>––</span>”</p> + +<p>“What was it like?”</p> + +<p>“Hollow-whispering—almost feminine in +tone. I thought it was a woman at first. It +wasn’t, though! It was a man or boy.”</p> + +<p>“Have you told me everything?”</p> + +<p>“Yes—except this man or boy—this whispering +voice, wound up by threatening to get my +daughter, Loris, as soon as he finished with me. +Said he’d clean up with her!”</p> + +<p>“I’ll take the case!” snapped Drew.</p> + +<div> +<a id='ch02'></a> +<p class='line mt3 center'><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_15'></a>15</span>CHAPTER TWO</p> +<p class='line mb2 center'>“THE MAGPIE”</p> +</div> + +<p>The Munition Magnate thrust a shaking +hand toward the detective. “I’m glad!” +he declared raising his voice. “You did +well in the Morphy case. That’s the reason I +called upon you. Now find the miscreant or +miscreants, who telephoned the cemetery superintendent, +and you’ll not be forgotten.”</p> + +<p>Drew glanced shrewdly at the ’phone. “May +I use it?” he asked briskly. “I’ll try to trace +that call.”</p> + +<p>Stockbridge moved his chair away from the +little table. Drew glided across the room, +pressed the ash-trays and match-boxes to one +side, and picked up the receiver. He worked +the hook up and down with his broad thumb.</p> + +<p>“Hello! Hello!” he repeated clicking the +hook. “Hello, central! Hello!”</p> + +<p>He glanced at Stockbridge as he waited. He +frowned as he stooped and spoke more directly +into the transmitter. “Hello! Hello!”</p> + +<p>“Something the matter?” asked the Magnate +with quick suspicion. “Don’t they answer?”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_16'></a>16</span>“Hello! Hello! I Hello, there!” Drew glared +at the transmitter, then tapped the receiver +against the silver-plated cover. “Hello!” he +shouted. “Damn it, Hello!”</p> + +<p>He turned. “No go,” he said thoughtfully. +“Connection seems to be broken. I’m talking +right out into thin air. Wonder who cut your +wires?”</p> + +<p>Stockbridge bristled. He slid forward in his +great chair and stared at the detective. +“They’re cut, eh?” he asked.</p> + +<p>Drew set the ’phone on the table and turned. +“Looks mighty like it,” he said. His eyes +swung over the walls of the splendid room. +They rested upon a high, ebony stand with a +belfry from which dangled a gilt spring suspending +an ornate bird cage. Out of this cage, +a magpie peered with beaded eyes. Its tail extended +up through the bars like a feather from +a hat.</p> + +<p>“My bird,” said Stockbridge. “A tame magpie +I brought from Spain. It talks.”</p> + +<p>Drew raised his brows. He continued his +search of the library. Its wealth of books and +paintings and antiques almost stunned him. +“I’m looking for another ’phone,” he said, lowering +his voice to a whisper. “Have you another +’phone in this house?”</p> + +<p>“Yes. Two more. This is Gramercy Hill +9763. The one in Loris’ room is Gramercy Hill +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_17'></a>17</span>9764. Another in the butler’s pantry, downstairs, +is 9765. Perhaps the others are disconnected.”</p> + +<p>“We’ll see. I want that call traced before +it gets cold. I know a wire chief at Gramercy +Hill Exchange. He’ll help if I can get him. +Have your butler show me his ’phone. Also, +we better get a trouble-hunter, or report the +cut wires. Somebody will pay for this! It’s +an outrage and a felony!”</p> + +<p>Stockbridge moved his slippered foot and +pressed a button under the larger table. He +waited, then pressed again. His eyes wavered +about the room. They fastened upon the portières +which draped from the pole across the +doorway leading into the hall. His tongue +moistened dry lips as he watched for the butler.</p> + +<p>“I’ll ’phone my office,” said Drew hurriedly +as steps were heard in the hall. “I’ll get up +five operatives—no, six—right away. This all +may be a hoax, but I’ve lived forty-one years +too long to overlook a threat of this kind. Particularly +when it concerns a man who has made +as many enemies as you have.”</p> + +<p>The butler parted the portières as Drew +ceased speaking. Stockbridge nodded and indicated +that the detective wanted to go downstairs. +The butler led the way to the lower +telephone. Into this, Drew spoke hurriedly and +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_18'></a>18</span>very much to the point. He secured three numbers +in rapid succession. He snapped his orders +in a manner to set the cut-glass tinkling +on the pantry shelves. He hung up the receiver, +glanced shrewdly at the servants about, then +climbed the stairs like a boy of twelve.</p> + +<p>“All is set!” he announced to Stockbridge +as he entered the library and crossed to the +table. “All moving, now! My wire-chief had +gone home. I got the chief operator. She’s +going to send the first trouble-man handy. Delaney +will be up from the office with his flying +squad. I left it to him to arrange about tracing +the call through a telephone official. No use telling +the chief operator too much. The official +will go right over her head and into the heart +of the thing. Now,”—Drew pulled down the +lapels of his black coat and leaned over the +Magnate. “Now,” he said with vigor, “now, +what about your servants? I had a good look +at some of them. How about that English butler? +How long have you had him?”</p> + +<p>“Ten years! Brought him over, myself. +Wife picked the other servants. They’re all +old, tried and trusted. I’ll answer for them. +She died telling me to take care of them. I +don’t think her equal lived in choosing help. +It was uncanny!”</p> + +<p>Drew stroked his cropped mustache. +“Good!” he said. “That’s fine! We’ll start +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_19'></a>19</span>with the supposition that they’re <i>not</i> guilty. +Are any of them of German birth?”</p> + +<p>“My valet is part German, but he ran away +to avoid their army. He hates the Junker +party. Says ‘It is responsible for the War.’”</p> + +<p>“How long have you had him?”</p> + +<p>“Nine years.”</p> + +<p>“That should let him out. Well,” Drew +added with a sweeping glance about the library, +“well, these big windows—how about them?”</p> + +<p>The detective advanced to the front of the +room as he asked the question. “Two,” he +mused. “Two bay-windows of the superior order. +Curtains very heavy and rich. There’s +a good catch on this one,” he added springing +upon the radiator-box. “And a good catch on +this one. Both catches are closed. Seem to +have been closed for some time. Here’s dust. +High-class housekeeper, but I’ve got her here.”</p> + +<p>Drew smiled as he ran his fingers over the +upper sash. He peered out into the Avenue +with its flowing tide of vehicles. He turned +and said to Stockbridge:</p> + +<p>“Suppose you order your butler or doorman +to shut the outside blinds. It’s getting dark +and cold. I want to be sure that no one can +get through this way.”</p> + +<p>“Good,” said Stockbridge reaching for the +button with his toe. “Good! We’ll take every +precaution. Twelve hours will show the thing +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_20'></a>20</span>one way or the other. Twelve hours should do +it.”</p> + +<p>The butler entered bearing a silver tray. He +set this on a mahogany tea-wagon and rolled +it to the Magnate’s chair. Drew frowned at the +sight of a black bottle and one glass. A signal +of understanding had been sent to the perfect +servant.</p> + +<p>Stockbridge moistened his thin lips thirstily. +He whispered the instructions concerning the +blinds. The butler withdrew like a shadow +merging into a shadow. Drew shrugged his +shoulders and went the round of the library +with the keen, trained scrutiny of a man-hunter +and a modern operative. He paused before a +case of morocco-bound books. “These cases?” +he asked. “How about them? What’s behind?”</p> + +<p>“Books! Books!” shrilled the magpie.</p> + +<p>Drew raised his brows and swung upon the +bird.</p> + +<p>“Books! Books!” repeated the pet. “Books, +books, books!”</p> + +<p>“Fine bird,” said Drew with thought. “But +what is behind the cases, Mr. Stockbridge? I +don’t want to move them if the walls are all +right.”</p> + +<p>A glass clicked against the silver tray as the +Magnate answered hastily:</p> + +<p>“All right! They’re all right. I was here +when they were filled. I just ordered so many +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_21'></a>21</span>feet of books. Six hundred feet, I think it was. +I never look at them. All that I ever read is +the magazines and the financial items in the +newspapers.”</p> + +<p>“The pictures—paintings,” Drew said.</p> + +<p>“Pictures! Pictures!” repeated the magpie.</p> + +<p>“Shut up!” snarled Stockbridge. “Keep +quiet, Don!”</p> + +<p>The bird ruffled its feathers and leaped to a +top perch. It peered from there at Drew, with +its head cocked sideways.</p> + +<p>“How about them?” repeated the detective.</p> + +<p>“I had them hung by my orders,” Stockbridge +said. “They’re all right. Nothing but +a strong wall behind. No need to bother about +them.”</p> + +<p>“Everything is important,” Drew suggested +with a slight reproof in his voice. “Trifles may +make for the answer to the riddle.”</p> + +<p>“That Corot over there is no trifle. It cost +me thirty-five thousand dollars in France!”</p> + +<p>Drew lifted the lower edge of the painting +from the wall. Dust fell. He pressed his face +against the paper and looked behind the canvas. +Letting the frame back he tried the same operation +with the other paintings of size.</p> + +<p>“No secret panel, or anything queer,” he +said finally as he dusted his hands. “All’s well +with the walls. Now the floor. How about +trapdoors?”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_22'></a>22</span>“Impossible!” Stockbridge exclaimed. “I’m +sure these rugs have been taken out and cleaned +every time I go to my country-place. A trapdoor +would be noticed!”</p> + +<p>“I’m trying to find out,” suggested Drew +glancing from the bottle to the purple face of +the Magnate. “Please answer me if you want +to get results. I’ve got to see that no one +comes into this library for the next twelve +hours. After that period of time—we can +breathe easier.”</p> + +<p>“Go on,” said Stockbridge feeling the thrust.</p> + +<p>“This door,” Drew said. “The door to the +hall. Can it be locked securely?”</p> + +<p>“Yes! It can be locked and bolted from the +inside. I often lock myself in—in<span style='white-space: nowrap'>––</span>”</p> + +<p>Stockbridge stiffened in his chair. He +glanced toward the portières. He leaned forward +and attempted to shield the view of the +quarter-emptied Bourbon-bottle and the used +glass, as a girl in lavender and Irish-lace swept +into the room.</p> + +<p>Drew recognized Loris Stockbridge from +newspaper photos. He held his breath as she +glided by him, unseeingly. He touched his +mustache and waited. Her face, framed in +close-drawn hair the color of midnight sky, +softened perceptibly as she swished round the +great table in the center of the library and laid +an unjeweled hand upon her father’s shoulder.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_23'></a>23</span>She turned with a start as she realized that +Stockbridge was not alone. Drew bowed with +swift courtesy.</p> + +<p>“Mr. Drew,” said the Magnate. “Mr. Drew, +my daughter, Loris.”</p> + +<p>Again the detective bowed. He met her level +glance with a smile in his brown eyes. She +answered it and leaned over her father’s shoulder. +Drew wheeled and fell to studying the +titles on the books. He moved to the magpie’s +cage. He extended one finger. The bird fluttered +and sprang from perch to perch.</p> + +<p>Drew thrust his hands into his pockets. He +heard Loris speaking in terse, throaty tones to +her father. He could not well avoid catching +the tenor of their conversation. It concerned +the letter from the cemetery and the threat of +death within twelve hours, which the Magnate +repeated to her with a softness in his aged +voice.</p> + +<p>A gushing torrent of unbridled emotion +poured down upon his gray head. The girl +paced the floor between the chair and the table. +She fell to her knees with swift grace.</p> + +<p>“Be careful, father,” she sobbed. “You must +be so careful. Remember you’re all that I have, +now. That letter and that telephone call means +that somebody is planning to destroy you. Oh, +father, be careful. What would happen if you +were taken away from me?”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_24'></a>24</span>“You’d marry that cad—Nichols!” blurted +Stockbridge. “I’m the one thing that stands in +his way. You’d marry him—wouldn’t you?”</p> + +<p>The girl rose proudly. Drew, from the shadow +outside the rose-light, studied the slender +figure crowned with a close-drawn turban of +blue-black hair. His eyes ranged down to her +slipper heels. They lifted again. He stroked +his chin as he waited for her answer. It came +truthfully enough and with high spirit.</p> + +<p>“Yes, I’ll marry him some day. I want your +permission, but with it or without it, father, +I am going to marry him. He’s a captain in +the Army. Doesn’t that prove he is not all the +things you said he was?”</p> + +<p>“Good girl,” said Drew in whispered admiration.</p> + +<p>“It proves nothing!” exclaimed Stockbridge +stiffening in his chair and half rising. “He’s +a cad and an ass under all his uniform. He’s +too poor to be considered for one moment. I +want my daughter to marry<span style='white-space: nowrap'>––</span>”</p> + +<p>“Whom she pleases,” said Loris. “Harry +may be poor, but he’s not too proud to fight!”</p> + +<p>“Bah! They get those uniforms so the girls +will notice them. What does he know about +war?”</p> + +<p>“He’s been at Plattsburg for three months. +He’s in town on furlough. He’s helping us with +Red Cross work. Isn’t that noble!”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_25'></a>25</span>“That part’s all right,” said the Magnate. +“I want you to keep him from me, that’s all. +I believe he’s half German!”</p> + +<p>“He’s not! Harry is all-American. His +mother was born of German parents in this +country. His father was Canadian. You’ve +heard of the Nichols who built part of the +Grand Trunk Railroad. Was he German?”</p> + +<p>Stockbridge paled under the torrent which +gushed from the girl’s lips.</p> + +<p>“Well, all right,” he said resignedly. “Don’t +bring him here or allow him to call. I’ve too +much to think about to worry over Harry +Nichols. You better go to your room and think +things over.”</p> + +<p>Loris glanced at her wrist-watch. She leaned +with quick motion and kissed her father on the +forehead. She turned at the portières and +threw back her head.</p> + +<p>“Good-by, Mr. Drew,” she said prettily. “I +hope that you have not been annoyed.”</p> + +<p>The detective, naturally quick at answering, +found his tongue tied in his mouth. He stammered +a reply, which was too late. Loris +swished through the curtains, leaving the room +empty for her passing.</p> + +<p>“A mighty fine girl,” was Drew’s whispered +comment. “They don’t often come like that. +She’s very high class. She’s got spirit. I’d +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_26'></a>26</span>hate to snatch a delusion from that young +lady—Harry Nichols, for instance.”</p> + +<p>“Come here!” broke in Stockbridge.</p> + +<p>Drew crossed the rugs. He stood by the +magnate’s side. He watched him pour out a +half-glass of Bourbon and take the whisky neat. +He frowned. “Well?” he asked.</p> + +<p>“Not a word from your men or the telephone +company?” asked Stockbridge, wiping his +mouth with the back of his hand. “That’s +queer, isn’t it?”</p> + +<p>Drew took out his watch. He replaced it +after a glance at the dial. His eyes wandered +to a little Sèvres clock on a book-case. “It’s +time for both,” he said. “It’s<span style='white-space: nowrap'>––</span>”</p> + +<p>“There’s somebody now—go see,” Stockbridge +whispered tersely. “Somebody is in the +hallway.”</p> + +<p>The portières parted and revealed the beef-red +face of the English butler. He advanced +a step.</p> + +<p>“The trouble-man from the telephone company +is ’ere, sir,” he said. “’E’s ’ere! ’E’s +been hover the junctions in the halley, sir. ’E’s +looked at the junction-box. ’E says, sir, there’s +no trouble there. ’E says ‘it must be in ’ere, +sir.’”</p> + +<p>“In ’ere, sir,” repeated the magpie with a +loud squawking and rustle of wings. “Junction-box! +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_27'></a>27</span>Junction-box!” it cried with its head +through the gilded bars.</p> + +<p>“Shut up, Don!” ordered Stockbridge. “Be +a good bird,” he added sharply. “Now, Straker, +you may show the trouble-hunter up.”</p> + +<p>“Trouble-hunter! Trouble-hunter!” echoed +the magpie.</p> + +<p>Drew, somewhat amused, thrust his hands in +the pockets of his coat and eyed the opening +between the curtains. A click of tools sounded +metallically. A shambling step was in the hallway.</p> + +<p>“This woiy,” said the butler in a superior +tone. “Right this woiy, you!”</p> + +<p>The portières parted. A slouching figure, +with a greasy cap drawn far down over the +eyes, entered the library with a lineman’s satchel +on his hip. He swung the strap from his +shoulder, glanced at Stockbridge and then at +the detective. He dropped the satchel to the +floor and scratched his head.</p> + +<p>“Take a look at this ’phone,” said Drew. +“Go over the wires. Look for any cuts. The +trouble ought not to be in here.”</p> + +<p>Stockbridge rose and made room for the lineman, +who lifted the satchel and strode to the +’phone. He dropped to one knee by the little +table. He fished forth a testing-set from his +shirt. It was bound with two leads of cotton-insulated +wire.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_28'></a>28</span>“I’ll test here,” he suggested, clamping a set +of claws into the wires which came through the +molding and entered the ringing-box.</p> + +<p>“Hello!” he said. “Hello, this you, Saidee? +Say, Saidee, give me Franklin Official, seventeen. +Yes ... all right! Hello! This you, +Tupper? Say, Tupper, I went over the junction-box +in the alley back of the house. Everything +O. K. there. I’ll go over the leads in the +house. Loose connection somewhere, I guess.”</p> + +<p>A clicking of tools followed as the lineman +selected a pair of pliers. They rattled over the +binding-posts at the receiver. They tightened +the connections. He went over the transmitter, +and then every inch of the exposed wiring. He +removed the cover of the ringing-box and examined +the connections. Replacing this cover, he +rose with a puzzled expression.</p> + +<p>“All right,” he said to Stockbridge, who was +standing with his back turned. “It’s all right +here, sir. I don’t find a thing. See—it’s all +right.”</p> + +<p>The trouble-hunter lifted the receiver from +the hook. “Hello,” he said in a low voice. +“Hello, Saidee. Say, Saidee, what number is +this on your board?”</p> + +<p>The lineman glanced around the room. His +eyes widened. He whistled with naïve admiration. +“Hello,” he said softly. “Yes ... Gramercy +Hill 9763. That’s right. O.K. Tell +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_29'></a>29</span>Franklin Official—tell Tupper that I took forty +minutes on the job. Forty minutes at time and +a half. Don’t forget that. Yes ... bridle—everything, +all right, Saidee. See you later.”</p> + +<p>The trouble-hunter reached for his satchel. +He hitched it over his shoulder.</p> + +<p>“Hold on!” said Drew. “What <i>was</i> the +trouble? Why couldn’t we get Central?”</p> + +<p>“You can search me—sir. It wasn’t in this +room, mister. That’s a Western-Union cinch!”</p> + +<p>“Where was it?”</p> + +<p>“I don’t know.”</p> + +<p>“How about the junction-box in the alley? +Could it have been there?”</p> + +<p>“Well it could—come to think of it. I scraped +an’ cleaned th’ connections to make sure. +They’re all right now.”</p> + +<p>“Did you see anybody about?”</p> + +<p>The lineman hitched up the satchel and +scratched his ear. “Seems to me, I did. A fellow +climbed over the fence from the back yard +of this house just as I swings in from the side +street. It was snowin’ a bit an’ I couldn’t see +very well.”</p> + +<p>“What kind of looking fellow?” snapped +Drew with awakened interest. “German?”</p> + +<p>“You took th’ very words right out of my +mouth,” said the trouble-hunter. “He looked +like a German.”</p> + +<p>“Describe him! Tall, fat or small?”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_30'></a>30</span>“I wasn’t near enough to notice for sure. +Tall, I think. He went out the alley and turned +toward Fifth Avenue.”</p> + +<p>“Could he have called us up from that junction-box?”</p> + +<p>“Sure—if he had a set of testers like this.” +The lineman tapped his shirt with his left hand. +“He could have talked with you, but he couldn’t +ring your bell without a magneto or an alternating +current of some kind.”</p> + +<p>“Could he have cut the wires and connected +them again without Central noticing anything +out of the ordinary?”</p> + +<p>“He might. But who would do that, sir?”</p> + +<p>“That’s all!” said Drew in dismissal. +“Here’s a dollar. Keep still about your visit +here. We may want you later.”</p> + +<p>“Want you later,” repeated the magpie.</p> + +<p>Drew turned toward Stockbridge as the lineman +shuffled through the portières. “Queer,” +he said. “Tall fellow, eh! That’s the man who +cut in and threatened you. We’ll get him! I’ll +go out and see if Delaney has arrived. Two +hours of the twelve have passed. Ten more +should see you safely out of it.”</p> + +<div> +<a id='ch03'></a> +<p class='line mt3 center'><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_31'></a>31</span>CHAPTER THREE</p> +<p class='line mb2 center'>“THE MAN IN OLIVE-DRAB”</p> +</div> + +<p>Triggy Drew stood on the marble steps +of the Stockbridge mansion. The butler +had just helped him on with his coat. The +door had closed softly. The outer air gripped +with cold that crackled. A soft snow was falling +upon the city. It blurred the view of the +Avenue, as seen to north and south. It wound +the opposite buildings with a shroud of winter.</p> + +<p>The detective squared his shoulders, thrust +his hands in his pockets for warmth, and hurried +out between the iron-grilled gates, which +stood slightly ajar. He hesitated a moment on +the sidewalk. Again he glanced up and down +the Avenue. The soft purring of a motor +sounded. A taxi churned through the snow. It +came to a slow stop at the opposite curb. The +glow from an overhead arc showed that this +taxi was crammed black with men.</p> + +<p>“That’s Delaney and his squad,” said the +detective turning up his collar. “He’s late.”</p> + +<p>Drew crossed the Avenue on a long diagonal. +He eyed the alert chauffeur. He rounded the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_32'></a>32</span>taxi and jerked open its door. The orders he +whispered to the squad of operatives were terse +and to the point.</p> + +<p>“Keep Stockbridge’s block covered,” he said. +“Watch all four corners. Two of you get into +the alley, back of the house, and climb the fence. +Keep your eyes on the junction-box and the +telephone wires. Don’t let anybody touch them. +All out, now. It’s a big job with double-pay, +men!”</p> + +<p>The cramped operatives climbed out and +stood on the sidewalk. They glanced from Drew +to the towering spires of the Stockbridge mansion. +Their eyes grew hard with calculation.</p> + +<p>“She’s big,” repeated Drew. “You know +who lives there? He’s been threatened twice. +Somebody gave him twelve hours to live. Two +of the twelve are gone. It’s up to us to see +that nothing happens in the next ten.”</p> + +<p>Delaney touched his hat. “All right, Chief,” +he said. “We’ll see. I’ll answer for the boys +I brought. I’ll get rid of this taxi.” The operative +turned toward the driver.</p> + +<p>“Keep it around the corner on the side +street,” Drew ordered. “Have him turn and +head this way. We can’t tell what minute we +will need him.”</p> + +<p>Delaney gave the order. He paired off the +operatives and sent them hurrying through the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_33'></a>33</span>snow. Drew noticed that he had brought six +men for the assignment.</p> + +<p>“Good,” he said as the last operative disappeared. +“Six is better than five. This thing +is widening out. I wouldn’t wonder if we needed +more, before the night passes.”</p> + +<p>“What’s coming off?” asked Delaney with +an Irish grin. “Another stock scandal like the +Flying Boat one?”</p> + +<p>“An echo of it—perhaps,” said Drew. “It’s +dog eat dog, I guess. Stockbridge is no saint. +Some man with a whispering—consumptive +voice has ’phoned him the news that he was +going to die before daylight. I don’t think he +is. Not if I can help it.”</p> + +<p>“Who did he rob this time—the old devil!”</p> + +<p>“He’s retired. It’s a case, perhaps, of thieves +falling out in high places. Remember how +Stockbridge beat Morphy to the District Attorney +and told all he knew, and went before the +Grand Jury? Morphy may be behind this +threat-by-wire.”</p> + +<p>“Morphy’s behind bars, Chief!”</p> + +<p>“I know that. He’s always dangerous, +though.”</p> + +<p>“Another old devil,” said Delaney thrashing +his arms. “I can see him now, Chief, in his +big automobile. A husky man with a leather +coat and cap. And always a woman by his side, +Chief. A different woman, every time!”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_34'></a>34</span>“He fell a long way, Delaney. Come on. +We’ll forget Morphy for a while. Stockbridge +is alone. He is in danger.”</p> + +<p>Drew clutched the operative’s arm and motioned +across the street. They plunged through +the snow with heads down. They entered the +iron-grilled gate. Drew touched a button set +in the stone of the doorway. He repeated the +signal.</p> + +<p>The door opened to a crack. A chain rattled. +A face blotted out the inner light of the mansion.</p> + +<p>“All right,” said Drew. “All right, butler. +This is one of my operatives. Let us in.”</p> + +<p>The butler led the way through the hall of +old masters, after taking the detectives’ coats +and hats. He parted the curtains and announced +the operatives. Drew pressed Delaney into the +library.</p> + +<p>Stockbridge sat in the same position between +the tables. The rose-light from the ornate lamp +brought out deep lines which transversed his +yellow face. Fear gave way to a mumbling satisfaction +as he stared at the two resolute detectives +who had come to guard him. He rested +his eyes upon Delaney. His brows raised in +inquiry.</p> + +<p>“This is Delaney,” said Drew. “He’s the +man who brought back Morphy from Hartford. +He’s true blue. Delaney, this is your case as +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_35'></a>35</span>well as mine. Your old prisoner may be involved.”</p> + +<p>“Morphy ain’t in it, Chief. He’s locked up +tighter than the Sub-Treasury’s strong-box. +It’s some one else.”</p> + +<p>“What did you get on the telephone call? +The call I had you trace through Spencer Ott, +the Chief Electrician?”</p> + +<p>“Nothing, as yet! I waited. That’s what +kept me so long.” Delaney glanced at his +watch.</p> + +<p>“He’ll ’phone later, I guess,” said Drew. +“Now,” he added turning toward Stockbridge. +“Now, let’s cover everything in this house. +What time was it, Delaney?”</p> + +<p>“Nine forty-eight, when I looked, Chief.”</p> + +<p>“That’s early. Suppose you allow a half +hour for a search of the upper house. Take +that time and go over everything. Pay particular +attention to Mr. Stockbridge’s rooms. Look +at the windows. See that they are locked. See +that there are no places where a man could be +hidden. You’ll permit Delaney to do this, Mr. +Stockbridge?”</p> + +<p>The Munition Magnate nodded. He kept his +eyes on Drew, who still faced him. “Do you +think it is necessary?” he asked. “I’ll answer +for my servants.”</p> + +<p>“We must suspect everybody,” Drew said. +“Go on, Delaney. Find the butler and let +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_36'></a>36</span>him show you around. I’ve searched in here.”</p> + +<p>Delaney started toward the portières as +Stockbridge reached down and pressed the +floor-button with his finger.</p> + +<p>“Just a moment,” said Drew with afterthought. +“You better knock on Miss Stockbridge’s +door and ask permission to go through +her suite. There’s just a chance that you might +see something.”</p> + +<p>“Might see something!” shrilled the magpie.</p> + +<p>Delaney turned with a startled half-oath. +“Wot’s that?” he asked, aggressively clenching +his huge fists.</p> + +<p>“Might be something!” chortled the magpie.</p> + +<p>“Go on,” Drew laughed. “That’s only a +magpie.”</p> + +<p>“Looks like a crow, Chief. It sure startled +me. I thought we had the villain right here.”</p> + +<p>Drew waited. Delaney—with a last glance +toward the bird-cage—followed the butler to the +upper floors of the mansion. Drew opened the +letter and studied it. He examined the postmark. +He heard, as he was replacing the paper +in the envelope, the click of the glass against +the bottle at Stockbridge’s side. There followed +a dry chuckle of inner satisfaction. A +match was struck. Cigar smoke wreathed under +the rose-light and floated toward a high +radiator which was over the book-cases. Drew +went over to these and glanced upward. The +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_37'></a>37</span>gilt-grilled ventilator, through which the smoke +passed, was narrow and set within the wallplaster. +It showed no sign of marks at its edge. +It was the only opening, save the door and the +two great windows at the front, which led from +or into the library.</p> + +<p>He returned to the center of the library. A +swishing sounded. Loris, with eyes aflame, +glided into the room. The curtains dropped +behind her with soft rustling. She glanced from +Drew to her father. She stamped her slippered +foot upon the thick pile of the rug before the +doorway.</p> + +<p>“By what right?” she said to Drew. “By +whose orders have you sent that awful man +to my rooms?”</p> + +<p>Drew flushed beneath the olive of his skin.</p> + +<p>“<i>I</i> sent him,” he admitted guiltily. “I never +thought you would be offended, Miss Stockbridge.”</p> + +<p>“I am—greatly so! Do you mistrust me?”</p> + +<p>“Miss Stockbridge,” Drew hastened to say +with soft apology. “Miss Loris—that thought +never entered my mind. It never did! I’ll have +Mr. Delaney out, right away. He should not +have gone in without your permission. I told +him to knock and ask you.”</p> + +<p>“My maid let him in. I—I<span style='white-space: nowrap'>––</span>”</p> + +<p>Drew studied her gown. It had been changed. +The Irish lace and the lavender one had been +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_38'></a>38</span>replaced by an Oxford-gray tailor-made suit +which fitted her slender, elegant form like a +close glove. Her slippers were topped with +fawn-hued spats. One ring was on her finger. +It was a solitaire of price. It gleamed and +flashed in the rose-light as she raised her hand +to her hair.</p> + +<p>“I’ll have Delaney right out,” repeated +Drew, bowing and starting for the doorway.</p> + +<p>“No!”</p> + +<p>Drew paused. He turned. The magnate towered +over the table. His eyes were blood-shot +and glazed with resolve.</p> + +<p>“No!” he declared. “No, you’ll not have +him out! Let him do his duty! Loris, go upstairs!”</p> + +<p>“But, father<span style='white-space: nowrap'>––</span>”</p> + +<p>“Go—up—stairs!”</p> + +<p>The girl flushed. Scarlet ripples rose from +her young breast. Her cheeks crimsoned into +two burning spots. She wheeled, gathered up +her skirt, and glided swiftly through the portières +which dropped behind her like a curtain +of a stage.</p> + +<p>“Go—up—stairs,” quoted the magpie greatly +excited.</p> + +<p>Drew retained the vision of Loris long after +her footsteps had ceased to sound in the hallway. +He grew thoughtful as he waited. There +were details to the case which already caused +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_39'></a>39</span>him concern. It was evident that the girl was +tremendously high-spirited and willful. Her +obedience to her father’s demand had only been +after a struggle with her turbulent nature. She +had given in to him, but friction was there +which might cause trouble at a future hour.</p> + +<p>Delaney parted the portières, finally. He +strode into the library with a flushed face. He +lifted one brow as he jerked his head upward +in a mute signal to Drew.</p> + +<p>“I guess it’s all O. K.,” he blurted swinging +toward Stockbridge and eyeing the bottle beside +the telephone. “O. K. upstairs. I searched +most everything—posted a valet at the master’s +suite and took a look into Miss Stockbridge’s +rooms. They seem all right. I guess they’re +all right,” he added with candor, which Drew +understood referred to the girl and her outburst +in her boudoir.</p> + +<p>“Good,” Drew said closing his lips. “That’s +good. Now, Mr. Stockbridge,” he added, +“there will be eight of us on the outside of +this house. You have your trusted servants +inside. There’s three telephones in good order, +thanks to the trouble-man. There’s the entire +New York Police and Detective Departments to +back us up. There should be no trouble.”</p> + +<p>The Magnate blinked beneath the cone of +rose-light. He wet his dry lips. He rubbed his +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_40'></a>40</span>scaly hands. “Any orders to me?” he asked +determinedly. “What shall I do?”</p> + +<p>“You lock this library door when Delaney +and I go out. Lock it and bolt it securely. +Don’t take a particle of food. Don’t drink any +water. Try to get along to-night without sampling +anything.”</p> + +<p>Stockbridge reached for the bottle of Bourbon. +He held it up to the light. It was half +full. “All right,” said he. “I might finish +part of this—that’s all.”</p> + +<p>Drew glanced at Delaney. “That’ll be all +right,” he said turning. “That bottle’s been +tested. You might let this officer try a little of +it. Nothing like being sure, you know.”</p> + +<p>Delaney was willing. The drink he poured, +after the butler brought a clean glass, would +have cost him considerable money in war time. +He upended it neat. He smiled as one hand +rested upon his chest. “Fine!” he said with +sincerity. “There’s nothin’ th’ matter with +that!”</p> + +<p>Drew turned toward the portières, where, between, +the butler waited. “We’ll go now,” he +said. “Remember—lock and bolt this door. Instruct +your man to stay outside and not to leave +it under any circumstances. When you go up +to your bedroom, have him go with you. Then +lock the upstairs door and let your valet sleep +across the threshold. You can have a mattress +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_41'></a>41</span>moved for that purpose. I’ll come in—first +thing in the morning. Good night, sir!”</p> + +<p>“Good night,” repeated Stockbridge rising +from his chair and leaning his hands upon the +polished surface of the table. “Good night to +both of you!”</p> + +<p>Drew glanced back as the butler pressed in +the curtains and started closing the hardwood +door. The Magnate still stood erect under the +rich glow from the overhead cone. His eyes +were slit-lidded and defiant. He glared about +the room like an aged lion in a jungle-glade. He +started around the table.</p> + +<p>The door closed. Drew waited in the hallway. +He heard the lock snap. The bolt shot +home. Stockbridge was alone in a sealed room.</p> + +<p>“Watch this door!” ordered Drew clutching +the butler’s purple sleeve. “Watch it like a +cat. Stay right near it under any and all circumstances. +Don’t go away from it. It may +mean life or death to your master.”</p> + +<p>“I’ll stoiy right ’ere, sir.”</p> + +<p>“See that you do,” cautioned the Detective. +“See that you do.”</p> + +<p>Delaney found the hats and coats in the +foyer. These they donned, opened the outer +door, and stepped into the night with jaws +squared and hands thrust deep in their pockets.</p> + +<p>They crossed the snow-mantled Avenue upon +a long diagonal which brought them to the up-town +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_42'></a>42</span>corner and the waiting taxi, whose engine +was softly purring beneath its hooded bonnet.</p> + +<p>The driver was asleep. He woke as Drew +laid a hand on his arm.</p> + +<p>“Seen anything?” asked the Detective.</p> + +<p>“Nothin’, boss, but snow. Nothin’ at all,” +he yawned.</p> + +<p>Delaney glanced about. He opened the taxi +door on the street side and lunged inward with +a sigh of relief. Drew followed and pulled the +door shut.</p> + +<p>“Where’s the bunch?” he asked. “Just how +did you post them?”</p> + +<p>“Flood’s with the fixed-post cop on the Avenue. +He’s down a block. Flynn and Cassady +are in the alley—in the yard, I mean. They’re +watching the junction-box and the wires. Joe +and O’Toole went east. Harrigan is planted +across the street. That’s him between the two +buildings. See him?”</p> + +<p>Drew rubbed the rear glass of the taxi. He +pressed his nose against this. A blurred form, +almost obliterated by falling snow, showed +where the operative was guarding the mansion.</p> + +<p>Delaney, who was watching out through another +window, suddenly clutched Drew by the +arm. “Look!” he exclaimed. “Look, Chief! +Over toward the big house!”</p> + +<p>The Detective drew back from his study of +Harrigan. He turned on the seat and followed +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_43'></a>43</span>Delaney’s pointing finger. He clamped his jaw +shut with a click of strong teeth.</p> + +<p>“Somebody’s coming out of Stockbridge’s,” +said the operative.</p> + +<p>“Quek!” signaled Drew. “Watch, closely,” +he added in a whisper.</p> + +<p>A girl came through the doorway and opened +the iron-grilled gates. She paused and glanced +north and south through the curtain of down-falling +snow. She turned with resolution and +hurried along the east side of the Avenue. She +was at the corner opposite the taxi, when Drew +reached and opened the door with sly fingers.</p> + +<p>“Tail her,” he ordered. “Right after her, +Delaney. I’d know that little lady in a million.”</p> + +<p>“Who is she, Chief?”</p> + +<p>“Loris Stockbridge!”</p> + +<p>“Sure?”</p> + +<p>“Yes! Right after her! There—she turned +east. See her white spats? See her furs? +Some queen to be out a night like this. Don’t +let her get too far ahead of you. That’s right, +Delaney!”</p> + +<p>The operative sprang to the curb. He rounded +the hood of the taxi. He slouched along +the pavement to the corner, waited for the fraction +of a minute until a limousine passed, then +hurried over the Avenue. He disappeared into +the canyon whose walls were towering apartments +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_44'></a>44</span>and whose end was marked by a row +of soft arcs across which, snow falling from +housetops, sparkled in the night like diamonds +beyond price.</p> + +<p>The Avenue churned with returning theater-parties +and night-hawk cabs. The roar of the +city came to the waiting Detective’s ears like +a giant turning in his first sleep. The sifting +snow sanded against the windows of the taxi. +The purring motor missed sparking now and +then. It shook the cab as it resumed its revolving +with a sputter and a cough in the muffler. +The driver huddled deeper in his sheep-skin +coat collar. He snored in synchronism with the +engine.</p> + +<p>Drew rubbed the glass before him and studied +the aspect with close-lidded intentness. He +marked the shut gates of the Mansion down the +Avenue. He saw that the lights from the inner +globes had been extinguished. He counted the +staring windows. His eyes lowered to the soft +rose-glow which streamed out through the shut +blinds of the library. Snow was on the slats +and sills.</p> + +<p>A swift crunch of heavy shoes at the side of +the taxi—the turning of the door-lock—the +burly form in black that climbed in, announced +Delaney.</p> + +<p>“All right, Chief!” he said somewhat out of +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_45'></a>45</span>breath. “All right—move over. Here she +comes back!”</p> + +<p>Drew rubbed a frosted pane with his elbow. +A blurred form—close to the sheltering wall of +the side street—revealed itself into Loris +Stockbridge. She turned the corner. She +glanced back over her sabled shoulder. She +pressed her gloved hands deep within her muff +and almost ran for the iron-grilled gates of the +mansion.</p> + +<p>“She connected with a blonde lad in olive-drab +uniform!” said Delaney. “He gave her +something that looked to me like a revolver. +Wot d’ye make out-a that, Chief?”</p> + +<div> +<a id='ch04'></a> +<p class='line mt3 center'><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_46'></a>46</span>CHAPTER FOUR</p> +<p class='line mb2 center'>“THE MURDER”</p> +</div> + +<p>Triggy Drew had no good answer for +Delaney’s question concerning the revolver. +The matter was important in +view of the threat aimed toward Stockbridge. +Why Loris should obtain a gun from a rendezvous +in a drug-store was more than the Detective +could fathom. He turned to Delaney.</p> + +<p>“Explain yourself!” he snapped, gripping +the operative by the sleeve. “Make yourself +clear! We have no time to waste in this matter!”</p> + +<p>Delaney gulped and whispered. “It’s this +way. I follows the girl until she turns around +the corner where there is an all-night drug-store. +She was in a telephone-booth when I +came up and looked through the window. She +was trying to get a number. While she’s trying, +a taxi rushes up and out jumps a lad in a +long benny. He pays the driver with a bill and +hurries past me and into the drug-store. I gets +a good look at him. He’s about twenty-three +years old, blonde hair and tall<span style='white-space: nowrap'>––</span>”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_47'></a>47</span>“Tall?”</p> + +<p>“He was five feet eleven, Chief. I’d say that +to be safe. The uniform he wore under the +benny was olive-drab with bars on his shoulder. +He took the overcoat off—afterwards.”</p> + +<p>“How many bars?”</p> + +<p>“Two, Chief.”</p> + +<p>“That’s good!” exclaimed Drew with sudden +vigor. “Good!”</p> + +<p>“The girl,” went on Delaney, “was ’phoning +for him. She dropped the receiver when she +heard him come in. She had the party she +wanted—right there. Good deduction—that +is!”</p> + +<p>The Detective snorted. “Go on,” he said +with a faint frown.</p> + +<p>“Sure it was! Well, I moves over and starts +puttin’ a penny in the slot-machine outside the +drug-store. The machine didn’t work very +well on account of the snow. I’m a long time +gettin’ my piece of chewin’-gum. I sees them +talking in the drug-store. His coat is off ’cause +it’s warm inside. He had an officer’s uniform +on.”</p> + +<p>“One bar or two?”</p> + +<p>“Two bars on his shoulder, Chief.”</p> + +<p>“Captain, then. Go on.”</p> + +<p>“He’s a tall lad with thick lips and wide-blue +eyes. He’s straight as a pike-staff and good +lookin’—for a blonde.”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_48'></a>48</span>“Looks German?”</p> + +<p>“Not so I could notice! Seemed to be a bit +of a swell. Had gloves and a high-class wrist +watch. I hate them things.”</p> + +<p>Drew smiled. “Hurry,” he said. “Don’t +take too long. What happened? What about +the smoke-wagon?”</p> + +<p>“I’m comin’ to it, Chief. They moves over +to the drug-case. They chins some more. Then +he blows her to a soda—a cherry sundae.”</p> + +<p>Drew rubbed the glass at his side and started +out. He swept the mansion with swift-running +eyes. He turned.</p> + +<p>“They were sweet—them two,” went on Delaney +with thought. “I deducts they’d known +each other a long while.”</p> + +<p>“Quit your deducting. Get to facts!”</p> + +<p>“Well, Chief, he ups and gives the drug-store +the once over with sharp looks. Then he handed +her a little, flat box which she pops into her +muff—quick as any shop-hister. It was as +quick as that!”</p> + +<p>“How do you know it was a revolver?”</p> + +<p>“By what followed, Chief.”</p> + +<p>“What followed?”</p> + +<p>“Her hand creeps into the muff. It works +around while the clerk is mixin’ the sundae. +When the clerk’s back is turned, out comes the +hilt of a nice, little gat with ivory trimmin’s. +It’s one of them lovely watch-charm affairs—all +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_49'></a>49</span>polished up without a knock-out punch.”</p> + +<p>“A twenty-two?”</p> + +<p>“About that. It’s the caliber them actresses +carry in their stockings. It might kill, though, +at short range.”</p> + +<p>“Go on, Delaney. Tell me what happened +then?”</p> + +<p>“I gets my chewin’-gum, Chief. I backs to +the curb. They finish their sundae. I’m across +the street when the lad goose-steps out of the +drug-store—alone. O’Toole was talking with +the fixed-post cop and a Central Office man +half-way down the block. They gets my office +when I pulls out my handkerchief. The C. O. +dick covers the corner. O’Toole falls in behind +the lad in the fur benny as he passes him, with +collar turned up and leggins working at a double-time +through the snow.”</p> + +<p>“That’s good! O’Toole will put him to bed.”</p> + +<p>“Sure, Chief. Leave it to O’Toole. He never +lost a tail yet. He’ll follow that lad to France—unless you +call him off.”</p> + +<p>Drew polished the glass and strained his eyes +in the direction of Stockbridge’s mansion. The +Avenue had quieted over the hour after midnight. +A few belated pedestrians, muffled to the +brows, glanced at the waiting taxi with curiosity. +They did not stop, however.</p> + +<p>Delaney drew out his watch and studied its +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_50'></a>50</span>dial by aid of the light which streamed from a +corner arc. He replaced the watch.</p> + +<p>“Twelve-forty-five,” he announced. “Wish +I’d brought a pint along. I would have, if the +dame hadn’t come out of the drug-store so +quick.”</p> + +<p>“Did she buy anything—or do anything, +after the officer left her?”</p> + +<p>“No! Just waited a second, then came sailin’ +out without a smile. Had her hands crammed +in her muff. That’s where the revolver was. +Bet it was loaded.”</p> + +<p>“More deduction,” said Drew. “Don’t jump +at conclusions, Delaney. Get facts and work +from them. Get<span style='white-space: nowrap'>––</span>”</p> + +<p>The Detective’s voice trailed into silence. He +reached swiftly and wiped his hand over the +frosted pane. He pressed his nose against the +glass until it became white with cold. He +jerked back his head.</p> + +<p>“Quek!” he signaled from deep down in his +throat. “Quek, Delaney! Open the door. +Somebody is coming out of the house!”</p> + +<p>Delaney twisted the handle. A breath of +stinging air swept into the taxi’s heated space. +Snow followed and drifted across the detectives’ +knees. Both men strained in one position. +Their eyes burned as they waited with +grim-set lips.</p> + +<p>A light shone from the lower entrance of the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_51'></a>51</span>mansion. Its oblong brought out in bold-relief +the details of the iron-grilled gates. Across +this fine snow sifted. A man emerged. He +closed the door. He opened the gates and staggered +toward the Avenue’s curb. He stood, +bare-headed in the night. His chin swung +north and south with helpless motion. He fixed +his eyes upon the waiting taxi, with a start of +recognition. He came over the surface of the +Avenue with faltering, bewildered steps.</p> + +<p>“The butler!” snapped Drew. “That’s +Stockbridge’s butler! What’s happened?”</p> + +<p>“God only knows!” exclaimed Delaney.</p> + +<p>Drew climbed over the operative and sprang +to the curb. He charged around the rear of the +taxi and brought up with a jerk before the +startled servant.</p> + +<p>“What is it?” he asked sharply.</p> + +<p>The butler stammered an incoherent answer. +His eyes wavered from the taxi to the mansion—then back again. +They gripped to a dead-lock +with the detective’s own.</p> + +<p>“What happened?” exclaimed Drew.</p> + +<p>“I don’t know, sir. I don’t know<span style='white-space: nowrap'>––</span>”</p> + +<p>“Keep cool! Answer me!” The Detective +clutched the butler’s shoulder with a vise-grip.</p> + +<p>“Answer me,” he repeated. “What happened? +What is the matter—over there?”</p> + +<p>“I don’t<span style='white-space: nowrap'>––</span>”</p> + +<p>“None of that! Answer! Answer!”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_52'></a>52</span>“The telephone company, sir. The telephone +people rang me ... they rang me hup hon the +downstairs ’phone, sir. They said ... she +said ... the chief-loidy said for me to ’ang the +receiver hup hon the Gramercy ’ill ’ook, sir. +The 9763 one, sir.”</p> + +<p>“Which one is that—the library?”</p> + +<p>“It his, sir!”</p> + +<p>“Go on! Go on! Go on!”</p> + +<p>“I goes back where I ’ad left the second-man, +sir, by the door, sir, as you’d ordered, sir. I +knocks ’ard on the door.”</p> + +<p>“Yes! Yes!” said Drew, feeling Delaney’s +hot breath over his shoulder. “Yes! Go on!”</p> + +<p>“I knocks, sir. I pounds ’ard. I ’ammers +and ’ammers hon the wood, sir. ’E don’t answer—’e +don’t.”</p> + +<p>Drew’s face grew stern. “Well?” he asked +still holding the butler’s eyes. “Well—what +then?”</p> + +<p>“I knocks some ’arder. Then the second-man, +’e knocks. ’E ’its the door with ’is ’eel, +sir!”</p> + +<p>“Come on!” said Drew, turning and clasping +Delaney’s sleeve. “Come on—something <i>is</i> +wrong!”</p> + +<p>The detective swept the Avenue with a sharp +glance as he hurried across the wheel-churned +ice and snow. He signaled to Harrigan by +drawing a handkerchief. That operative detached +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_53'></a>53</span>himself from the shadow between the +two houses and moved toward the corner. He +stood there on guard as Drew hurried through +the iron-grilled gates and thrust his knee +against the door. It opened. Delaney and the +butler crowded in. They mounted the inner +stairs on tiptoes. Drew’s hand went behind +him in warning. He turned at the top of the +landing. The second-man was standing before +the library door with folded arms and a watchdog +expression on his cockney face. He remained +in that position as Drew glided to his +side.</p> + +<p>“Hear anything?” asked the detective.</p> + +<p>“Never a word, sir. Hit’s blym quiet hin +there. Hi think ’e’s ’ad something ’appen, sir. +’E never acted like that—before, sir. Sometimes +’e sleeps, but ’e always wakes hup when +the walley comes after ’im, sir.”</p> + +<p>“’E does,” echoed the butler with chattering +teeth.</p> + +<p>“Are you sure you tried to unlock this +door?” queried Drew, twisting the knob. +“Have you tried the outer lock? You might +have shot the bolt in your excitement.”</p> + +<p>“The key to the houter lock, sir, is hinside!”</p> + +<p>“It is!” snapped Drew, pressing against the +panel as he listened close up to the chamfering. +“It is, eh? That’s funny.”</p> + +<p>“’E put hit there, sir. The master did, sir!”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_54'></a>54</span>Drew did not dwell further on this. He +stared at Delaney, with unseeing eyes. He bent +and listened for a second time. He stiffened +suddenly. He jerked back.</p> + +<p>“Listen,” he whispered tersely. “Everybody +listen. What’s that noise inside? Hear +it? Hear it, Delaney?”</p> + +<p>The operative dropped to his knees and +pressed his ear to a faint line of light below the +door. He rose, dusting his knees. He swore +audibly.</p> + +<p>“What is it?” asked Drew.</p> + +<p>“Sounds like the crow, Chief.”</p> + +<p>“Stockbridge’s magpie?”</p> + +<p>“Something like that.”</p> + +<p>The Detective laid his ear flat against the key-hole. +His face hardened as he waited. He lifted +his head and pointed with a steady finger. +“Listen!” he commanded. “There—listen. +That’s no magpie!”</p> + +<p><i>A low whine like the howl of a wild thing rose +to a reed note of moribund terror. It died; then +resumed its shrieking. It leaped the octaves +from no note to a blare of a soul in agony. Suddenly +it struck down the tone scale with descending +steps of mocking laughter.</i></p> + +<p>“Look out!” shouted Drew, bending his knees +and gliding back to the wall of the hallway. +“Look out!” he repeated.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_55'></a>55</span>“What are you goin’ to do?” asked Delaney +huskily.</p> + +<p>“Do? I’m going to break the door down! +Look out!”</p> + +<p>The detective braced himself against the wall. +He lunged forward and crashed against the dark +panel near the lock and bolt, with the energy of +a college fullback. He backed away and repeated +the smashing blow.</p> + +<p>“Hold on, Chief,” Delaney said. “That’s no +use. The door is two inches thick. I had a good +look at it. Wait!”</p> + +<p>Drew rubbed his right shoulder as Delaney +turned toward the white-faced butler.</p> + +<p>“You get an ax!” he ordered. “Beat it, and +get a big ax, quick!”</p> + +<p>“The axes are in the furnace room, sir.”</p> + +<p>“Get one! Bring it right up, you. Hurry +now!”</p> + +<p>The operative turned toward Drew. “The +only way, Chief,” he explained. “I’ve been in +too many of Big Bill Devery’s raids not to +know how to break down a strong door. I’m +the man who took Honest John Kelsey’s house +apart for him. It was built like a British tank.”</p> + +<p>The puffing butler appeared with a fire ax. +He handed it to Delaney, who eyed the edge with +concern.</p> + +<p>“Not sharp,” he said, “but it’ll do, at a +pinch. Look out—everybody!”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_56'></a>56</span>Delaney waved the servants away. He +moistened his broad palms. He swung the ax +and crashed its weight into the panel nearest the +lock. He followed this blow with another. He +panted as he rained swinging slashes at the dark +wood. It splintered. An opening was made. +This opening was enlarged by short-arm jabs +until Drew laid a hand on Delaney’s shoulder +and called a halt. “Let me see,” he said bending +down.</p> + +<p>He straightened. He enlarged the chopped +place with his fingers. He ripped off the +splinters until there was room for a palm to be +inserted. Delaney, dropping the ax upon the +hall-rug, thrust through his arm to the elbow. +He bent his knee as he strained. His face +screwed into a knot.</p> + +<p>“Is the key there?” asked Drew.</p> + +<p>“Ye—s. I turned it. All the way, Chief. +Here’s the bolt. Both were locked tight. Both +locked, on the inside of the library.”</p> + +<p>“Remember that!” snapped Drew, squaring +his shoulders. “Everybody remember that. It +may be important!”</p> + +<p>Drew pressed Delaney aside. He seized the +gold knob and turned it slowly. He waited for +a moment. Nothing sounded save the loud +breathing of the butler and the other servants +who were crowded in the hall.</p> + +<p>The detective jerked open the splintered door. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_57'></a>57</span>He hesitated and listened. He pressed aside the +portières with his left hand as his right fingers +coiled over the ugly hilt of a police regulation +.44. He advanced into the library, foot by foot. +His fingers still coiled the gun’s butt. He stood +rigid as he reached the fringe of the splendid +rug which was under the great table. His +sweeping, close-lidded eyes took in the details +of the room. He saw the magpie in its cage. +The bird’s feathers were ruffled. Its head +darted in and out the bars with great excitement.</p> + +<p>Drew frowned as he noticed a wreath of pale-blue +smoke curling under the dome of the rose-light. +He sniffed the air with a shrewd intake. +A powder explosion of some kind had left a +trace. The air, so close and warm, was filled +with acrid menace.</p> + +<p>The detective removed his hand from the revolver’s +butt and waved it behind him as a signal +to Delaney and the servants to stay where +they were. He took one step forward. The +white writing paper and envelope from the cemetery +company were upon the table. The stump +of a half-smoked cigar draped over this table’s +edge like a gun on a parapet. It was cold and +without ash.</p> + +<p>The smaller of the two tables was overturned. +The whisky bottle and glass lay at the edge of +the rug nearest the wall. The telephone transmitter +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_58'></a>58</span>and receiver were upon the hardwood +floor, where they had fallen with the butts of +two Havana cigars and the ash trays and match +boxes.</p> + +<p>Stockbridge was crumpled into a twisted knot +against the rich wainscoting. His head was half +under his left shoulder. His iron-gray hair was +singed black over the left ear.</p> + +<p>Drew leaned with one hand on the corner of +the table and peered downward. He called the +magnate’s name. He repeated it. He turned +toward the doorway. His hand raised. His +finger pressed against his lips.</p> + +<p>“Stockbridge is dead,” he told Delaney, who +glided to his side. “He is dead. He was shot +to death in this sealed room. I wonder who +did it?”</p> + +<p>“Ah, Sing!” shrieked the magpie. “Ah, +Sing! Ah, Sing!”</p> + +<div> +<a id='ch05'></a> +<p class='line mt3 center'><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_59'></a>59</span>CHAPTER FIVE</p> +<p class='line mb2 center'>“THE FIRST CLEWS”</p> +</div> + +<p>The magpie’s words, repeated over and +over as Drew and Delaney stood in the +room of death, struck both men as a possible +clew. It was more than likely that the +murderer or the murdered man had shouted +something, the moment the shot was fired. This +exclamation might have been, “Ah, Sing!” +The bird had repeated something it had memorized, +or retained in its shallow brain.</p> + +<p>“Ah, Sing!” suggested Drew, keenly on the +alert. “Ah, Sing, eh? Never forget that! We +may need it—later.”</p> + +<p>“Sounds like a Chinaman,” said the operative. +“Stockbridge was shot by a Chink!”</p> + +<p>“Get busy! Go over the room and look for a +possible hiding place. You, butler, stand across +that doorway! Don’t move from there!” Drew +wheeled and stared at the white faces of the +servants which were framed in the somber curtains +of the opening to the hall.</p> + +<p>The detective swung back. He rounded the +large table with slow steps. He bent down. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_60'></a>60</span>One knee touched the rug. He reached and +grasped the magnate’s stiff arm. He worked +it like a hinge. He felt of the muscles. They +were rigid.</p> + +<p>Rising, Drew again tested the air of the library. +He glanced at Delaney, who was opening +the book-case doors.</p> + +<p>“What do you smell?” he asked sharply.</p> + +<p>The operative turned and sniffed with widening +nostrils.</p> + +<p>“It’s powder!” he said. “Gunpowder, +Chief.”</p> + +<p>“Sure?”</p> + +<p>“It’s kind-a peculiar—at that.”</p> + +<p>“Explain yourself—be clear!”</p> + +<p>Delaney scratched his head. “I’d say, Chief, +it was smokeless powder. It don’t smell like +the ordinary kind.”</p> + +<p>“I saw smoke when I came in!”</p> + +<p>“That smokeless stuff smokes. It ain’t altogether +what they call it. Remember the shootin’-gallery +at Headquarters? There’s smoke +there when the police are practicing with them +steel-jacketed bullets.”</p> + +<p>“You’re right,” said Drew. “Keep on looking +about. I’m getting on. Stockbridge was +shot at very close range behind and under the +left ear. The weapon used was a small-caliber +revolver. The bullet is undoubtedly lodged in +the lower brain. Powder stains are in his hair. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_61'></a>61</span>The opening is clotted shut. He fell forward. +In falling he knocked over the little table with +its load of ash-trays, match-boxes, telephone, +cigar butts and the whisky bottle and the glass. +He’s been dead some time.”</p> + +<p>“I ’e’rd no shot!” cried the butler from the +doorway.</p> + +<p>Drew wheeled. “You wouldn’t,” he said +sharply. “Delaney,” he added, “say, Delaney, +get out your note book and pencil. I +want to put down everything we can think of +before I send for the coroner. We’ll take a +complete record. This thing is diabolical. You +see nothing?”</p> + +<p>“Nothing,” echoed Delaney as he slammed a +book-case door shut, dusted his fingers and +reached in his pocket. “There’s nobody planted +in this room—that’s a fact, Chief. That’s what +gets me. How was the murder done?”</p> + +<p>“Speculation is useless—now! Get ready for +notes.”</p> + +<p>“I’m ready, Chief.”</p> + +<p>The detective strode across the library rugs +and snapped on the wall switch by jabbing at a +mother-of-pearl button. Each time he jabbed, +more lights came on. The room flooded with +soft glowing from concealed globes. This glow +brought out the full details of the palatial interior. +Drew chewed at his mustache thoughtfully. +He measured the walls with his eyes. He +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_62'></a>62</span>glided swiftly toward the windows. He thrust +aside the heavy curtains of one and glanced upward.</p> + +<p>“Closed and locked,” he said to Delaney. +“Put that down. There’s snow on the sill which +has drifted through the outer slats. Put that +down. No sign of footprints. Put that down. +Now, the upper part!”</p> + +<p>He climbed up on the ornate radiator box. +His fingers went over the catch. “Locked +here!” he said, glancing down. “Locked and +the same as it was. Make a note of that!”</p> + +<p>He sprang down and examined the other window. +He went over the sill and the catch with +absorbed intentness. His teeth bit against his +upper lip. He shook his head as he turned.</p> + +<p>“No chance for a bullet to have been fired +through these windows!” he declared positively. +“No chance at all. This end of the library is +sealed as far as we are concerned. Now, we’ll +consider the only other opening—the door!”</p> + +<p>“Double locks, Delaney,” he called over his +shoulder as he crossed the room and pressed +the butler back into the hall. “Double locks of +the superior order. Gold knobs and key-holes. +The holes are not in line. The chamfering is +clean, except where you struck it once or twice +with the ax. No sign of outside tampering or +jimmy work. I’d say we’ve covered this door. +Any suggestions?”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_63'></a>63</span>Delaney tried both the inner lock and the bolt +which was actuated with a gold butterfly-wing +of heavy construction. He studied the flat key. +It was gold-plated. He dropped to his knees +and went over the entire lower chamfering with +his broad finger.</p> + +<p>He said, “No suggestions, Chief. This was +locked twice, until we broke a hole through with +an ax. I don’t see<span style='white-space: nowrap'>––</span>”</p> + +<p>“Make a note of everything!” ordered Drew +with a sharp glance at the waiting servants. +“Make a full record of what we have found—including +your exact interpretation of the magpie’s +words. What were they?”</p> + +<p>“Ah, Sing!”</p> + +<p>“I think the same. Let’s look the bird over. +Perhaps it will repeat.”</p> + +<p>The two detectives strode to the bird-cage. +“I’m going to send for Fosdick and the coroner,” +said Drew hastily. “We’ve got to hurry. +What do you make of this bird? Could it have +had anything to do with the murder?”</p> + +<p>The magpie protested against this accusation. +Its feathers ruffled. Its claws clamped +over the perch. Its tail extended upward and +seemed to dart with indignation.</p> + +<p>“Ah, Sid!” exclaimed Drew close up to the +gilded bars. “Ah, Sid. Ah, Sid!” he repeated +as the bird sprang to the bottom of the cage +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_64'></a>64</span>and set this jumping up and down at the end of +the spring.</p> + +<p>“No go,” said Delaney. “This black parrot +don’t like our looks.”</p> + +<p>Drew fingered the cage. He tested the spring. +He stooped and glanced underneath. He tapped +the belfry. It was of inlaid wood. It rang +solid. “No use,” he said. “This is all, all +right. Let’s get to the other matters before +the clews get cold. Look everywhere for a possible +trapdoor or a secret panel. Test the +walls. Move the book-cases. Turn the pictures. +Lift up the rugs. Then put everything back +like you found it. Fosdick will be on the job +with both feet and the Homicide Squad, before +we know it. We haven’t much time.” Drew +glanced at his watch as Delaney started by moving +out one of the book-cases.</p> + +<p>The detective ignored the body which lay +upon the floor near the little table. He was +holding his investigation down to outside facts, +and bringing them to bear upon the crux of +the matter. In this way, he believed, he would +secure better results. He did not want to be +blinded by an impossibility at the beginning. +His first glance at Stockbridge sufficed to assure +him that the lethal instrument which had +felled the magnate was not in evidence. The +bright light from a score of globes would reveal +any such object as a revolver or rifle. No one +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_65'></a>65</span>of the servants had seen anything. They still +were peering into the room like men and women +who had lost all they owned. Stockbridge, despite +his temper and sins, had been a good master +to those who served him without questioning.</p> + +<p>Drew glared at his watch for a second time, +in preoccupation. He strode to the library door +and beckoned a hooked finger toward the butler +who towered over the other servants.</p> + +<p>“You!” he exclaimed. “You didn’t obey orders. +You didn’t stay where you were told to +stay! Why did you leave this door at all?”</p> + +<p>“S’ ’elp me, sir, I didn’t, Mr. Drew. If I did +it wasn’t farther than the foyer or the downstairs +steps. I took very careful pains to call +the second-man, sir, when I went after you.”</p> + +<p>Drew’s eyes smoldered with inner fire. “I +told you,” he repeated, “I told you to stay by +this door and not leave it—even for a minute. +You went after the second-man, by your own +admission. You went to the foyer hall. You +went to the staircase leading down to the lower +part of the house. In other words, you didn’t +watch the door, and you lost your master +through your own foolishness!”</p> + +<p>“But, sir, nobody could ’ave gotten through +the door. Hit was locked and bolted on the hinside, +sir! I ’e’rd Mr. Stockbridge do that when +you left ’im! I did, sir!”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_66'></a>66</span>“We may have been mistaken when we +thought we heard that! Perhaps he just fumbled +with the locks, and left it unlocked.” Drew +eyed the servant’s red face with a keen-lidded +glance. He waited.</p> + +<p>“That cawn’t be right, sir,” said the butler, +after thought and a wild glance about. “’Ow +can that be right? I tried the door when the +telephone loidy called me hup! I tried hit twice. +James tried hit! ’E fixes hall the locks in the +’ouse, sir. ’E says it was most excellently secured, +sir.”</p> + +<p>“How about that?” asked Drew, turning to +the second-man. “What of that, James?”</p> + +<p>“’E’s right. I’m a little of everythin’ about +the ’ouse. I tends the door and I watches the +lights and locks, sir. I was born in Brixton, sir, +where the old man kept a lock-shop, sir. That’s +twenty years, and more ago, sir. Beggin’ your +pardon, sir.”</p> + +<p>Drew swung upon the butler. The second-man +was the living picture of truth. His dereliction, +if any, might consist in sly tapping of +the wine-cellar. His nose attested to this habit, +in a brilliant rosette.</p> + +<p>“You’re partly to blame!” Drew told the +butler. “There’s nobody in this room who +could have committed the murder. There was +nobody here when we left Mr. Stockbridge. +There is no way for anybody to get in, save +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_67'></a>67</span>through this door. The same applies in getting +out—escaping. If you were awake and always +here, and if you were honest,” he added, “I +could presume that the master was slain by—well, +let us say, unnatural causes. Such things +do not exist. This is a material age. Nothing +as much as a pin-head or point was ever moved +save through a natural cause. No bullet could +be fired into a man’s brain without a hand which +planned or pulled the trigger.”</p> + +<p>The butler stared at Drew with blank expression. +He gulped. His eyes dropped. “I’m +thinking,” he said, “that the whole blym occurrence +his unnatural. I never left that door +until they told me the telephone company’s loidy +wanted me on the wire. It was then I left it.”</p> + +<p>“Ah!” said Drew. “We’re getting there. +Then, if you are speaking truth, and I won’t +help you if you are not, we have reached a point +in the case which will bear considerable thought. +It is evident that Stockbridge was murdered by +a pistol shot, at or about the time the table +and contents were spilled over. In other words, +the shot which bowled him over brought down +with it the telephone transmitter and receiver. +That is the thing which fixes, within minutes—perhaps +seconds—the time of the murder. The +telephone girl will have a record which will help +us considerable. Many criminals have been +caught—and convicted by the time element. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_68'></a>68</span>There is no alibi against truth! A man can’t +be in two places at the same time!”</p> + +<p>Drew turned toward the door. He hesitated +and wheeled.</p> + +<p>“You heard nothing fall in this room?” he +asked sharply.</p> + +<p>“I did not, sir.”</p> + +<p>“No shot?”</p> + +<p>“I cawn’t say that I did, sir.”</p> + +<p>“No telephone bell ringing? Ringing at any +time after I left the house?”</p> + +<p>“Not downstairs, sir.”</p> + +<p>“You did!”</p> + +<p>“’Ow, sir?”</p> + +<p>“Didn’t you tell me the telephone company +rang up and wanted you to put the receiver on +the hook in the library?”</p> + +<p>“I didn’t ’ear it ring. James brought the +word, sir.”</p> + +<p>“Then, what happened upstairs?”</p> + +<p>“’Ow do you know, sir? ’Ow’d you know it +rang up there!”</p> + +<p>“By elimination! It rang then, in Loris’ +room? You said ‘nothing downstairs’ in such +a way I presume it rang upstairs.”</p> + +<p>The butler stroked his chin. It was blue and +close-shaved. The purple of his cheeks and +neck had deepened. He glanced about the hallway. +His eyes wandered toward the grand +stairway which, coiled upward to the second +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_69'></a>69</span>story. “I’m ’iding nothing, sir,” he said. +“Miss Loris often is called up at night. She’s +very popular, sir. I ’e’rd ’er telephone ringing +once or twice while I was standing by this door, +waiting for the master to come out—which ’e +never did.”</p> + +<p>Drew hesitated. He plucked out his watch +and glanced at the dial. He turned swiftly. +“Stay right there,” he said as he parted the +portières and faced Delaney who wore the puzzled +expression of a man baffled and entirely +at sea.</p> + +<p>“What did you find?” he snapped to the operative.</p> + +<p>“Not a thing, Chief.” Delaney mopped his +brow with his sleeve. “Nothing at all!” he +added. “Everything regular. Modern—very +modern house! Thick, new, fireproof, soundproof, +million-dollar building. No trapdoors or +panels. No loose boards. No hole in the ceiling. +No nothing to hang a ghost on. The gunman +who shot Stockbridge went right up in blue +smoke, Chief. I quit!”</p> + +<p>Drew glided around the table and kneeled by +the magnate’s body. His swift, light-fingered +touch went through the trousers and vest. The +pockets he turned inside out. The watch attracted +his attention. Its dial had been cracked +by the fall. A splinter of glass pressed against +the minute hand. He rose with a low cry. He +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_70'></a>70</span>pressed the repeater and listened to the time +chimes. He counted the strokes. He had a test +in a million. Had the watch been tampered +with by the murderer, the chimes would have +proved a lie. It was possible to set the hands to +any position. It would be difficult to change +both the hands and the repeater.</p> + +<p>“Delaney!” he said with his dark eyes glowing, +“we’ve got the exact time of the murder. +As I told the butler—it is very important. Both, +chimes and hands, show that Stockbridge was +shot at four minutes and eighteen seconds past +midnight—this morning! This is a fine watch. +It cost several thousand dollars. Robbery was +not the motive. An ordinary crook, and they’re +all ordinary—with few exceptions—would have +taken this timepiece.”</p> + +<p>“That’s all right,” said Delaney with a quick +frown. “That’s fine, Chief, but—but how did +that exceptional—crook get into this room? +How did he get out? That’s what I want to +know!”</p> + +<p>Drew combed his fingers through his black +hair. He described a complete circle about the +library, with his eyes taking in everything, before +he faced Delaney.</p> + +<p>“I don’t know!” he said frankly. “I don’t +want to think of it, either. We’ll turn the case +over to other men for the time. Let them do +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_71'></a>71</span>some thinking. I believe we have secured everything +we want.”</p> + +<p>The detective dropped his glance to the telephone +receiver upon the floor at Stockbridge’s +elbow. He stooped, grasped the silk-insulated +cord, and fished it up.</p> + +<p>“I’ll try to get Central,” he said. “This has +been off a long while. She may have sent the +trouble-man again.”</p> + +<p>Drew worked the hook of the ’phone up and +down. He was answered after a short wait. +The girl’s surprised voice at hearing life at +the end of a dead set of wires was drowned in +the detective’s request to get him, “Spring 3100—quickly!”</p> + +<p>“Hello! Hello!” said Drew as he got the +connection. “Hello! Is this Spring 3100? It +is? Who’s talking? ... Jones? This you, +Jones? ... Say, Jones, plug me in on the Fifth +Deputy Commissioner’s private house wire!... Sir? ... I don’t care! ... This is Drew +talking.... Drew! ... D—r—e—w! ... That’s right ... Drew, of Drew’s Agency!”</p> + +<p>The Detective turned. He eyed Delaney who +was searching the floor about the millionaire’s +upturned shoes. He tapped the receiver against +the transmitter’s silver-plated edge. His eyes +lifted. His lips hardened as the diaphragm of +the receiver vibrated harshly.</p> + +<p>“Hello!” he answered tersely. “Hello! This +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_72'></a>72</span>you, Commissioner? Is this Fosdick? ... This is Drew talking. +Yes! ... Drew.... Yes! I say, Fosdick, there’s been a murder +committed at Stockbridge’s.... You know—the munitions magnate! ... The +millionaire! ... Morphy’s old partner.”</p> + +<p>Drew waited a moment. He dropped his eyes +upon the body below him.</p> + +<p>“Yes!” he continued into the transmitter. +“Yes, Fosdick. I hear better, now. Yes—Stockbridge +is dead! ... He’s stone dead! He +was shot down in cold blood! ... Yes! ... Shot in the brain.... Yes! Send your best +operatives.... Yes! ... Send a fingerprint +man and photographer. You’ll need ’em! ... Yes! ... Yes! ... Shot with a small-bore revolver, +I guess! ... Wound behind ear looks +like it! What? ... No! ... Room was bolted.... He was inside.... Butler on guard.... Windows +closed and locked! ... No! ... No! ... No! ... It wasn’t suicide. He was threatened +twice, this time!... By letter and telephone +call.... What? ... What? ... No! ... He didn’t shoot himself! ... There’s no +gun. It’s on the left side—close up! ... Hair +is singed ... flesh is powder spotted.... Burned? ... Yes.... You’ll +be right up?... Yes! ... I’ll be waiting! ... Come! ... come<span style='white-space: nowrap'>––</span>”</p> + +<p>Drew lowered the receiver and clicked it upon +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_73'></a>73</span>the hook of the telephone which stood on the +hardwood floor. He slowly turned toward the +open doorway of the library. The servants had +drawn back and out of sight. Delaney leaned +forward with both hands on his bent knees. A +girl’s voice had sounded in the mansion. It +came closer. The portières parted with a silken +sweep. Drew braced himself against the larger +table. His hand went back to his hip. It +dropped to his side. He stared across the flood +of light with line-drawn eyelids.</p> + +<p>Loris Stockbridge, gowned in lace chiffon and +cloaked with ermine and sable, glided across the +rugs and stood framed beneath the soft, rose-light +of the central dome. Her dusk-black eyes +burned and blazed like flame through tinder +smoke as she confronted the detective.</p> + +<p>Clasped in the fingers of her jewelless right +hand was a tiny, ivory-handled revolver.</p> + +<p>“What are all these people doing here?” she +asked hysterically.</p> + +<div> +<a id='ch06'></a> +<p class='line mt3 center'><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_74'></a>74</span>CHAPTER SIX</p> +<p class='line mb2 center'>“HARRY NICHOLS”</p> +</div> + +<p>Detective Triggy Drew flushed +slightly beneath his olive skin. He +bowed, with his keen eyes fixed upon +the little, ivory-handled revolver clutched so +tightly in Loris Stockbridge’s right hand. He +bowed for a second time. His eyes lifted and +his brows arched as he said distinctly:</p> + +<p>“Miss Stockbridge, something very serious +has happened to your father. It happened in +this library. It happened this morning. Won’t +you please go back upstairs to your rooms +until I call for you. At present I am in charge +of matters.”</p> + +<p>“Matters? What do you mean?”</p> + +<p>The girl swayed slightly. She glanced down +at the revolver as if she were unaware that it +was in her hand. Drew advanced a step in her +direction. He feared a woman and a gun more +than anything else in the world. Both were liable +to form a dangerous combination.</p> + +<p>“Something happened,” he repeated. “I’m +very sorry for you, Miss Stockbridge.”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_75'></a>75</span>“Happened!” she exclaimed. “Happened to +him? You don’t mean that letter—that telephone +call—do you?”</p> + +<p>Loris’ splendid, dusky eyes, within the depths +of which high lights shone, wandered over the +polished table. They fastened upon the envelope +from the cemetery company. They fixed +where the letter lay with one corner beneath the +center piece. They lifted in thought. They +swung toward the waiting detective who had +placed himself between her and the body of her +father. She divined this movement with quick +intuition. She stepped to one side and bent +downward with a graceful movement of her +hips. She gasped and pointed a left hand finger, +which wavered and went up to her hair as her +palm pressed against the side of her head. She +started sobbing—short, throaty sobs of poignant +distress.</p> + +<p>“Please don’t,” whispered Drew holding out +a guarding arm. “Please don’t, Miss Stockbridge. +Your father is beyond this earth. You +should not have come down here.”</p> + +<p>“Dead?”</p> + +<p>The word came from the depths of a soul. +“Dead?” she repeated with her taper fingers +spreading across her face.</p> + +<p>“Yes, Miss,” said Drew with a catch in his +voice. “Yes, he is quite dead. He was slain in +this room by a revolver shot which struck behind +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_76'></a>76</span>and under his left ear. No one was in the +library when he locked himself in, save himself. +No one was here when we broke the door down. +And, save his servants and you, no one was in +this house. He was<span style='white-space: nowrap'>––</span>”</p> + +<p>“Murdered!” Loris’ voice had lifted to one +wild shriek of final conviction and grief. She +swayed. Her knees bent beneath her skirt and +bulged outwardly. She sank into a slow faint +at the detective’s feet. She pillowed her head +upon the rug. A silence followed.</p> + +<p>Drew stooped, after a glance at the servants +in the doorway, thrust his body as a barrier, +and reached along Loris’ white arm until his +hand closed over the barrel of the little revolver. +He untwisted her cold fingers, and +palmed the weapon under a shielding cuff. He +rose, saying to Delaney, who had hurried forward:</p> + +<p>“I’ll take charge of this.”</p> + +<p>“Sure, Chief. Plant it. She didn’t have it.”</p> + +<p>“She had it all right, but—we’ll suspend +judgment. You and the butler carry her upstairs. +Go easy. Her bedroom is on the third +floor, I think. That’s the reason she didn’t come +down sooner. Perhaps, well, I say, she didn’t +hear us breaking down the door. We are her +agents in this matter, now. Remember that, +and say nothing to anybody. I’ll do the talking.”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_77'></a>77</span>Drew dropped his hand into his side pocket. +It came out without the revolver but with a +handkerchief between his fingers. He mopped +his brow gracefully, then replaced the handkerchief. +The motion was a natural one.</p> + +<p>He followed Delaney and the butler with their +soft burden as far as the first steps of the stairway. +He turned and strode back to the doorway +leading into the library. He faced about +in this. He eyed the servants, who lowered +their heads beneath his accusing scrutiny. Focusing +his gaze to a searching squint he tried to +single out a culprit from their midst. There +seemed to be none. Each face was terror-lined +and drawn. Each seemed to want to avoid his +direct glance. None of all of them faced him +with boldness or assurance. It was as he expected +things to be. There was no evidence +shown in the case that the servants of the Stockbridge +régime had ever threatened the master. +They were old, tried and trusted. They had +the faults of their kind. These faults only +served to strengthen Drew’s opinion that the +murderer of the magnate had struck from the +outside, without benefit of inside information. +The letter and the telephone call were foreign. +A note, pinned upon the millionaire’s pillow, +would have been more effective. Nothing had +been tried like that. This proved to Drew that +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_78'></a>78</span>he could eliminate the servants, for the time +being.</p> + +<p>“Which one of you is the valet?” he asked +with final resolve.</p> + +<p>“I am, sir!”</p> + +<p>Drew ran his eyes over an aged man in white +vest and tight-fitting clothes which were studded +here and there with gold-plated buttons. The +fit of the stockings—the neatness of the low +patent-leather shoes—the smartness and aloofness +of the individual, caused the detective to +smile slightly. The man was better dressed +than his master.</p> + +<p>“Your native country is Germany?” said +Drew.</p> + +<p>“It was, sir.”</p> + +<p>“No, it is yet. You can’t change that part +of it. When did you come to the United +States?”</p> + +<p>“Fourteen—fifteen years ago, sir. The master +brought me from England where I was employed +by the Right Honorable Arthur Sandhurst, +sir.”</p> + +<p>“You are now a naturalized American?”</p> + +<p>“Going on thirteen years, sir.”</p> + +<p>“Come down to my office about noon to-morrow. +I want to speak to you then. I haven’t +time now. Be sure you bring that magpie with +you.” Drew turned and jerked his thumb toward +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_79'></a>79</span>the front of the library. “Do you understand?”</p> + +<p>“I do, sir!”</p> + +<p>“That’s all!” exclaimed the detective. “One +of you may stand by the door until Mr. Delaney +returns. The rest may go downstairs. Remember, +no talking to anybody but accredited police +officers, who will soon be here.”</p> + +<p>“I’ll stand guard!” announced the second-man +with a pompous voice. “Nobody’ll get +by me, sir. I’ll ’ave them know I’m right ’ere, +sir.”</p> + +<p>Drew backed through the curtains as the second-man +was speaking. He dropped them behind +him and started another search, which was +done in solitude and in silence. He went over +everything in the library with the trained eyes +of an operative who had learned his profession +in many schools. He left deduction and surmise +for a later hour. He was after cold facts +which might lead to an answer to the riddle. He +held, with some slight scorn, the theory of the +armchair detective and the puzzle worked out +by retrospection. His experience had been, that +only through hard work could he expect to find +his answer. He had been credited with visiting +six hundred laundries in search of a certain +mark. He had a note book filled with his failures +to find the man he was after. The men he +had found caused him no concern whatsoever. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_80'></a>80</span>They had gone to prison and closed their accounts +with him.</p> + +<p>He applied hard work over the minutes to the +case at hand. He went over the body of the +aged millionaire. He took scrapings of the +blood stains on the floor. He scratched up some +few atoms of dried whisky. He examined the +bottle. He searched each square inch under and +about the body. He went through Stockbridge’s +pockets and beneath his vest. He tried everything +in the way of getting facts which might +bear on the case. A tape measure furnished +certain distances which were recorded upon the +back of an envelope. His data was complete, +insofar as he had time to go. He desired to +spend at least twelve hours in the library. This +could not be. The case would be taken from +his hands within minutes. Already there was a +stir in the front part of the house. The bell had +been ringing for some time. Delaney and the +butler had hastened forward to answer it.</p> + +<p>“The Central Office bunch!” announced the +operative, parting the curtains and staring in at +Drew. “Here they are, Chief!”</p> + +<p>The detective stepped briskly out of the room +and glided through the foyer hall to the front +door. Here Delaney joined him, as steps were +heard coming up from the servants’ quarters +as well as outside. It was as if a raid were in +progress.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_81'></a>81</span>“Brass band methods!” said Drew. “You +get out, Delaney, and go to our taxi. Stay +there! I want to speak to Fosdick.”</p> + +<p>The door opened. A burly form blotted out +the light from the Avenue and stamped in, shaking +the snow from his overcoat. It was Fosdick—Chief +of Detectives.</p> + +<p>“Hello,” he said cuttingly. “Hello, Drew! +What’s this you’ve been giving me over the +’phone?”</p> + +<p>The detective drew Fosdick aside and allowed +five Central Office men to stream into the hallway.</p> + +<p>“Go and see,” he suggested into the detective’s +ear. “Go and see. I’ve left everything +just as I found it. The body is still there. The +servants have been kept in the house. Question +them. I’m off, now. ’Phone me not later +than eight this morning. I’ll be at my office. +I’m acting in a private capacity. I’m protecting +Loris Stockbridge—the sole heir!”</p> + +<p>“Protecting!” exclaimed Fosdick. “What +d’ye mean?”</p> + +<p>Drew dropped his hand to his pocket and +crammed down the little ivory-handled revolver. +“Well,” he smiled broadly. “You know what +I mean. She’s alone in this world—save for +her friends. The old man called me in the case. +I’m still in the case—remember that!”</p> + +<p>Fosdick gulped hard. “All right,” he said, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_82'></a>82</span>turning and peeling off his coat. “I’ll soon get +to the bottom of this! Case looks easy to me. +It’s suicide! That’s all it ever could be!”</p> + +<p>Drew found his hat and coat where the butler +had hung them. He went out through the front +door without answering Fosdick. He crossed +the Avenue on a diagonal which brought him to +the waiting taxi where Delaney stood muffled +to the chin. The two men climbed upon the running-board. +The driver started up with a jerk, +from his frozen position in the snow. They +rounded the block and stopped in front of the +drug-store where Loris had met the officer.</p> + +<p>The Central Office man who had taken +O’Toole’s place had little to report. O’Toole +had vanished toward the south. When last seen +he was close on the heels of the man in olive-drab.</p> + +<p>“Come on, Delaney,” said Drew at this information. +“We’ll walk over to Fifth Avenue +and then downtown. The driver can pick up +our men in the alley. I want to clear my head +of this muddle. A walk will do it!”</p> + +<p>Delaney fell in behind his chief. They turned +the corner. They struck through a side street +and westward. They saw ahead of them the +white expanse of untrodden snow, and beyond +this the faint blue barricade of the Palisades.</p> + +<p>The hour was after three. The crisp underfooting +brought wine to their cheeks. The grip +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_83'></a>83</span>of winter air cleared both men’s heads like a +draught of ether. They stepped out. Their +shoulders went back. Their thoughts passed +from the case at the mansion to other things. +The night had been filled with a thousand disappointments. +Greatest of these was the stabbing +memory that they both had been picked by the +multimillionaire to protect him and save him +from his enemies. They had failed in this trust. +Their patron lay dead, and somewhere a whispering +voice chuckled over a victory.</p> + +<p>“Fifth Avenue!” announced Drew as they +reached the corner. “Now, downtown, Delaney,” +he added cheerily. “Old Kris Kringle +has nothing on us to-night. I believe we’re the +only ones out.”</p> + +<p>The operative caught his chief’s humor, and +glanced into his face with a smile. “Whew!” +he breathed. “Whew!” he repeated from the +depths of his lungs. “I’m glad, Triggy, to get +from that damn house and that damn magpie +and that<span style='white-space: nowrap'>––</span>”</p> + +<p>“So am I!” said Drew, thrusting out his hand +and linking his elbow into the cove of Delaney’s +arm. “So am I. Fine night for the poor firm +of Drew and Company.”</p> + +<p>Delaney glanced around and over his left +shoulder. He blinked with frosty lids as he +saw the towering façades of Stockbridge’s mansion; +its turrets and towers spiraled in the winter +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_84'></a>84</span>sky. He drew in his lips and compressed +them. He puffed them out as he turned.</p> + +<p>“I’m deducting,” he said, “that there’s more +at the bottom of this thing than we think. Put +it down for me that the Germans are mixed up +in it.”</p> + +<p>Drew walked on for a block before he answered. +He gripped the operative’s arm by +closing his own as he said:</p> + +<p>“Quit deducting! It’s fatal! Get your +facts! Get all of them. The answer will come +then, without an effort. It will be the right answer +or none at all.”</p> + +<p>“Just the same, Chief<span style='white-space: nowrap'>––</span>”</p> + +<p>“The trouble with you,” broke in Drew severely, +“the trouble is, that you are forcing +a conclusion to meet your own suspicions. The +Germans, with the exception of a small clique, +are behaving very well in this country at the +present time. In other words, the most of them +are good Americans and sane.”</p> + +<p>“That walley-sham?”</p> + +<p>“He is not even under consideration! Did +you notice him?”</p> + +<p>“Sure, Chief!”</p> + +<p>“Anything strike you as peculiar?”</p> + +<p>“N—o.”</p> + +<p>“There were tears in his eyes—the only ones +shed in that house for Stockbridge—outside of +the daughter.”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_85'></a>85</span>Delaney gulped. “I didn’t see them,” he +said frankly.</p> + +<p>“No! Well, I did—and when he wasn’t expecting +me to see them. A woman is never +wholly lost who can blush, or a man who can +shed tears.”</p> + +<p>“Sounds like good deduction,” admitted the +operative. “But then, Chief, there are a lot +of fine actors in this world. I think there has +been some in this case.”</p> + +<p>“This case, Delaney,” Drew said, “is like +many others which appear at first impossible +of solving. All things can be solved by first +principles. Give me all the facts and I’ll give +you the answer to any riddle. The answer will +come! Don’t try to write your plot until you +have words to form your story. Don’t make +the mistake of forcing an answer to father a +wish. In other words, Delaney, best of friends, +we haven’t all the facts we are going to get in +this case and therefore it is idle to attempt to +deduce who shot Stockbridge!”</p> + +<p>“Or how he was shot, Chief?”</p> + +<p>“It’s almost the same thing. Both answers +will come with hard work and plenty of it. We +must keep along the main stem. Truth is a tree +with many branches. It rises from the roots +named cause, and reaches the top called effect. +It springs from motive up to crime in one +straight stem. We must trim away the branches +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_86'></a>86</span>and the false-work, and then we can see the +trunk.”</p> + +<p>“There’s one I’d like to trim right now,” +said Delaney, pausing in his snow-caked stride.</p> + +<p>“Which one?” asked Drew.</p> + +<p>“That noise in the library like a cat getting +its tail twisted.”</p> + +<p>“I can explain that!”</p> + +<p>“It’s been driving me to drink, Chief.”</p> + +<p>“The telephone company, Delaney, have a device +they call a howler. They cut this device +in on the wire when a receiver is left off the +hook. It is simply a high-frequency current +generated for the purpose of vibrating the receiver’s +diaphragm until somebody hears the +noise and puts the receiver back on the hook.”</p> + +<p>“It’s a howler, all right, Chief!”</p> + +<p>“Oftentimes a book or magazine gets under a +receiver and lifts it up an inch or more. This +attracts the attention of the central operator +who thinks somebody is trying to get a number. +When the situation is clear to her that the receiver +is off the hook, or that the circuit is +closed without anybody being at the receiver +end, she notifies the wire-captain or chief-operator. +It was either one or the other who put the +howler on after Stockbridge was shot and the +’phone had fallen to the floor. Is that satisfactory? +Does that explain the noise we heard +in the library before we broke down the door?”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_87'></a>87</span>“I see now, Chief. I thought all along it was +spirits like the rest of the job. Outside of +spirits, what is the answer to the things that +happened in that house? I know it. I deduct it, +Chief. The old man was expecting somebody +all of the time. He let this somebody into the +library when the butler wasn’t looking. Maybe +it was a woman, for all we know. Maybe a German +spy. Maybe anybody. This somebody got +in an argument with him over spoils on some +deal, and shot him dead. That’s my idea, +Chief!”</p> + +<p>“You’ve missed your profession, Delaney. +You’ve disgraced the firm! How did the library +door get locked on the inside? How did that +happen? Did Stockbridge, shot through the +brain, rise and do it? It was mighty well +locked—you remember!”</p> + +<p>“I never thought of that,” admitted the operative. +“Then it looks, Chief, as if it was a case +of suicide.”</p> + +<p>“Fosdick said the same thing without having +many facts. How could a right-handed man +shoot himself behind the left ear? How could +he do a thing like that and then get rid of the +weapon without leaving a trace of it? How—oh, +well, get facts and you won’t ask such questions!”</p> + +<p>“Then it was done by an outsider?” blurted +Delaney, staring through the wind-blown snow +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_88'></a>88</span>which came off the housetops. “It was done +by the fellow who ’phoned and wrote that letter, +or had the letter written? I don’t see how +he could do it!”</p> + +<p>Drew smiled at Delaney’s candor. “Neither +do I,” he said simply. “But we’ve crossed +Forty-second Street and we’re on the trail by +everyday, up-to-date methods which never fail +if they are continued long enough and men +work hard enough. We’ll start with Harry +Nichols—the man in olive-drab! I’ve his address!”</p> + +<div> +<a id='ch07'></a> +<p class='line mt3 center'><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_89'></a>89</span>CHAPTER SEVEN</p> +<p class='line mb2 center'>“THE SPOT OF BLACK”</p> +</div> + +<p>Delaney stepped behind his chief and +followed in single file as the detective +swung from the Avenue at Thirty-ninth +Street and turned toward the east on the up-town +side of the thoroughfare.</p> + +<p>The snow had ceased falling from out the +leaden sky. A roar came to them of the awakening +city which was stirring in its last sleep. A +tug whistled hoarsely somewhere on the East +River. Its blare and signal echoed down the +towering canyon. An answering rattle sounded +from the Elevated. A milk wagon churned by. +A deep-seagoing hansom-cab, of the vintage +of ten years before, struggled along Madison +Avenue as the two detectives paused on the +corner and sought a pathway through the snow +to the opposite side.</p> + +<p>“Some night,” said the operative, pulling +down his derby hat and facing Drew. “A hell +of a night to be out. Good thing we walked, +though. My head is clearing.”</p> + +<p>“It needed clearing,” said the detective. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_90'></a>90</span>“Some of your deductions were impossible. +Whom do you suppose we’re going to meet +here?”</p> + +<p>“How should I know, Chief?”</p> + +<p>“Guess!”</p> + +<p>“Harry Nichols.”</p> + +<p>“Who else?”</p> + +<p>“Search me, Chief.”</p> + +<p>“Who’s that over across the street in the +shelter of the stoop? See! He sees us! You +ought to know who that is!”</p> + +<p>“He looks familiar,” admitted Delaney.</p> + +<p>“It’s O’Toole!”</p> + +<p>“That’s right, Chief. It is! He tailed the lad +in the fur benny from the drug-store and came +here. The lad in the drug-store was Harry +Nichols. The thing works out all right.”</p> + +<p>“Get over to the other side of the street and +tell O’Toole that he can go home and get some +sleep. Tell him to be at the office not later than +eight o’clock—this morning. Get what information +you can from him. This brownstone house +with the sign out is our address. I’ll wait on +the stoop.”</p> + +<p>Delaney was over in three minutes. “All +right,” he said cheerfully. “O’Toole says that +Nichols left the drug-store and walked south. +Trail led to Fred’s Old English Chop House +where Nichols drank a split of mineral water +and had a chop with a potato. He ’phoned twice +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_91'></a>91</span>before leaving. O’Toole don’t know where to. +The booth was soundproof and all the lad did +was to drop coins. He left a piece of paper in +the booth. O’Toole got it. Here it is, Chief.”</p> + +<p>Drew slanted a torn portion of envelope and +studied its surface. He deciphered a scrawling +handwriting into the words, “Loris, Loris, +Gramercy Hill, Attorney Denman of Cedar +Street, will consult with him in morning.... Drew’s Detective Agency ... look out.”</p> + +<p>“Umph!” said Drew, pocketing the scrap of +paper with a thoughtful frown. “That last may +be a warning. Again it could be a mere notation. +What else did O’Toole find, Delaney?”</p> + +<p>“That’s all, except that he put the boy to bed +here at about one o’clock. There’s a ’phone in +Nichols’ apartment. O’Toole sneaked up the +stairs and heard it ringing. He had to come +down for fear of queering things. He said +that’s all, chief.”</p> + +<p>The detective turned and entered the storm-door. +He struck a match and, shielding it with +his hands, searched the names over the mailboxes. +A neat card, set in well-polished +bronze, indicated, “Harry E. Nichols, Apartment +Three.”</p> + +<p>“He keeps this place all of the time,” said +Drew, jabbing at the button. “He’s down on +furlough or Government business. Nice place, +this,” he added as the inner door-lock clicked +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_92'></a>92</span>and he thrust his foot forward. “Looks like +about two hundred a month. This is exclusively +bachelor!”</p> + +<p>“Them bachelor apartments,” said Delaney +with candor as he glided into the hallway. +“Them places like this ain’t what they seem. +There’s some big parties pulled off in them. +I remembers<span style='white-space: nowrap'>––</span>”</p> + +<p>“Sisst!” warned Drew, clutching the operative’s +arm. “Easy,” he whispered. “Come on. +Somebody is waiting upstairs for us. See his +head in the light by the banister. Same chap, +ain’t it?”</p> + +<p>“Can’t see, Chief. Might be!”</p> + +<p>“Nice house,” commented Drew as his feet +sank in a deep-blue hall carpet. “Good ornaments +and fixtures throughout the place. Nice +house! Just about what I’d expected. Here we +are. I’ll do the talking.”</p> + +<p>A blond pompadour, under which was a pair +of wide gray eyes that blinked at them, greeted +the two detectives as they turned the last landing. +A thick-lipped mouth, in which was considerable +strength and determination, opened +and revealed a double row of strong, young +teeth that would have delighted an Army recruiting +sergeant.</p> + +<p>“Well, what do you gentlemen want at this +hour of the morning?”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_93'></a>93</span>Drew squared his shoulders and pressed Delaney +back a foot or more.</p> + +<p>“Harry Nichols?” he asked brusquely.</p> + +<p>“Yes, I’m Harry Nichols.”</p> + +<p>“Miss Stockbridge’s friend?”</p> + +<p>The gray eyes widened perceptibly. The lids +dropped in heavy calculation. “Who are you?” +the young man asked point-blankly. “I don’t +believe I ever had the pleasure of meeting either +of you gentlemen.” Nichols glanced into Delaney’s +leaning face which was just over his +chief’s shoulder.</p> + +<p>“No, you haven’t,” said Drew softening his +tone. “We’ve never met, but we may see considerable +of each other. Here’s my card!”</p> + +<p>Nichols took the card, tilted it to the light +from the open door, then dropped it into the +right-hand side pocket of his lounging robe beneath +which blue pajamas showed.</p> + +<p>“Come in!” he said without committing himself. +“Come in, and take off your hats. I’ve +only two rooms and a bath, here.”</p> + +<p>Drew stepped upon heavy rugs and crossed +the chamber to a chair. He turned this, removed +his hat, and sat down with his legs thrust +outward. His eyes roamed the place in slow +calculation. Dark, old masters, which were +probably good in their day, stared down at him. +A little globe, petticoated in soft silk, gave a +yellow light to the walls and floor. It brought +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_94'></a>94</span>out Nichols’ features in sharp, actinic shadows. +Drew continued his searching glance. A bed, +with tossed coverlet and sheets, loomed from an +inner room. A table, upon which was an officer’s +cap and gloves, stood between two doors +that were closed. One of these doors, Drew concluded, +was the bathroom entrance, the other +might have been a closet. His eyes fastened +finally upon a telephone upon a dark-wood +stand. He lifted his chin.</p> + +<p>“Montgomery Stockbridge is dead!” he +snapped, darting at Harry Nichols the keen +scrutiny of a man salvoing a surprise.</p> + +<p>Nichols glanced at the ’phone. “I know +that!” he said with rising color. “I’m aware +of that fact, Mr. Drew.”</p> + +<p>“When did you first learn of it?”</p> + +<p>“See here! I have your card. I know who +you are. I was almost expecting you, or another +detective. But,”—Nichols’ voice raised +to a determined key—“but, sir, I am not talking +to anybody about what you just told me. +How do I know who you represent—the police +or the law or the<span style='white-space: nowrap'>––</span>”</p> + +<p>“You have talked with Miss Stockbridge. She +told you in the drug-store that I was in the +house. She has told you that I was called in +by her father. She undoubtedly ’phoned you, +after she recovered from her faint. You have +the details of the dastardly murder—if ever +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_95'></a>95</span>there was one! I represent her. I represent +her friends. I have no other interest in this +case!”</p> + +<p>Harry Nichols drew out the card and studied +it. He glanced at Delaney. “Who is this +man?” he asked.</p> + +<p>“My right bower. He’s with me—and you +and Miss Loris. We’re together in this. The +police now have the case. What I want is to +protect you and her from the police. What will +they do when they learn from the servants—which +they will—that Miss Stockbridge had <i>this</i> +gun in her hand when she entered the library?”</p> + +<p>Drew extended his palm. In the hollow of it +lay the little ivory-handled revolver which he +had taken from Loris.</p> + +<p>“What are they going to do when they learn +about this?” he asked with shrewd reasoning. +“Particularly, Mr. Nichols, when the caliber of +this revolver is probably the same caliber of the +bullet which entered, and is still in, Mr. Stockbridge’s +brain.”</p> + +<p>The gray eyes narrowed. The lips compressed +until they were white. They seemed +drawn with pain. A faint hiss of surprise +sounded in the room. Harry Nichols turned and +strode to an ornate mantel-piece upon which +was a single cabinet photo. He lifted it impulsively. +He stared at the picture of Loris +Stockbridge as if in it lay inspiration, and resolve. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_96'></a>96</span>He set the photo down and wheeled upon +Drew. His eyes blazed.</p> + +<p>“If you have no connection in this case, save +as an adviser,” he said clearly and from his +heart, “why are you trying to trap me or her? +Are all detectives alike? Would they rather +see a man in jail than free?”</p> + +<p>Drew closed his fingers over the little revolver. +He glanced upward at Delaney’s towering +bulk which was near the doorway leading to the +outer hall. This door was the only way out of +the apartment. The detective gave no signal to +the operative. His fingers uncoiled and revealed +a thumb pressing upon the silver-plated barrel +from which the leaden noses of six bullets +showed as he turned it.</p> + +<p>“You are wrong,” he said with simple +naïveté. “You wrong me in this matter. The +affair at Stockbridge’s will sooner or later +bring you in contact with the Police Department’s +Detective Bureau. Fosdick, the district +attorney, the coroner, may want to interview +you. The servants, the newspapers, idle tongues +will connect your name with that of Loris Stockbridge. +This connection, taking in the fact that +she had a revolver of the same caliber as was +used to slay her father, may cause trouble. I +want<span style='white-space: nowrap'>––</span>”</p> + +<p>“How do you know it’s the same revolver—the +same caliber?”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_97'></a>97</span>There was a stubborn defense in the young +man’s tones which somewhat pleased the detective. +It promised loyalty.</p> + +<p>“It may not be the same revolver,” Drew +said softly. “It may be that the murder was +not committed with a revolver. A rifle, held +close to a man’s brain, would make the same +kind of mark and burns. I do know this, however, +that the opening in Mr. Stockbridge’s head +is the same size as my lead pencil—which I have +measured and found to be under a quarter-inch. +It would seem then that twenty-two caliber +might fit the wound. I know of no other +caliber very close to it.”</p> + +<p>“An army rifle,” suggested Delaney from +the doorway.</p> + +<p>“It is larger,” said Nichols with a quick +frown. “The modified Lee-Enfields, which we +are now using, have a greater bore than the +British or German rifles. They are about .30 +caliber.”</p> + +<p>“Whatever the case,” Drew said, “we must +get to our first question. I’m trying to find +the truth and protect Miss Stockbridge from +the police in case she is suspected. Whose revolver +is this? Who does it belong to? How +came she to have it so soon after meeting you +in the corner drug-store? Did she request it? +Perhaps you will clear these points and allow +me to go ahead.”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_98'></a>98</span>“Before I answer your questions, Mr. Drew, +before I say anything at all, I would rather +have a talk with Miss Loris. You see, we are +too good friends to act apart. I’ll answer for +her. She is innocent! She is too good, too +pure to have anything to do with it. She never +shot the old—Mr. Stockbridge.”</p> + +<p>“He threw you out of the house on one occasion.”</p> + +<p>Harry Nichols clenched his fists. “I’ll do the +same to you!” he exclaimed. “This is my +apartment. What right have you got coming +here and accusing Loris? I don’t care who you +are!”</p> + +<p>“Good!” said the detective, rising and stepping +forward. “You said just what I wanted +you to say. And you said it like a man who +can wear an American uniform. Shake hands!”</p> + +<p>Harry Nichols did not exactly brighten under +the professional flattery. He held out his fingers, +however. Drew clasped his hand after +transferring the revolver to his left palm. He +twirled it as he stepped backward. “Clean,” +he said. “It don’t seem to have been used for +some time. But then, who knows? A gun can +be wiped and polished,—even in the barrel,—in +a very few minutes.”</p> + +<p>Drew glanced at Nichols with a silent question +in his eyes. Delaney had already sized +Nichols up as a very clever young man. He +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_99'></a>99</span>was not far wrong, as he learned when the detective’s +spoken question was shot through determined +lips.</p> + +<p>“Nichols,” said Drew, “did you lend Miss +Stockbridge this revolver? Is it yours? I shall +have to turn it over to the police sooner or +later. They will trace it by the number.”</p> + +<p>“Is it fully loaded?”</p> + +<p>Drew turned the barrel with his broad thumb. +He clicked the mechanism. He broke it and +held it out.</p> + +<p>“Yes,” he said. “Yes, it’s fully loaded. +This is still a merry whirl for six!”</p> + +<p>“Are you sure?”</p> + +<p>“Positive, Nichols!”</p> + +<p>The soldier’s face cleared like a lake from a +storm. He beamed upon Drew. He smiled for +a second time. He pointed toward the chair +which the detective had quitted. “Sit down,” +he said, “and make yourself at home. This is +a temperance dugout, but I’ve got some real +good soft stuff—grape juice or club soda. +Which will you have?”</p> + +<p>“I’ll take a cigar,” said Delaney.</p> + +<p>Drew allowed a smile to creep over his lips. +He waited as Harry Nichols dipped into a kitchenette, +then came back with three glasses of +soda and a huge black Havana.</p> + +<p>“Smoke up,” he said good-naturedly to Delaney. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_100'></a>100</span>“Light up and take a chair. It’s daybreak, +isn’t it?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, time we’re going,” said Drew, setting +his empty glass upon the offered tray. “We’ll +go in a minute. Now, as I told you and as you +can see, this revolver is fully loaded. It looks +clean. I suppose you lent it to Miss Stockbridge +without any empty cartridges. These +are the ordinary lead kind which can be secured +at any hardware store. You’ve got some here, +perhaps.”</p> + +<p>“None here. They’re all up at Plattsburg. +We do some target shooting at times. These little +revolvers don’t make much noise. You can +use them most anywhere.”</p> + +<p>“That’s satisfactory,” said Drew, watching +the glow of Delaney’s cigar. “That’s all right. +Now, when she ’phoned for the gun or you suggested +that she better have one with her, what +did she say about the cemetery letter or the +threat over the wire? Did she fear anything +else? Was that her sole reason for having a revolver +with her?”</p> + +<p>“You cannot expect me to answer for Miss +Stockbridge, Mr. Drew. She is available. You +can talk to her. You represent her. I shall not +say anything concerning her. She is sacred. +The revolver was not discharged. It is the same +as when I gave it to her in the drug-store. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_101'></a>101</span>Therefore, I’ll trouble you for it. It’s mine. I +admit that.”</p> + +<p>Drew rose from the chair. His left hand went +out. His fingers clasped Harry Nichols’ shoulder +with a fatherly pressure.</p> + +<p>“I’m going now,” he said. “I’ll leave the +gun with you. If the police want it, give it to +them. Perhaps they will never hear of it. I +doubt if more than one or two servants saw it +in Miss Loris’ hand when she came into the +library. They may not tell Fosdick. He’ll try +to rough-shod over them. He may arrest the +entire household—including Loris. That’s his +way. It’s effective, but it’s not my way. Now +is there anything that you want to say to me +which will clear your mind of this affair?”</p> + +<p>Nichols glanced from Drew’s clean-cut face. +His eyes rested upon the telephone. “I’m going +to call her up presently,” he said. “I’ll talk +with her. I’ll tell her that you were here—that +you left the little revolver—that you +stand ready to swear it was clean and fully +loaded. Then, when I hear what she has to +say about everything, I shall call you up. Is +that satisfactory, Mr. Drew?”</p> + +<p>The detective turned the revolver in his palm +and pressed it forward. “Take it,” said he, +“and keep it under cover. I’m off with Mr. Delaney. +Thanks for the club soda.”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_102'></a>102</span>“And the cigar,” added the big operative as +he opened the door.</p> + +<p>Drew hesitated on the landing. He turned +and went back. Nichols stood by the banisters. +The soft light from inside clear-cut the officer’s +figure like a statue.</p> + +<p>“You can do me a favor,” said the detective +in a whisper. “A damn nice little favor.”</p> + +<p>“What is it?”</p> + +<p>“Have you an extra photo of the girl-in-the-case. +One that’s laying around somewhere. I +don’t mean the one on the mantel.”</p> + +<p>“What do you want it for?”</p> + +<p>“For myself. I admire that young lady.”</p> + +<p>Harry Nichols disappeared through the doorway. +He returned within a minute with a cabinet-size +photo upon the front of which was +written, “From Loris, January ’18,” in the vertical +chirography much practiced by social buds.</p> + +<p>“Thanks,” said Drew unbuttoning his overcoat +and thrusting the photo within his breast. +“I shall keep and cherish this, as one of my +most sacred possessions. Congratulations, +young man!”</p> + +<p>The detective’s words rang sincere. Nichols +flushed. He stammered an answer as Drew +hurried down the carpeted steps and joined Delaney +at the storm-door.</p> + +<p>“Chief,” said the operative as they reached +the sidewalk and turned toward Madison Avenue. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_103'></a>103</span>“Chief, why didn’t you pump that lad +about Stockbridge. You didn’t ask him a thing +about the old man.”</p> + +<p>“Unethical to a client,” reproved Drew linking +arm with the operative. “Come on! We +must hurry! I’ve an idea—which is a very +strange thing for a New York detective to have—that Harry Nichols, +if he stays in town on +furlough, will represent Loris in all matters. I +don’t know where she could find a better counselor. +He’s a clam! He told us nothing!”</p> + +<p>“Wise boy, Chief! Only fools and women +talk to detectives.”</p> + +<p>“Umph!” said Drew at this sally. “Umph! +Well, come on. It’s quit snowing. It’s daybreak +over there in the east and I think the +clouds will clear before it gets much later. +You<span style='white-space: nowrap'>––</span>”</p> + +<p>“Say, Chief!” exclaimed Delaney clutching +the detective’s shoulder and wheeling him +around. “Say, stand right there a minute. +Right in that light. What’s that on your chin? +Right under the tip of your left ear. Turn +around a little more!”</p> + +<p>Drew raised his left hand and rubbed it +across his face. He pinched the lobe of his ear +between his thumb and index finger. He whistled +with frosty amazement as he eyed his nail +and thumb.</p> + +<p>“What to blazes!” he said. “What’s that?”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_104'></a>104</span>“Turn around! Right under this arc light. +Say, Chief, how did you get that spot of black +on your neck? You’ve smeared it all over your +collar.”</p> + +<p>“I don’t know. What’s it look like?”</p> + +<p>“Soot!”</p> + +<p>“Soot?”</p> + +<p>“Sure, Chief. Lampblack or soot!”</p> + +<p>Drew arched his dark brows as he rubbed his +finger-tips together. He held them up to the +stronger light. He turned and glanced back +through the silent walls of the street down +which they had walked. He took one step toward +the east.</p> + +<p>“Hold on!” said Delaney. “Where are you +going?”</p> + +<p>“Going back!”</p> + +<p>“Why, Chief!”</p> + +<p>“Smell that stuff! Smell it!” Drew thrust +his fingers under Delaney’s wrinkled nose. +“Smell it, good and strong!” he snapped bitterly. +“What is it?”</p> + +<p>“By God, Chief, it’s powder, I smell! Gunpowder, +it is!”</p> + +<p>“Umph! I must have gotten it from that +gat!”</p> + +<p>“You couldn’t, Chief. That gun was polished +up like a whistle. Besides, how would the spot +come to be under your left ear?”</p> + +<p>Drew furrowed his brow. He swung in the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_105'></a>105</span>snow with new decision. “Come on!” he said. +“We’ll think this over! I didn’t see any soot +on that gat. I don’t know where I got it either. +Could it have been there for some time?”</p> + +<p>“Sure, Chief. I just happened to notice it. +Light’s bright.” Delaney nodded toward the +arc.</p> + +<p>“Did you get a good look at my face in Stockbridge’s?”</p> + +<p>“Can’t say that I did, Chief. I was too busy +with that howler thing and that magpie and that +murder, to see anything. You might of got it +there without me noticing it. It wasn’t there +in the taxicab. I’ll swear to that.”</p> + +<p>Drew passed his fingers across his nostrils +like a man sampling perfume. He repeated the +motion. He scraped some of the powder from +his nails with a pocket knife and dropped the +sample into the crease of an envelope which he +carefully folded and crammed into his pocket.</p> + +<p>“I’ll have that analyzed,” he said, as they +turned toward Fifth Avenue. “Another trifle +in a chain of circumstance. Think it over, Delaney. +It resembles and smells like powder +which has been burnt. You hurry along home. +Be at the office no later than nine. I’ll keep on +down Fifth Avenue to the Flatiron Building. I +want to walk and clear my head. I’ll get some +coffee, pie and rolls, at an all-night restaurant. +I’ll take time for a shave, shine and shampoo. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_106'></a>106</span>Perhaps I’ll jump into a Turkish bath to finish +up and get ready for work.”</p> + +<p>“You’re not going to bed at all?”</p> + +<p>“Not until I find out who murdered Stockbridge!”</p> + +<p>“Or how he was murdered?” said Delaney, +with a puzzled frown as he turned to go.</p> + +<p>“If I get the murderer, I’ll find out how he +did it!” snapped Drew, with a parting glance.</p> + +<div> +<a id='ch08'></a> +<p class='line mt3 center'><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_107'></a>107</span>CHAPTER EIGHT</p> +<p class='line mb2 center'>“TANGLED WIRES”</p> +</div> + +<p>It was five minutes before nine when Delaney +reached the ornate entrance to the +skyscraper wherein were the offices of +Drew’s Agency.</p> + +<p>He wandered into the express elevator, +yawned a “eighteen, out” signal to the elevator +pilot and stepped from the cage with the general +air of a man who had spent a hard night +without getting anywhere in particular.</p> + +<p>Stopping in the operatives’ room for a few +minutes, he picked up scraps of news concerning +the case at Stockbridge’s. There was a report, +moreover, that an extra was expected by +ten o’clock. The air of desertion about the +suite told Delaney plainer than words that +most of the operatives were upon the case. The +entire corps, with few exceptions, had been +working hard while he slept. The telephone-girl +and the assistant-manager, Harrigan, +wound up each of his questions by a nod or a +jerk of the thumb toward the inner office where +Drew was sitting like a spider in a web which +was being spun about the case at hand.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_108'></a>108</span>Delaney yawned, braced himself with a drink +of ice water drawn from an inverted-bottle, and +stepped toward Drew’s door. He knocked with +tired knuckles. He pressed forward as he heard +a hearty: “Come in!”</p> + +<p>The operative eyed his Chief with sovereign +amazement. Drew looked as fresh as a daisy. +There was a pink tinge upon his olive cheeks. +These cheeks had been close shaven. Oil glistened +from the detective’s black hair. His mustache +was trimmed and level with his upper lip. +His eyes, as he swung and fastened a clear +glance upon Delaney, were almost too bright. +They were like the hectic fires of an inner furnace.</p> + +<p>Delaney searched about the room. He lifted +one foot and then the other with a tired motion. +He leaned against a filing-case like a heavy dray +horse which had come to a final stop. He +yawned behind his big, red hand.</p> + +<p>“How d’ye do it, Chief?” he asked with a second +yawn. “I’m dead on my feet. All the sleep +I got was about thirty minutes. I haven’t woke +up yet. I met myself going to work this morning.”</p> + +<p>Drew laughed quickly and motioned toward a +leather chair. “Sit down!” he suggested. “Sit +right down, Delaney. Take it easy for a few +minutes. You seem tired.”</p> + +<p>“It beats me how you can do it!” declared +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_109'></a>109</span>the operative, sprawling across the chair and +crossing his weary legs.</p> + +<p>“One or two hours’ sleep is never any good. +Better keep awake. You remind me of the last +rose of Sharon!”</p> + +<p>“I feel like a house-man in an all-night poker +game. What’s the use! I’m going over to some +bank and get a job as a night watchman, if this +keeps up. I can sleep my head off, there.”</p> + +<p>Drew swung in his chair and eyed the papers +on his desk. He swiveled as Delaney inquired:</p> + +<p>“What’s the news in the Stockbridge case? +I’ve been asking Marie and Harrigan. They +don’t seem to know anything except that everybody +is out—already.” Delaney extended his +huge mouth to a cavernous yawn. He fished up +his great, silver watch. “What’s the news, +Chief? Any assignments for me?”</p> + +<p>“News? There’s very little news, Delaney. +No good news, yet! I’ve been busy as a Chinaman +on a contract, though. I can’t let that matter +get cold. It’s now or never in this case!”</p> + +<p>“What does our friend Fosdick say?”</p> + +<p>“He’s all at sea! I’ve talked with him twice.” +Drew glanced at the ’phone. “He says the murder +was a second Rue Morgue. He can’t see +any light at all!”</p> + +<p>“He’s come around to our deduction?”</p> + +<p>“There’s no deduction in it!”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_110'></a>110</span>“He says it’s murder?”</p> + +<p>“Cold, curdling, cunning, crafty murder, Delaney. +The coroner said it would have been impossible +for a man to shoot himself in the manner +Stockbridge was shot. They’re right—both +of them—and we’re right. I’ll stake my badge +on it! Particularly in view of the two threats. +Why, I was there when he was called up and +given twelve hours on this earth.”</p> + +<p>Delaney glanced out the window. “Snowing +again,” he said, “I wonder if there are any +footprints in that back yard or alley. Wouldn’t +that be a clue, Chief?”</p> + +<p>“To what?”</p> + +<p>“Well, you told me that the trouble-man said +a tall lad climbed the fence near the junction-box +and beat it for Fifth Avenue. Maybe that +lad left footprints behind.”</p> + +<p>“They’re snowed over now!”</p> + +<p>“But if he made them, couldn’t we find them +underneath?”</p> + +<p>Drew’s eyes narrowed. He leaned in his +chair with a searching glance at Delaney. “How +long did you sleep?” he asked sharply.</p> + +<p>“About thirty minutes, Chief. Mary and the +kids woke me up and I couldn’t get settled +again. I did some thinking.”</p> + +<p>“You must ’ave! That idea about the footprints +is a mighty good one. There was first +a thaw, then a freeze, then a snow fall which +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_111'></a>111</span>preserved everything. If we wait till spring +there might be a set of prints underneath the +other sets. Two of our operatives were there. +The trouble-man was there. He scraped the +connections. If we find a fourth set of prints, +that’s our man!”</p> + +<p>“The tall lad?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, Delaney. We can build a box about the +fence and start a thaw of our own. I’ll think +it over!”</p> + +<p>“I’ll go up and do it, Chief. I can make +plaster-casts of all the prints. There’s a French +system I heard of once. I can find out from +Farot over at Headquarters.”</p> + +<p>“Keep it under cover for a while,” decided +Drew, sitting down and drawing a sheath of +papers to the edge of the desk. “Keep it quiet,” +he added. “I’ll think it over.”</p> + +<p>Delaney rubbed his chin. He watched Drew +rapidly thumb over the data. “Say, Chief,” he +yawned. “I see another light.”</p> + +<p>“What?” shot Drew over his shoulder. +“S—o? Wait a moment before you give it to +me—you reminded me of something. Where +was the spot of powder on my face? The rubber +in the Turkish bath said it was right here.” +The detective turned and touched his forefinger +below the lobe of his left ear. “Right there,” +he added.</p> + +<p>“That’s where it was, Chief. Just where you +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_112'></a>112</span>got your finger. It was on the cord. Seems to +me that it was circular in shape. Like a half-moon.”</p> + +<p>Drew raised his black brows in reflective +thought. He opened a small drawer with a sudden +dart of his arm. He poised a mirror so +that the light from the window brought out his +left ear and neck. He dropped the mirror to +the desk. “Delaney,” he said, “that’s exactly +the spot where Stockbridge was shot!”</p> + +<p>The operative felt a cold chill dart up and +down his tired spine. He came to life with an +oath, and a slap of his huge palm upon his +knee.</p> + +<p>“Chief, you’re right!” he exclaimed, leaning +forward. “You’re right! That spot of black +was just where the old man was hit. Now, what +d’ye make of that?”</p> + +<p>Drew drummed his fingers on the edge of the +polished desk. He tapped his toes on the floor. +He coughed and picked up the mirror for a second +and longer glance at his face and neck. He +tossed the mirror to the desk and swiveled +slowly.</p> + +<p>“What do I think of it?” he repeated, with +flashing eyes. “I think there are features to +this case I don’t like!”</p> + +<p>“Could it have been an accident, Chief? You +might of got a bit of soot from the gun and +then scratched your neck. Maybe that Harry +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_113'></a>113</span>Nichols put one over on us. The gun might +have been fired, reloaded, and we never noticed +it. Looks bad for Nichols and the girl.”</p> + +<p>Drew closed his eyelids tightly. His brow +furrowed in deep thought. “No,” he said +finally. “I don’t think the soot or powder came +from the pearl-handled revolver. I don’t think +so! It would seem to me, Delaney, that intuition +is stronger than evidence. That girl and +that boy rang true. That valet is above suspicion. +The servants are to be trusted. Stockbridge +trusted them and he was noted for his +shrewdness in picking men. The only mistake +he ever made was Morphy. That individual was +out to do the old man. He was a biter, bitten! +I think we’ll eliminate, for the time, Loris, +Harry, the servants and German influences in +the matter at hand. What was your idea?” +Drew rubbed his neck beneath his ear, as he +turned to his papers.</p> + +<p>“I’ve forgotten it, Chief. That spot drove it +all out. No, wait—say! I’ve been thinking—this +morning laying there and listening to the +kids getting ready for school—that the powder +we smelled in the library wasn’t ordinary powder. +I know a firecracker, or a regular Chinese +smell when I get near one. That wasn’t the +kind I got. It was like something else. It was +powder—all right—but<span style='white-space: nowrap'>––</span>”</p> + +<p>Drew lifted a sheet of paper. “I covered +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_114'></a>114</span>that,” he said. “Analysis made by Higgens, +this morning, shows traces of smokeless-powder +in Stockbridge’s hair and about the bullet hole. +There’s a difference. Now, I’m going further +than that. I’m going to have those scrapings I +got from my neck looked at. If they are the +same as the powder that was used to slay Stockbridge, +we are getting on.”</p> + +<p>“There’s lots of smokeless, Chief.”</p> + +<p>“That’s the trouble—that’s what we are right +up against. Let’s leave the footprints and the +powder for a few minutes. Both are important. +They’ll wait. See here!”</p> + +<p>Drew raised a sheath of papers from his desk, +turned with the chair, and started thumbing +over the data he had accumulated.</p> + +<p>“See here,” he repeated absently. “First +branch of the tree of Truth in this case is a +stubborn one. It requires considerable work on +our part to get to the end of it. I’ve sent out +six operatives to scout the telephone calls and +get me some light on them. I’ve kept some +notes on what they have ’phoned in to me. The +telephone company, the wire-chief at Gramercy +Hill, and an official I know, have been enlisted +in getting to the bottom of these calls. They +have made progress. But, Delaney, of all the +devilish inventions of man, a telephone is the +most subtle. It’s a wonder to me we have +found anything. It’s the crook’s one best tool. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_115'></a>115</span>With it he can play safe, and we can’t catch +him!”</p> + +<p>“What have you found, Chief?”</p> + +<p>Drew held up a paper. “The first call, Delaney,” +he said, “was the one to the cemetery +company’s superintendent, notifying him to excavate +a grave in the Stockbridges’ family plot. +Subtle suggestion, that, in the light of what +followed.”</p> + +<p>“It was,” said Delaney.</p> + +<p>“This call has received all of the attention it +deserved. It’s the first of the series, and was +perhaps made before the crook had time to cover +himself completely. It has been traced to a slot +booth in the Pennsylvania Railroad Station in +the Woman’s Waiting Room.”</p> + +<p>“Woman’s?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, Delaney. That is no criterion that a +woman did the calling-up. The girl there in +charge of the pay-booths states that more men +than women use the ’phones in that part of the +station.”</p> + +<p>“Just our luck!”</p> + +<p>“The toll collected on this call must have been +thirty-five cents, including the war-tax. The +superintendent says that the voice over the wire +was thin and tired. He says he thought it was +Dr. Conroy. He never gave the matter second +consideration. Conroy, however, has a +voice like a bull. We checked that up.”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_116'></a>116</span>“Does the superintendent know Conroy?”</p> + +<p>“No! Except by name!”</p> + +<p>“Then, Chief, I don’t see any use trying that +lead. It begins and ends in air.”</p> + +<p>“It most certainly does! We’ll cross it out. +The next call for our investigation<span style='white-space: nowrap'>––</span>”</p> + +<p>“Which was?” asked Delaney, waking up.</p> + +<p>“Which was the one notifying Stockbridge +that he had about reached his span of life on +this earth. I was there in that library when +the call came in. Again, from the millionaire’s +description, this time, we have the thin, whispering +voice on the wire. The man was probably +the same. He mentioned the cemetery letter +which would establish that fact.”</p> + +<p>“I’m following you, Chief. Go on!”</p> + +<p>Drew picked out a second sheet of paper from +his pile. “We went after this call at the time, +or soon after the time it was sent in,” he said, +tapping the sheet with his fingers. “I called +the office here and had Harrigan get in touch +with George Westlake, third vice-president of +the telephone company. Westlake got busy.”</p> + +<p>Delaney eyed his unpolished shoes with a +sage wink.</p> + +<p>“Westlake turned things over,” continued +the detective. “He made a most thorough investigation. +We have his word that there is no +record of this call! The wire-chief at Gramercy +Hill Exchange declares that it never went +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_117'></a>117</span>through the switchboard. That the connection +had been made on the outside.”</p> + +<p>“From the air?”</p> + +<p>“Looks that way. They tried everything and +questioned everybody. No one talked with +Stockbridge through the switchboard at Gramercy +Hill, at or near that hour. Therefore, we +must conclude, that, insomuch as I know somebody +<i>did</i> talk with him at that hour, the connection +was made, either in the junction-box in the +alley or behind the switchboard at Gramercy +Hill Exchange.”</p> + +<p>“How about underground, Chief?”</p> + +<p>“Impossible! That is—almost impossible. +The cables are in conduit and sheathed with +lead. It would be a poor place to tap in on a +line. I’m going to presume that the man who +tapped in knew his business. The junction-box +in the alley is under suspicion. I think it was +done there, in this manner.” Drew paused and +picked up a third sheet of hurriedly-written +notes.</p> + +<p>“A junction-box,” he said, “is merely a small +switchboard where the conduit ends and the +house connections begin. It would have been +easy for an expert to disconnect the two leads +which led into Stockbridge’s library, ring up +with a low tension magneto, and then cut in +with a testing set and a battery current and +do the talking. That is what the trouble-man +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_118'></a>118</span>told us might have been done. He found no +signs of tampering. He saw a tall man escaping +down the alley. It would seem, Delaney, +that this tall man is the one we’re after. Perhaps, +as you said, he left footprints. But footprints, +like fingerprints, are not much use until +you get the man who made them.”</p> + +<p>“What d’ye deduct in this second call—Chief?”</p> + +<p>“That we’ve run squarely up against a blind +wall. We’ll drop it for a time and go to the +third call.”</p> + +<p>“When was that?”</p> + +<p>“Stockbridge was murdered at four minutes +and eighteen seconds past twelve, by his own +watch, Delaney. It was a very good watch! +Now allowing for a movement of the hands +on account of the fall, how are we to account +for a telephone call sent into Gramercy Hill +9763—the library ’phone—at exactly five minutes +past twelve from a slot-telephone booth at +the east end of the Grand Central Railroad Station +on Forty-second Street?”</p> + +<p>“How did you get that, Chief?”</p> + +<p>Drew chuckled and wheeled in his chair. “I +got it,” he said, “by simple arithmetic plus the +vice-president’s pull. Here’s how it was found, +Delaney. Easy as two and two. You remember +the howler?”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_119'></a>119</span>“I’ll never forget it, Chief! Not as long as +I live!”</p> + +<p>“The howler established considerable in this +case. The chief operator remembers putting it +on. She remembers the time. She looked back, +after being jogged by George Westlake, and +found that some one had called up Stockbridge +a few minutes after twelve. It was probably +this call to the old man that caused him to be +near enough to the telephone to knock it over +when he was shot. The operator did not hear +the shot, but she remembers a thin, piping voice +asking for Gramercy Hill 9763.”</p> + +<p>“The same guy, every time!” declared the +operative, mopping his brow with his sleeve. +“I’d like to have that fellow for five minutes, +Chief!”</p> + +<p>“We’ll get him! We’ve got the time established +twice. Stockbridge’s watch fixes the murder +at twelve-four-eighteen. The telephone call +at five minutes past twelve, and the howler put +on soon afterward, checks up. The old man +was alive during the telephone call from the +Grand Central, and dead when the howler was +put on for the first time. Do you see that?”</p> + +<p>Delaney frowned. “I see it and I don’t,” he +said. “I’m all balled up, Chief. What with +the magpie and the howler and a man shot in +a locked room and the spot of soot on your neck<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_120'></a>120</span>—I’m all twisted into a knot. I think I’ll go +out and get a drink!”</p> + +<p>“No, Delaney, don’t,” said Drew. “You’ll +need your head in this case. We’re squarely up +against class of the highest order. Since Sheeney +Mike and the gas-tube over the transom in +Chinatown, I don’t know of a more baffling set +of clews. All these calls—which seem so important +in the case—lead to a whispering voice +of low pitch and timber. Perhaps the police +records will show such a man who is at large—very +much at large.”</p> + +<p>Delaney furrowed his brows and screwed his +face into a painful knot. “I’m trying to go +back, Chief, to the Morphy case and them +crooked witnesses he had. They all had loud +voices—like wolves!”</p> + +<p>“Yes—I remember them. But then, Delaney, +a man can change his voice. That whole pack +will bear watching.”</p> + +<p>“You’ve eliminated some things that were +worrying, Chief. But there’s some I don’t see +yet. It’s impossible for a man to get shot like +that old millionaire was. We went over that +room and that house. We frisked good and +plenty. There was nothing suspicious. The +walls were thick. The floor was hardwood. +The ceiling was some kind of patent plaster, +that’s like stone. I got two looks at the door, +and you tried the windows. Now what’s the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_121'></a>121</span>answer, chief? I’ll say you are never going to +clear this case up. I don’t think you can. It’s +going to be one of them unsolved mysteries. +If you do figure something out it ain’t going +to be proved to my satisfaction. The thing +couldn’t be done the way it was done!”</p> + +<p>“That’s definite,” smiled Drew, tapping the +desk with the tips of his well-polished finger +nails. “You’re talking in a circle. I’ll solve +the case, or I won’t sleep!”</p> + +<p>“It’s impossible!”</p> + +<p>Drew sorted his papers and bent over them. +He turned the swivel chair by a pressure of his +knee. His eyes narrowed as he studied Delaney’s +lugubrious face which was sadly in need +of a shave.</p> + +<p>“Impossible,” he repeated softly. “There’s +no such word, Delaney. It’s a fool’s excuse. +Now I don’t want you to be a fool. Don’t make +the mistake of allowing a seeming impossibility +to dull your efforts. There’s always a +way around everything which looks high and +impassable. They used to go round the Horn. +Now they cut through the Isthmus. They +used to think men were supernatural. Now +they know that nothing works without a law. +I admit that I don’t know how Stockbridge came +to his end. I don’t want to dwell upon it, +either. But this we do know, by these papers, +that he was well-hated, threatened and marked +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_122'></a>122</span>for death by an individual or clique of individuals. +That is all we know, and all we ever need +to know, in order to proceed on the basis that +a material agency struck out his life with a material +substance—such as lead propelled by +smokeless powder.”</p> + +<p>“Whew!” exclaimed Delaney, rising.</p> + +<p>“As for the library wherein he was slain,” +continued Drew. “As for it, we must revert to +simple geometry. Matter occupies space. A +material act was committed by a material body +which got past all our precautions and struck +the magnate down. What is there in this world, +which is at one and the same time, material and +yet capable of penetrating through a door or +wall without a trace? Give me that answer, +and we’ll get results. What is it?”</p> + +<p>“Damned if I know! I’m all balled up! You +talk like a college professor. You mean something +that is and something that isn’t. Good +morning!”</p> + +<p>Delaney reached for the door knob with a +gesture of disdain. Drew wheeled and stared +at him. “Wait a minute,” he said softly.</p> + +<p>The operative turned and dropped his hands +to his side.</p> + +<p>“You remember the magpie?” asked Drew.</p> + +<p>Delaney nodded.</p> + +<p>“Well, sit down and wait. It’ll be here within +five minutes. The valet ’phoned he was bringing +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_123'></a>123</span>it in a taxi. That was just before you came +in.”</p> + +<p>“Taxi!” snorted the big operative, stretching +himself on the leather chair. “Them valets +have got it soft. Last night was the first ride +I’ve had in one for months, and<span style='white-space: nowrap'>––</span>”</p> + +<p>Delaney’s voice trailed to an end. He turned +in the chair and saw Harrigan’s red face and +auburn hair come slowly through the aperture +made by opening the door.</p> + +<p>“Well?” snapped Drew.</p> + +<p>“There’s a funny lookin’ guy out here, +chief,” said the assistant-manager. “He wants +to see you in person. He’s got knee-britches +and a bunch of brass-buttons on his monkey-jacket. +Says he’s a valet.”</p> + +<p>“Has he got anything with him?” asked +Drew.</p> + +<p>“He has, Chief! He’s got a gilded cage with +the damnedest looking bird in it I ever saw. It +ain’t a parrot and it ain’t a crow. It’s a blue-jay +or something like that!”</p> + +<p>“Show him in!” Drew said. “Show him in. +You can wait, Delaney!”</p> + +<div> +<a id='ch09'></a> +<p class='line mt3 center'><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_124'></a>124</span>CHAPTER NINE</p> +<p class='line mb2 center'>“MEN AND MOTIVES”</p> +</div> + +<p>The two detectives leaned back in their respective +chairs and eyed each other. Both +swung and stared out of the window at +the swirling snow which salted across the window +in an unending curtain of white. Both +returned to the locked stare so common to men +who have worked together in danger and know +each other’s merits.</p> + +<p>Delaney’s eyes dropped first. He studied the +rug beneath Drew’s polished shoes. He coughed +behind his hand, and turned with a shrug of +his shoulders. He fastened upon the closed +door a glance of expectancy which brought a +smile to the chief’s lips.</p> + +<p>“Things are picking up,” said Drew, with +a short laugh. “Your friend—the bird—has +arrived.”</p> + +<p>“My friend?” blurted the big operative. +“It’s no friend of mine! I’d wring its neck, +gladly.”</p> + +<p>“It may be the key to the whole thing. +Smarter men than the ones we are fighting have +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_125'></a>125</span>fallen through less. You remember Eddy, The +Brute, who left his umbrella after him in the +Homesdale Murder Mystery. Funny, wasn’t +it? Took three months to plan the murder and +left his rain-stick behind. His initials were on +it.”</p> + +<p>“They can’t get away<span style='white-space: nowrap'>––</span>” started Delaney.</p> + +<p>“Here’s your bird!” announced Drew, as a +knock sounded on the door. “Move over and +let that valet stand there. I want the light in +his eyes when we’re talking to him. Always get +the light in the other fellow’s eye. Sisst!”</p> + +<p>The door opened to a crack—then wide. The +valet came in with an important strut. He +turned and deposited a cage at Delaney’s big +feet. The operative moved back with a grunt +of disgust. He eyed the cage and contents with +a homicidal expression. His eyes raised and +fastened upon the valet. He hooked his broad +thumbs in the arm-holes of his vest and took a +deep breath.</p> + +<p>“I hope you’re satisfied,” he said to Drew, +who was smiling. “I hope this black sparrow +don’t start anything. I’ll finish it, sure.”</p> + +<p>“What’s your name?” asked the chief, turning +and consulting a paper.</p> + +<p>“Otto Braun,” said the valet. “Otto Braun, +sir.”</p> + +<p>“Born in Cologne ... year, sixty-three ... worked as valet and major domo for British +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_126'></a>126</span>families ... came to America with Mr. Stockbridge, +and have been with him since?”</p> + +<p>“That’s correct, sir,” the valet said, with a +start of amazement.</p> + +<p>“Are you married?”</p> + +<p>“Twice—sir.”</p> + +<p>“Wife living?”</p> + +<p>“Both, sir. I’m paying a small alimony to +both.”</p> + +<p>Delaney grunted. His foot went out toward +the magpie which had finished hopping about +the perches of the cage, and was listening with +head cocked sideways.</p> + +<p>“You—you have charge of this bird?” asked +Drew, turning fully around and facing the valet +with heavy-lidded intentness.</p> + +<p>“I’m its keeper, sir!”</p> + +<p>Delaney coughed explosively. He leaned +down to cover his confusion. He jabbed a +thumb at the bird.</p> + +<p>“It’s savage,” he rumbled. “It pecked at +me!”</p> + +<p>“Easy,” warned Drew, with a quick frown. +“Easy, Delaney. I want to get to the facts of +this case. We’re wasting time.”</p> + +<p>“Go ahead, Chief.”</p> + +<p>“I’ve had you come down here,” said Drew, +turning to the valet, “in order to find out about +that magpie. You had charge of it when Mr. +Stockbridge was alive?”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_127'></a>127</span>“Yes, sir. I fed it and kept it clean, +for the—master.” The valet sniffled slightly. Drew +watched him with keen eyes.</p> + +<p>“Did it repeat much of Mr. Stockbridge’s +conversation?” he asked.</p> + +<p>“Repeat, sir?”</p> + +<p>“What I’m trying to get at is, whether or +not the bird was in the habit of repeating words +that seemed to strike its fancy. Did it act like +a parrot?”</p> + +<p>“It’s very much like a parrot, sir. Sometimes +it was sulky and wouldn’t say anything for +days. Other times, sir, we had trouble keeping +it quiet.”</p> + +<p>Drew turned in his chair and fingered a paper. +“I looked up everything I can find in my +library here, in regard to magpies,” he said. +“Is there any difference between an ordinary +magpie and a Spanish one?” he added, turning.</p> + +<p>“I don’t think so, sir. They can all be taught +to talk—the same as a parrot, sir.”</p> + +<p>“Then if this bird should repeat a word, or +two words, over and over again it would be +plausible to assume that some one had used the +word or two words. I want to make myself +clear,” Drew added with engaging candor. +“What I’m getting at is important in view of +the fact that this magpie used two words after +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_128'></a>128</span>we broke down the door to the library and +found Mr. Stockbridge murdered.”</p> + +<p>Delaney leaned forward.</p> + +<p>“The words this bird used were ‘Ah Sing,’ +as near as we can arrive at them. Did you ever +hear it repeat that couplet?”</p> + +<p>“I can’t say that I have, sir.”</p> + +<p>The detective lifted his brows and stared at +the cage. “Repeat that,” he said to Delaney. +“Repeat what we heard in the library.”</p> + +<p>“Ah, Sing! Ah, Sing! Ah, Sing!” boomed +the operative.</p> + +<p>The magpie ruffled its feathers and darted +about the cage like a sparrow in a barrel. +“Keep it up,” said Drew.</p> + +<p>“Ah, Sin! Ah, Sing! Ah, Singing!” roared +Delaney.</p> + +<p>“That’ll do! You’ve frightened it. Let it +alone for a while. We’ll keep it here, Otto. +I’ll send it back in a few days. How’s Miss +Stockbridge bearing the strain, up at the +house?”</p> + +<p>“She hasn’t left her room, sir. Mr. Nichols +called. The Red Cross people called. There’s +been lots of callers, sir, but she hasn’t appeared, +sir. It’s early, though.”</p> + +<p>Drew glanced at his watch. “That’s all,” he +said. “You may go.”</p> + +<p>The door closed softly as the valet bowed, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_129'></a>129</span>replaced his hat and passed out without glancing +back.</p> + +<p>“A good servant,” said Drew, rising and +kneeling down beside the cage. “Now, Delaney,” +he added tersely. “Now, old sleepy +head, we have the key to the case locked here. +I don’t doubt but that you unconsciously struck +the right clew when you bawled your little +hymn. You said, ‘Ah, Singing.’ Now couldn’t +that be Ossining?”</p> + +<p>“By God, Chief, it could!”</p> + +<p>“Or, more likely, Ah! Sing Sing!”</p> + +<p>“Who said that?”</p> + +<p>“The bird!”</p> + +<p>“But who taught the bird?”</p> + +<p>“Nobody taught it! It might have been the +last thing said by Stockbridge—just before he +was shot.”</p> + +<p>“And the bird repeated it—to us?”</p> + +<p>“Certainly! A parrot or a magpie is a living +phonograph. They reproduce a sound, at times, +without any idea of knowing what they are saying. +This bird may have been so frightened by +the shot which was fired in the library, that it +recalled the words used by Stockbridge before +the shot was fired. These words, in my opinion, +tell us that the millionaire was ’phoning to some +individual, probably the whispering-voiced +man. This individual and Ah, Sing! or Ah, +Sing Sing! or Ah, Singing! or Ossining! are +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_130'></a>130</span>closely allied. Now who of Stockbridge’s enemies +does that fit?”</p> + +<p>Drew rose to his feet and dusted his knees. +“Is that clear?” he asked.</p> + +<p>“Clear as mud, Chief! I don’t get it yet!”</p> + +<p>“You will,” said the detective, dropping +down in his chair and reaching for his papers. +“See these,” he added, swiveling and darting +a quick glance at the bird-cage. “These, Delaney, +are a list of the old man’s known enemies. +I have compiled this list from the secretary’s +statements, my own newspaper reading, +the facts we gained at Morphy’s trial, and +from what Stockbridge told me in the library +before he was slain.” Drew counted the list +with a steady finger. “There’s seven,” he said.</p> + +<p>“Is that all! I thought there was more ’an +that!”</p> + +<p>“No! Seven is the number! He was well +hated as you will see. First and foremost we +have Mortimer Morphy, who is serving from +ten to twenty years in state prison, with other +indictments hanging over his iron-gray head. +He’s the captain of them all. He lacks soul, +conscience and heart. ‘The Wolf of the Ticker’ +they used to call him. I had the warden on the +wire this morning. He’s ready to aid justice +to the limit. He says that Morphy, or rather +Convict 87313, I think they call them inmates +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_131'></a>131</span>up there, is well and working. He’s in charge +of the books in the front office.”</p> + +<p>“He’d never keep any books for me!” declared +Delaney.</p> + +<p>Drew nodded. “Me, either,” he said. “I +have heard too much about his past to trust +his future. Stockbridge always feared him.”</p> + +<p>“Does he fit what the black crow said?”</p> + +<p>“He does, most certainly! Sing Sing and +Morphy are linked together in every way. Morphy +must have been mentioned on the wire and +Stockbridge shouted, ‘What, in Sing Sing?’ or +words to the same meaning.”</p> + +<p>“Go on,” said Delaney, glancing at the magpie +with round eyes.</p> + +<p>“Then comes Vogel, who was at state’s +prison, but whom they transferred to the hospital +at Glendale, where he is said to be dying +of tuberculosis.”</p> + +<p>“I remember him. A little runt with a big +nose. That might be the whispering voice, +Chief, if he’s got T. B.”</p> + +<p>“Hardly! I also had Glendale on the ’phone, +or Harrigan did. They say Vogel is right there +and is going to stay there, if fifty guards will +keep him.”</p> + +<p>“Next, Chief?”</p> + +<p>“The next is Vogel’s partner, Ross. You +remember him? A good-natured, fat fellow +with a bald head. He was always smiling. He’s +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_132'></a>132</span>making little rocks out of big ones in a convict +camp near Lake George. He was at Sing Sing, +or Ossining, for a time. Most of the New York +prisoners are taken there first. It’s a sort of +clearing house for the other prisons of the +state.”</p> + +<p>“Would he fit in with what this bird said, +Chief?”</p> + +<p>“He might!”</p> + +<p>“Go on, I’m getting interested.”</p> + +<p>“Then,” said Drew, “we have the two brokers +who handled Morphy’s Blue Sky, preferred; +Flying Boat, and other swindles. They +are at Sing Sing.”</p> + +<p>“What’s their names, Chief? I’ve forgotten.”</p> + +<p>“Greene and Goldberg! One confessed and +one turned state’s evidence. They got off with +from two to four years. A nice bunch of +squealers!”</p> + +<p>“They’ll be out pretty soon, Chief!”</p> + +<p>“Yes—but they’re harmless. I don’t think +they had anything to do with the murder of +Stockbridge. The other fellow might.”</p> + +<p>“Who’s that, Chief?”</p> + +<p>“Finklestein—the banker. The one who +went before the Grand Jury and claimed exemption. +He’s somewhere on the outside. I +think Flynn is covering him. I sent him over +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_133'></a>133</span>to Jersey, where Finklestein has a place near +Morristown. We’ll hear of him later.”</p> + +<p>Delaney shifted his big feet and started +counting on his fingers. He widened his eyes. +“There’s one more,” he said, as Drew leaned +back.</p> + +<p>“Yes, there’s one more. I kept him for the +last. He’s out of sight, reach and hearing. +You know who I mean?”</p> + +<p>“That guy who invented wireless boat, or flying +boat, or them movie-picture things in seventeen +colors. I know who you mean. He beat +it, slick as any porch-climber. What’s his +name, Chief?”</p> + +<p>“Morphy’s brother, Cuthbert Morphy! He’s +an electrical-engineer and the inventor of all +their shady promotions. He’s the real brains +of the mob. You never saw him?”</p> + +<p>“No—did you?”</p> + +<p>“Can’t say that I have!” declared Drew with +a snap. “I call him one of my failures. I’ve +made enough. Remember how Flood and Cassady +searched for him after the others were +arrested? He’s cost us thousands of dollars—without result. +I charged it to Stockbridge.”</p> + +<p>“Which way did he go, Chief?”</p> + +<p>“He beat it for Argentine. From there he +went across South America to Antofagasta. +From there he disappeared like a rocket in No +Man’s Land. No trace was found. For all we +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_134'></a>134</span>know, he might be right here in little old New +York—the best hiding place in the known world. +I hate to think of the places a man could plant +in this town!”</p> + +<p>“Sure! But they always come around the +old corner. Remember Dutch Gus, the boxman. +Five years, Chief, in every town on the +map, and then he was picked up at Forty-second +Street and Broadway. Maybe your friend, Cutbert, +will show up some day?”</p> + +<p>“Cuthbert!” corrected Drew. “He’s no +friend of mine, Delaney. The trouble is, we +haven’t got a single photograph of him. That +shows he was figuring on crime all his life. +A man who don’t get his picture taken, is generally +a man to watch.”</p> + +<p>“He’s slick, Chief. What does he look like?”</p> + +<p>Drew pressed a buzzer-button. “Look like?” +he said, turning toward the door. “Oh, he is a +little fellow, quick-tempered and probably +handy with a gat. He’s dangerous. I think +Cuthbert Morphy is a good lead if we can find +him.”</p> + +<p>“I never did like that first name!” Delaney +blurted as Harrigan opened the door to a crack.</p> + +<p>“What have you found out about Harry +Nichols?” asked Drew, as the assistant-manager +stepped in softly.</p> + +<p>“Got Plattsburg, Chief,” said Harrigan +briefly. “Harry is O. K. up there. Captain’s +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_135'></a>135</span>commission. Three months intensive training. +Going to France soon. On fourteen-days’ furlough +in New York. Was floor manager for +Harris, Post and Browning. Quit good job to +go in the Army. Harris, of the brokerage firm, +says Harry can come back and hang up his hat +any time. That’s about all!”</p> + +<p>“Umph!” said Drew. “That’s fine, in a way. +He couldn’t have a better record. Now we’ll +lay him aside. What did Frick learn at Ossining?”</p> + +<p>“Frick ’phoned once. I was going to connect +you with him but that fellow with the bird-cage +came in. Frick says the warden is O. K. and +will lend every aid. He saw Morphy in the Auditor’s +Department. Looks worried, he says. +Getting old! The visitor’s list shows that he’s +had an average of three visits a month. No +sign of his brother. There’s a fellow calls, +though, who might be Cuthbert Morphy. Answers +general description. They’ll pinch him +next time he comes. We never thought of looking +for him there!”</p> + +<p>“No! We were going to <i>send</i> him there! +It’s like a crook, though, to play with fire. What +else did Frick say?”</p> + +<p>“Nothing more, Chief. He’s looking around. +He says he’ll report as soon as there is anything. +He says<span style='white-space: nowrap'>––</span>”</p> + +<p>“Buurr! Burrr! Burrrr!”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_136'></a>136</span>Drew turned and snatched up the telephone +receiver. He pressed the diaphragm to his ear. +“All right,” he said tersely. “Connect me. +Yes!”</p> + +<p>Delaney breathed deeply and watched his +chief’s face.</p> + +<p>“Hello! Hello!” whispered Drew. “Yes,” he added guardedly. +“Yes, Commissioner.... What? You say that ... that the autopsy on +Stockbridge’s body—head—shows what? Repeat +it! I can’t quite hear what you are saying. +Louder, Commissioner! That’s better. +Yes—all right now, Fosdick. It shows.... It +shows that the typo cupronickle bullet found in—in, ... repeat that.... In Stockbridge’s brain +was not scored or ... or what? ... Marked? ... Wait! I don’t get your meaning.... It +was lodged in the soft tissues of the.... Yes! ... I see! Go on.... There were no rifling +marks on it.... What?”</p> + +<p>Drew turned and motioned toward the open +door. Harrigan closed it softly as the detective +resumed his position at the ’phone. “Yes,” he +said tersely. “Yes, Fosdick. That’s important. +I should say it was important! ... New +wrinkle, what? ... Why, I’d think at a quick +jump that the bullet which killed the old man +wasn’t fired from a regulation revolver.... Yes, it couldn’t of! ... It must have been fired +from a smooth-bore rifle or +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_137'></a>137</span>pistol!... What? ... Yes.... It seems that way to me.... Are you dead sure?”</p> + +<p>Drew waited. He tapped the desk with a +pencil. He reached with his right hand and +pulled a sheet of paper to him. “Go on,” he +said slowly. “Yes, go on, Commissioner. Oh, +I’ve been busy! Yes. You have! Well.... I +wouldn’t of. No, I don’t think that’s the right +lead at all. They’re all right. All right.... Go to it! ... Good-by, Fosdick.”</p> + +<p>The detective flipped the receiver on the hook +and slowly swung the chair. His eyes darted +first at Harrigan and then rested upon Delaney’s +broad face.</p> + +<p>“That damn fool!” he exclaimed. “He’s +pinched the whole bunch of servants. He’s +looking for the valet. The butler is under lock +and key. All that’s left up there is the housekeeper +and some housemaids and Miss Loris. +He better not touch her! Brass Band Fosdick! +He’s a mile off the case!”</p> + +<p>“What about that bullet, Chief?” asked Delaney.</p> + +<p>“Oh! That’s new! It’s different and important. +The coroner’s inquest shows—the autopsy, +I mean—that the bullet found in the millionaire’s +brain was a cupronickle affair of +twenty-two caliber projected by smokeless powder +from a smooth-bore weapon held not more +than three inches from the old man’s head.”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_138'></a>138</span>“Whew!” whistled Delaney. “That’s going +some, Chief,” he added, rising. “But what +does it mean? I ain’t got that at-tall!”</p> + +<p>“Nor I!” snapped Drew. “We’re only getting +deeper and deeper into facts. After a while +we’ll have enough of them to solve the case. +The smooth bullet is important. It suggests +many things—a home-made gun, for instance.”</p> + +<p>“Might have been an old Civil War gun, +Chief.”</p> + +<p>“I don’t believe there was anything like that +in Stockbridge’s house. You might inquire +when you go up. He was very modern with his +Flying Boat stock and his improved munitions +for the Allies. He has no old collection of +arms.”</p> + +<p>Delaney stared at Harrigan. Drew swung to +his desk and tapped the blotter for a moment. +“We’ll get busy,” he said briskly, as he swung +back again and faced the two operatives. “I’ve +almost got my man. That bird there,” Drew +pointed toward the magpie, “is our one best bet +and lead. I may be wrong, but I’ll wager a +good cigar there’s a convict or ex-convict at +the back of this case. How else can we explain +‘Ossining’ or ‘Ah, Sing’ repeated through the +magpie to us. It’s not an impossible clue. It +might happen. Let’s move with both feet!”</p> + +<p>Delaney rose lankily and stood by the door. +He braced his shoulders, then shelved them forward +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_139'></a>139</span>as he reached a finger toward the bird-cage. +“Pretty Poll!” he said.</p> + +<p>The magpie darted about the cage like a shaft +of blue light. It came to rest with its tail +feathers thrust through the bars. It peered +with beaded eyes at Drew who had snatched up +a bundle of papers and was sorting them.</p> + +<p>“Get busy, Delaney, on this assignment!” he +said sharply. “Waste no time. Run up to +Stockbridge’s and get me plaster-paris casts +of all the footprints you can find around that +junction box. It’s stopped snowing,” he added, +glancing out the window.</p> + +<p>“All right, Chief.”</p> + +<p>“Wait a minute. Stop somewhere on your +way up-town and find out the exact temperature +changes last night. What I want you to get is +a record of every quarter-hour, so as to show +when the early, packed snow in Stockbridge’s +yard froze solid. The under crust!”</p> + +<p>“I got that in my head, Chief! That’s my +idea, exactly. If a tall lad tapped in on the +junction box early in the night his footprints +will be frozen close to the ground. The whole +surface is level now, but there ought to be ice-posts +sticking up when I get done thawing.”</p> + +<p>“That’s right! You’ll probably find the trouble-hunter’s +and one other set of prints. The +other set is our man’s!”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_140'></a>140</span>“What size feet did the trouble-hunter +have?”</p> + +<p>“Small—about six!”</p> + +<p>“All right, Chief, I’m off.”</p> + +<p>“Walt a minute.” Drew studied a sheet of +paper. “After you get the temperature data, +Delaney,” he said. “After you get that and +the plaster casts of the footprints, go into the +house and stay there. Watch Miss Loris. Don’t +talk to Fosdick’s men. Tell her to be careful. +Tell her that she is in grave danger. Remember +that the same man who threatened Stockbridge +over the wire, also said he was going to +get her. Remember that, Delaney!”</p> + +<p>“Good-by!”</p> + +<p>“Get a shave!” shot Drew out through the +closing doorway.</p> + +<p>“I’ll do that little thing,” came echoing back +with a hearty chuckle.</p> + +<p>“Now, Harrigan,” Drew said, shuffling the +slips of paper like a deck of cards. “Now, we’re +closing in on our man or men. See if you can +find Frick at the prison. ’Phone from the +booth!”</p> + +<p>Harrigan was back within three minutes. He +leaned over Drew.</p> + +<p>“Frick was with the warden,” he whispered +tersely. “He was easy to get. He says that +Morphy has been trying to telephone<span style='white-space: nowrap'>––</span>”</p> + +<p>“What?”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_141'></a>141</span>“Tryin’ to telephone, Chief<span style='white-space: nowrap'>––</span>”</p> + +<p>“What has he got to do with the telephone? +What right has an inmate of a prison got to +phone? Unless—unless the warden thought +the case was justified—like in sickness or important +business.”</p> + +<p>“Maybe the warden allowed him, Chief. I +didn’t ask Frick!”</p> + +<p>“Get out there and ask him! Quick!”</p> + +<p>Drew waited with every muscle taut. He +drummed the table with impatient fingers. He +thumbed the sheath of papers he had collected +on the Stockbridge case. He wheeled in his +chair and stared out through the frosted window +with unseeing eyes. The vision came to +him of a pompous old man in prison gray, strutting +about the front office with silk socks and a +Havana cigar. Drew had no sympathy with a +certain kind of convict. The misguided safeblower +or house prowler might be excused for +a great many things. The pickpocket was a professional, +who took his chances as they ran. +The gentleman bank-wrecker, with his overextended +tale of woe and his bid for the world’s +sympathies, was the one the detective detested +with all his soul. Such men, he believed, were +beyond the pale. They knew better. Morphy, +for instance, had not only gotten away with +much of widow’s and orphan’s money, but he +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_142'></a>142</span>had wrecked a score of homes and dragged +down many with him at the final assizes.</p> + +<p>“So he uses the phone!” Drew repeated like +an indictment. “Well! Well! Well!”</p> + +<p>Harrigan stepped in through the door. Drew +turned away from the window and stared at +the assistant-manager. “What did you find?” +he snapped.</p> + +<p>“I found enough, Chief! Frick says that Morphy +is the whole thing up there. They call him +the ‘Assistant-Warden,’ in jest. The Welfare +League won’t have anything to do with him. +They got him down for a squealing ‘rat.’”</p> + +<p>“You can’t fool the Gray Brotherhood,” said +Drew. “Their rooms are too close together. +What about this telephoning? Who was it to?”</p> + +<p>“A telephone booth in the Subway Station at +Times Square!”</p> + +<p>“Good God!”</p> + +<p>“Frick says it was! He tried to listen but +Morphy came out and looked around twice.”</p> + +<p>The detective rose from his chair and grasped +Harrigan’s narrow shoulders with fingers of +steel.</p> + +<p>“Get out there!” he ordered through line-drawn +lips. “Get out there and phone from +the soundproof booth. Ask my friend—the vice-president +of the telephone company—to find +out for us whether Morphy or anybody else in +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_143'></a>143</span>the prison telephoned at four minutes past +twelve this morning. Get that?”</p> + +<p>“That was when Stockbridge was shot, +wasn’t it, Chief?”</p> + +<p>“It was!” exclaimed Triggy Drew.</p> + +<div> +<a id='ch10'></a> +<p class='line mt3 center'><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_144'></a>144</span>CHAPTER TEN</p> +<p class='line mb2 center'>“A WOMAN CALLS”</p> +</div> + +<p>The business of a modern detective agency +is managed in much the same manner as +a corporation or a large firm of corporation +lawyers. Its tentacles, or operatives, are +spread over the globe. Its news and assignments +come in via wire. Its telephone and telegraph +bills amount to thousands of dollars +every year. In no other way can satisfactory +results be secured.</p> + +<p>Drew had started his agency on a shoestring +and ran it into a “tannery,” in the parlance +of the street. He had made many mistakes. He +had once, to his knowledge, sent the wrong man +to prison. This mistake had been so costly, he +never spoke of it. It was soon after the conviction +of the innocent man, that Drew gave up +circumstantial evidence and got down to hard +work, wherein the evidence accumulated was +tempered with some degree of fact and common +sense.</p> + +<p>The first Stockbridge case had been in connection +with an absconder. This man, Drew +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_145'></a>145</span>brought back in person from Adelaide. The +work so pleased the millionaire that when Morphy +broke under the financial strain and robbed +everybody, right and left, Drew was called in to +bring the promoter to the bar of justice. It +was a long fight, fraught with danger and disappointment. +The courts dragged. War broke +over the civilized world. Morphy fought fiercely—like a cornered +hyena. He was sent away, +after dragging down his confederates. He had +sworn at the time of conviction that he would +get Stockbridge if it took to the longest day of +his life. Drew remembered this oath and promise +as he waited for Harrigan to appear from +the booth.</p> + +<p>He turned to the magpie and the cage. He +studied both with keen eyes which had been +trained in the school of hard facts piled upon +each other until they pointed a way. Stockbridge +had owned the pet for many years. It +was the one domestic trait in his make-up, save +Loris. It would be a strange thing, Drew concluded, +swinging toward the window, if Morphy +and Morphy’s confederates were to fall +through a remembered couplet dropped by the +magpie. It was in the order of events, however. +It was the bright, particular finger which +pointed toward the prisoner at Sing Sing. Nothing +would be more logical than for the bird to +remember the millionaire’s last words—or dying +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_146'></a>146</span>words. They would be shrieked aloud and +unforgetable.</p> + +<p>“More snow,” said Drew to himself. “This +is a white day if ever there was one. I wonder +if Delaney got to the house in time?”</p> + +<p>He turned as a “Buurrrr! Burrrr!” sounded +at the ringing-box below the desk.</p> + +<p>“Hello!” he said sharply into the transmitter. +“Hello! Who’s this?”</p> + +<p>He waited as some out-of-town connection +was made. A thin voice broke in from the silence. +The voice rose in timber. “Oh, Hello!” +exclaimed the detective, recognizing Flynn, one +of his operatives. “Hello, Flynn,” he said. +“What’s the weather like out at Morristown? +Yes! ... Yes! ... Oh, is that so.... What? ... Too bad! ... Well, you better come +in.... Take the first train and jump on the job.... He’s in Florida, eh? ... Well, that lets +him out.... Good-by, Flynn!”</p> + +<p>Drew reached for a pencil and scratched a +name off his list before he hung up the receiver. +“That leaves six,” he said, running his eyes +down the names of the suspects. “Six to go. +We’ll round them up—or out. It looks bad for +one or two of them!”</p> + +<p>He dropped the pencil to the desk with a flip +of his fingers. He replaced the telephone receiver +on the hook. He twirled the chair and +leaned forward with his hands on his knees.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_147'></a>147</span>“Nice bird, you,” he said, addressing the +magpie. “We’re alone, you and I. Why don’t +you tell me what you know—what you heard in +that library, when the millionaire talked over +the phone and then received the cupronickle +bullet in the base of his brain? He said, ‘Ah, +Sing!’ eh? He said it, or we are jumping at +conclusions. Have Delaney and I erred—as +once or twice before?”</p> + +<p>The bird strutted about the cage. It pecked +at a hard, white fish-bone, thrust between two +bars. It dipped its bill into the water-holder, +then held high its head as it gulped. It switched +its tail and hopped onto the first perch. There +it sat, with coiled claws, as Drew leaned closer.</p> + +<p>“Ah, Sing!” he repeated confidentially. “Ah, +Singing! Ossining! Sing Sing! Let me hear +you do your prettiest, birdie. Don!”</p> + +<p>The magpie lowered its head and peered outwardly. +It lifted a wing with ruffled dignity. +Drew narrowed his eyes. “You were there,” +he whispered. “You were in that sealed room—that double-locked +and triple-watched library. +How did the murderer shoot down the old man? +How could he do it, Don? I think I know <i>why</i> +it was done. I’m fairly sure who is directing +matters. What I want to know is, what devilish +ingenuity of the criminal tribe projected that +bullet into the old man’s brain? Answer that, +Don!”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_148'></a>148</span>The bird was as stately as a raven. It seemed +to Drew that he heard an echoed “Nevermore.” +He sat upright and took his hands from his +knees. “Answer that, Don?” he repeated.</p> + +<p>“Gone batty, Chief?” asked Harrigan, +thrusting his shoulders through the open door.</p> + +<p>Drew glanced up. He passed his hand over +his forehead in a sweeping motion as if brushing +cobwebs from his brain. “Guess I am,” +he admitted, with a sparkling glance at the paper +held in the assistant’s hand. “Well!” he +snapped, recovering himself. “Well, what luck? +I see that you got something!”</p> + +<p>“Yep! I got him, all right. He’s hanging +around the front office of the prison seeing what +he can find out. He says,” Harrigan consulted +the paper. “He says, Morphy has been worried +all morning. That he acts like a man in a +daze. Always<span style='white-space: nowrap'>––</span>”</p> + +<p>“I don’t want that, now! Didn’t I send you +out to call up the vice-president of the telephone +company? The same man who helped us early +this morning. Westlake!”</p> + +<p>“I was getting to him, Chief! He was busy +when I called, so I thought I’d get Frick again. +That’s all Frick had to say, except a<span style='white-space: nowrap'>––</span>”</p> + +<p>“Well?”</p> + +<p>“Except he’ll stay there until he receives instructions +from you to the contrary. Says he’ll +report if anything turns up.”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_149'></a>149</span>“Go on with Westlake!” The detective’s +voice hardened.</p> + +<p>“Well, I got him, finally. Had to wait till +he cleaned out the callers in his office. He’s +in charge of maintenance and equipment. He +says that their records show<span style='white-space: nowrap'>––</span>”</p> + +<p>“Show what?” Harrigan had scowled at his +own writing. “It took some time to get this, +Chief. Oh, I see. Well, the records of the +Westchester Company shows three long-distance +calls from the prison between six o’clock +last night and this morning. The first one was +at seven-ten P. M. to a slot booth at the east +end of the New York Central Railroad Station.”</p> + +<p>“Good!” snapped Drew. “Good! Go on! +We’re getting there!”</p> + +<p>“This call was for seventeen minutes. It was +charged to the prison.”</p> + +<p>“What was the booth number?”</p> + +<p>Harrigan consulted his sheet. “I didn’t get +that,” he said, scratching his head. “Westlake +didn’t give it to me.”</p> + +<p>“Go on—we’ll get it! Go on! What was the +next call?”</p> + +<p>“The second call, Chief, was to the State Capitol +Building at Albany. It was for three minutes. +No more! I guess that was the warden +talking to the Pardon Clerk, or something like +that. We’ll forget it, eh?”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_150'></a>150</span>“Chop it out!”</p> + +<p>“The third and last call, Chief,” said Harrigan +with haste, “was to the same telephone-booth +at the Grand Central Station. Ah, here’s +the number! That’s why Westlake didn’t give +it to me on the first call to the booth. Number, +Gramercy Hill 9845, Chief. That’s over near +the east end of the building—on the lower +level.”</p> + +<p>“A quiet place!” mused Drew.</p> + +<p>“Yes! Well, Chief, here is the time. The +call was for twenty-two minutes, extending from +a quarter to twelve—midnight—to seven minutes +after twelve. It was charged to the Auditing +Department of the prison.”</p> + +<p>Drew rose from his chair. “That covers the +hour in which Stockbridge was murdered!” he +declared, reaching for the roll-top of his desk +“That’s nice work on your part.”</p> + +<p>Harrigan flushed slightly. He leaned over +and laid the paper upon the desk. Drew took +it, folded it with two fingers forming the +creases, then crammed it into his breast pocket +The roll-top came down with a bang. Harrigan +lifted an overcoat from a tree, helped Drew on +with it, and found the detective’s hat.</p> + +<p>“When will you be back, Chief?” he inquired.</p> + +<p>“Hard to say! Get me some French-gray +powder. A little will do. I’m going to see if +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_151'></a>151</span>I can get any fingerprints in that booth. They +might help!”</p> + +<p>“Will you be back by night!” Harrigan +asked, leading the way through the door.</p> + +<p>“Don’t know! Get that powder! Tell Delaney, +if he calls up, that I’m hot after my +man. Tell him to stick up where he is, till he +hears from me. Tell Flynn, when he comes in +from Morristown, that he can relieve O’Toole +who is trailing Harry Nichols. I don’t think +there is much in that. I’m covering every one—that’s all.”</p> + +<p>Harrigan opened the drawer of a cabinet and +fingered about till he found a small, round box +of gray powder used for preserving fingerprints. +He turned with this and saw that Drew +had crammed into his side coat-pocket, a flat +camera which the telephone girl brought to him. +“Got flash lights?” asked Harrigan.</p> + +<p>“Yes. There’s some in the back of this camera.” +Drew slapped his overcoat. “I got +everything, I guess. Remember about Delaney +and Flynn.”</p> + +<p>The detective moved toward the door which +led to the hallway where the elevators were. +He turned as Harrigan laid a hand on his shoulder. +“What’s that sticking out of your other +pocket, Chief?” asked the assistant-manager. +“A paper, ain’t it?”</p> + +<p>Drew flushed beneath his olive skin. He +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_152'></a>152</span>pressed the object down with soft fingers. He +turned and said simply:</p> + +<p>“That’s a picture of the girl in the case. Forgot +I had it. Good-by!”</p> + +<p>The door slammed as he strode over the white +tiling and jabbed at an elevator button with +his right thumb.</p> + +<p>Swirled in wind-blown snow from the office +buildings and wrapped to the chin with the collar +of his overcoat, Drew plunged, with head +downward, for the nearest subway station.</p> + +<p>He caught an up-town express, and, after +three grinding station-stops, he reached the +Grand Central Station wherein was the telephone-booth +to which the calls had been sent +from the prison.</p> + +<p>He made swift work of the matter at hand. +Time was pressing. The booths, to the number +of three in that portion of the station, were fortunately +empty.</p> + +<p>Going over the slot-box and the tiny shelf +in the center booth, which bore the number +“Gramercy Hill 9845” on the transmitter, Drew +pulled the door shut and dusted all the nickel +work and the polished surface of the receiver, +with French-gray powder of superior make.</p> + +<p>He took three exposures by aid of small +flashes. He opened the door and allowed the +smoke to escape. Pocketing the camera, after +winding on a fresh film, he entered the booth +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_153'></a>153</span>for a second time and inspected its lower +paneling for possible clews.</p> + +<p>An oath, close-bitten and expressive, escaped +his lips as he discovered a small hole drilled +through the woodwork. He stooped and peered +through this opening. It led to the next booth. +It had been made with a long auger of quarter-inch +diameter. Shavings lay upon the floor of +the booth.</p> + +<p>He emerged and investigated the second +booth. The hole came through, underneath the +slot-box. It had been drilled in order to make a +connection between the two telephones. He +found splinters and sawdust at his feet. He +backed out and stood perplexed. There was no +way of finding out just what sort of connection +had been made between the two booths. All evidence +of wires had been taken down. Only an +expert could give an answer to the new riddle. +Drew recalled Westlake as he rushed to the subway-platform.</p> + +<p>He found the vice-president busy, with a +score of men waiting in the outer room of the +telephone company’s office. The secretary-in-charge +hurried in with his card and his urgent +request for three minutes’ important matter +which could not well wait.</p> + +<p>Drew, however, was forced to wait seven minutes +by his watch. He chafed at the delay. He +crossed his legs at least once each leaden minute. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_154'></a>154</span>He feared that the trail was getting cold. +Twice he rose, as if to go. Each time the secretary +had indicated patience by an arching of her +brows and a jerk of her thumb toward the +ground-glass door.</p> + +<p>“Send in Drew!” boomed as the door opened +and let out the caller. Drew strode in with his +notes in his hand.</p> + +<p>“Just a minute, Westlake,” he said, dropping +into a chair and leaning over the desk behind +which sat a good-natured official of the superior +order. “A minute! I’m in a jam! What +d’ye make of this?”</p> + +<p>Drew related his discovery in the booths of +the Grand Central. He went right to the point. +He explained the auger-hole, the shavings, and +the fact that it was the same set of booths to +which the call had been sent from the prison, +over the time Stockbridge had been slain.</p> + +<p>Westlake listened with dawning light. He +leaned back as Drew finished talking. He +smiled. He thrust his thumbs under his vest. +“You’re a hardworking man, Drew,” he said, +“but you didn’t get it all. Do you remember +the third call that I gave you this morning?—the +one when the chief-operator at Gramercy +Hill put the howler on? It was from the same +booths you just mentioned!”</p> + +<p>“What?”</p> + +<p>“It certainly was. There’s no use looking +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_155'></a>155</span>at the record. The number was 9844 Gramercy +Hill. In other words we have the evidence to +show that a thin, whispering voice called up +Stockbridge from one booth in the Grand Central +at the same time the prison was connected +to the adjacent booth.”</p> + +<p>“For the love of Mike!” said Drew.</p> + +<p>“Yes—your case grows interesting, Chief. +You’ve got a lot of tangled leads and all that, +but a little more work should untangle them. A +telephone engineer ought to make a crackerjack +detective. He’s trained to unsnarl the worst +snarls in the world. You ought to see some of +our wiring diagrams. It takes study to trace +them out. You’re learning!”</p> + +<p>“I don’t know if I am, Westlake. I think +that Morphy, up at the prison, has been ’phoning +New York. I believe he has a confederate +in this town. This confederate, we will say, received +his instructions about midnight last +night. He bored a hole through the booths and +called up Stockbridge. But what was it all +for?”</p> + +<p>“That I can’t answer!”</p> + +<p>Drew rose from the chair and crammed his +notes in his inner, overcoat pocket. “What the +devil did they do that for?” he asked with flashing +eyes. “Morphy calls up Gramercy Hill 9843 +at, or about, midnight. Gramercy Hill 9844 +calls up Stockbridge. Stockbridge was killed +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_156'></a>156</span>by a bullet in the neck as he’s talking over the +’phone. Was the call to warn him? Was it to +threaten him? Was it to occupy his attention +so that the murderer could get in the room and +fire the shot?”</p> + +<p>“Did you find out how he got into the room?” +asked Westlake, leaning forward.</p> + +<p>“I have not! The whole thing gets weird. +I can’t sleep! I’m not going to sleep till I get +some light on this!”</p> + +<p>“You look healthy,” said Westlake, as he +pressed the buzzer for the next caller.</p> + +<p>Drew emerged from the elevator and hurried +to the street with short, quick strides. He +crossed the snow and pressed open the door +to a cigar store. He fished out a nickel and +called up his office.</p> + +<p>To Harrigan who answered, he said tersely, +“Get Flynn up to the Grand Central! Get him +to the east-end telephone-booth, on the lower +level. Tell him I’ll be there. He’s back from +Morristown, isn’t he? He phoned, eh? Get +him to me! I need him!”</p> + +<p>Drew hung up with a swift flip of the receiver. +He hurried to the subway station and +caught a local up-town. He had time to flash a +fourth and fifth set of photos before Flynn came +puffing across the lower level.</p> + +<p>“See here!” snapped Drew, drawing the operative +into the middle booth. “Bend down +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_157'></a>157</span>there where that hole is, and tell me what you +see on the varnish.Footprints”</p> + +<p>“It’s fingerprints, Chief. Two, three of +them. Looks like somebody pressed hard when +they drilled that hole. The outer print is a +good one of a thumb. Left thumb, I should +say.”</p> + +<p>“That’s right! I’m going to find out who +made that impression, within one hour. You +stay here and grab anybody who tries to talk +with the prison. Frick is up there!”</p> + +<p>“How about O’Toole, who’s watching +Nichols?” asked Flynn.</p> + +<p>“Leave him stay on that assignment. I need +you here. Stick now! Watch everybody who +talks over these three phones. Arrest anybody +who receives or sends a call to the prison. +There’s plenty of Central Office men handy for +a pinch. Fosdick will back them up!”</p> + +<p>Drew rushed for the subway. He realized +that he had wasted valuable time by not taking +the complete set of fingerprint photos on his +first inspection of the booths. It was a detail +he had overlooked. But then, he could afford +to make mistakes. The men or man he was +after, dared not make any. This was a thing +he had often recalled in dealing with super-criminals.</p> + +<p>Fosdick’s rooms at Detective Headquarters, +on Center Street, were luckily deserted as he +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_158'></a>158</span>rushed down through the hallway. The Commissioner +widened his eyes as Drew handed +over the camera, with a request that the films +be developed and prints made within twenty +minutes.</p> + +<p>“Can’t be done that soon,” said the detective. +“Give us fifty minutes.”</p> + +<p>“I’ll make it twenty-five!” shot Drew. “I +got lots to tell you, but it’ll keep. Get those +prints and we’ll land our man. The last two +films have perfect samples of finger-work. Our +man slipped there! He signed his own death +warrant!”</p> + +<p>The Commissioner pressed a button. To the +young man who came, he explained the necessity +of rushing the developing and printing of +the films. He turned as the messenger hurried +out with the camera.</p> + +<p>“What about that bullet?” he asked.</p> + +<p>“Just as I said, Commissioner. It was +fired from a smooth-bore pistol or gun. What +do you think?”</p> + +<p>“Oh, maybe not! Sometimes there isn’t much +rifling on an old revolver. Those little twenty-two +affairs are made out of cast-iron.”</p> + +<p>“But the cupronickle bullet shows smokeless +powder and high-class criminal activity. I +doubt if one of those little rods would take a +modern steel-jacketed bullet. They’re used in +automatics.”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_159'></a>159</span>“But automatics have good rifling. That bullet +was as smooth as before it was shot. Here +it is!”</p> + +<p>Fosdick opened a drawer and pulled out a +later-day projectile of the lesser-caliber.</p> + +<p>“This is smooth!” he repeated with heat. +“It was cut from the old millionaire’s brain. +It ain’t scratched. It never took the rifling it +was intended for. My theory is, that it was +fired from a gun of larger caliber. That is to +say, it didn’t fit the bore. A thirty-thirty rifle +might be used to hold a twenty-two caliber bullet. +It would not take the rifling of this.”</p> + +<p>Drew shook his head. “That’s hardly possible,” +he declared. “It’s too vague and doesn’t +suit me. We’re going to find that the deeper +we get in this thing, the simpler will be the explanation. +I remember any number of cases +which have been solved in this city where the +mystery was so wrapped up in speculation and +the improbable that our minds failed to grasp +the simple thing which was the solution.”</p> + +<p>“Then you think the lack of rifling on the bullet +might be the opening wedge to catching the +man who shot Stockbridge?”</p> + +<p>“It could well be, Fosdick. The lack of a +thing sometimes is just as important as the visible +clue. Do you remember the Rajah case at +Gramercy Park?”</p> + +<p>Fosdick leaned back in his chair and stared +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_160'></a>160</span>up at the ceiling. “Seems to me that I do,” +he said, thrusting out his lower lip. “There +was a big jewel missing. Sort of an Idol’s Eye +case—wasn’t it?”</p> + +<p>“Exactly! A white diamond was missing at +a dinner. Lights went out as they were passing +the stone around the table. Lights came on +again and the diamond was gone. Everybody +accused. A strange print was found on the sideboard. +Servants knew nothing about it. The +print didn’t correspond to any which we took +there. Seemed impossible and all that. Well, +the very fact that the print didn’t correspond +was the means of finding the stone and the culprit. +You remember it?”</p> + +<p>“Vaguely.”</p> + +<p>“Simple! A Lascar who waited on the table +slipped off his shoes, crept into the room, secured +the diamond and climbed to the sideboard +where he hid it on top of a picture. The thumbprint +which we puzzled our heads over was a +toe-print! We got the fellow!”</p> + +<p>“I recall it now,” said Fosdick. “I think one +of our men thought out the matter.”</p> + +<p>“He didn’t!” declared the detective. “We +worked it out! The city department had given +up the case. This may be the same. I’ll venture +to say that as soon as you get a good operative +some private agency secures his services. +Now, Commissioner, confess up. What manner +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_161'></a>161</span>of gun could fire a bullet, such as a cupronickle +one, without leaving markings?”</p> + +<p>“Smooth bore. An old flint-lock—for instance.”</p> + +<p>“We’ll grant that! They’re clumsy, however. +The shot which killed the millionaire was fired +at very close range through a smooth tube of a +greater caliber than the diameter of the bullet +found in his head. If it were fired through a +gun which was rifled, then there was a collar or +collars on the bullet, which we didn’t find. The +same thing was discovered by examination of +the shells which the Germans fired at Paris. +There was no rifling on those long-range projectiles. +The bands dropped off after the shell +left the gun.”</p> + +<p>“Then this bullet was fired at long range?” +Fosdick was openly incredulous.</p> + +<p>“No! Again we have the impossibility or +seeming impossibility. I examined that library, +both before and after the murder. No shot +could have been fired from the outside so that +a bullet would reach the old man. If that were +the case there would have been an opening in +the walls or at the windows or the ventilators. +Besides, we have the powder burns on the millionaire’s +head. We are squarely confronted +with a paradox. Riddle me that paradox and +we will go a long ways toward finding the man +who murdered Stockbridge.”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_162'></a>162</span>Fosdick frowned. “I can’t see it at all,” he +confessed. “I still hold to the theory that we +should third degree all of the servants. I’ve +got some of them. If they don’t squeal, I’ll get +the others!”</p> + +<p>Drew glanced at his watch. “Personally,” he +said, “I’m of the opinion that you will not get +anything out of them. I think it was a mistake +to arrest them. It would have been far better +to trail the butler and the doorman and see if +they connected with anybody.”</p> + +<p>“I’m doing this!” exclaimed Fosdick with +asperity. “I’ve got charge of this case, Drew. +I got charge and I don’t want any meddling. +I’ve my own methods.”</p> + +<p>“All right,” said the detective. “All right! +I want a check-up on the finger prints and then +I’ll be going. I had to come to you for this. +You have such an interesting collection.”</p> + +<p>“Here’s your answer!” said the commissioner, +rising and striding around the desk. +“Take this bullet and look it over. Put it in +your pocket. And<span style='white-space: nowrap'>––</span>”</p> + +<p>Drew turned swiftly. The messenger stood +in the doorway. He came forward as Fosdick +nodded. He passed over the hastily developed +prints which Drew had taken. The commissioner +glanced at them, frowned, held them to +the light, then said:</p> + +<p>“We’ll try these on the Man Who Can’t Be +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_163'></a>163</span>Beat! He’s the best in the world. He’ll know +in three minutes who made these prints if the +fellow is on our records.”</p> + +<p>The fingerprint expert nodded to Drew as +they entered a huge room which was lined with +mahogany cabinets in the manner of a filing +system in a mail-order house. Fosdick passed +the five photos into this man’s hand. He smiled +as the expert adjusted his glasses, pulled out a +pocket magnifying-glass, and leaned close up +to the prints.</p> + +<p>“We’re infallible!” exclaimed the Commissioner +with superiority. “Watch Pope get your +man. He’ll hound him out in no time. Eh, +Pope?”</p> + +<p>The expert was not of a sanguine disposition +in the minute which ensued as he ran over the +prints, studied them, held them to the light then +laid them down on a table and shook his head.</p> + +<p>“We have no record of this fellow,” he said +coldly. “It looks like a man’s print. Here’s +the thumb and here is the middle finger of the +right hand, I think. Hard to tell, sometimes. +I’d say, as a pretty sure thing, that we have +no duplicates in our collection. Shall I look?”</p> + +<p>“Yes! Look!” said Fosdick.</p> + +<p>Drew felt that the case was slipping from him +as Pope fluttered from cabinet to cabinet, pulled +out drawers, replaced them and tried still +others.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_164'></a>164</span>“No go?” he asked as the expert shot back +the last cross-index cabinet and turned with +shaking head. “No go? Try again.”</p> + +<p>“Absolutely no record of the maker of these +prints,” said Pope, holding out the photos. “He +hasn’t registered with us yet. Whoever made +these prints has never been arrested in the +United States for a felony.”</p> + +<p>“How about a misdemeanor?” asked Drew.</p> + +<p>“No! They’re all in this cabinet. Even if +he was picked up on suspicion or for auto speeding +or beating his wife,—if he has one,—he +would be here. I’m sorry, inspector.”</p> + +<p>Drew pulled down the lapels of his black coat +and turned toward Fosdick.</p> + +<p>“Have you got a print of Finklestein?” he +asked. “You remember the fellow who was arrested +in the Morphy case. He was afterwards +released for lack of evidence or else he claimed +exemption. I’ve forgotten how he got off. He’s +supposed to be in Florida or somewhere in the +South. I had a man out to Morristown who reports +along those lines. I wish you’d compare +these prints with Finklestein’s.”</p> + +<p>“Go ahead,” said the commissioner. “Go as +far as you like. I don’t think that there is anything +in these prints. You got the wrong ones—that’s all.”</p> + +<p>“What’s Finkle—Finklestein’s initials?” +asked the expert.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_165'></a>165</span>“J. B.,” said Drew quickly. “Julius B.!”</p> + +<p>A quick search through an alphabet-index, a +consultation of two drawers, out of which the +expert pulled some tiny squares of cardboard, +and then a slow shaking of his head, brought +Drew back to where he had started from before +taking the prints in the booth.</p> + +<p>“No record could be more different,” Pope +said. “Finklestein has a big hand and very +broad fingers. The fellow who made these +prints has a little hand with thin fingers. The +whorls and loops are entirely dissimilar. He +comes under classification 2-4-X. Finklestein is +in cabinet 2-9-0. They couldn’t be further +away.”</p> + +<p>Drew started out through the doorway with +Fosdick following him. They stood on the landing +leading to the downstairs steps, where the +detective was about to leave the commissioner +with a curt good-by. His hand was out when +he drew it back, dropped it to his side and +wheeled with sudden intuition.</p> + +<p>“Good Lord!” he exclaimed. “Are you and +I detectives or children? Come back to the +fingerprint room. Hurry now. I want to see +Pope. I forgot something!”</p> + +<p>The expert rose as they entered. “Well?” +he asked with arching brows and a slight frown +on his face. “Well, what is it?”</p> + +<p>Drew pointed a finger as steady as a rifle. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_166'></a>166</span>He bared his eyes into Pope’s own. “Were +you up to Stockbridge’s house?” he asked +swiftly.</p> + +<p>“Yes! Why?”</p> + +<p>“Did you take prints and photos of everything +in the library? I understand that this +was done after I turned the case over to Commissioner +Fosdick.”</p> + +<p>“It was done!” rasped Fosdick. “Of course +it was done. It’s always done when a case looks +like a homicide!”</p> + +<p>“This case looked worse than that!” said +Drew. “It was slaughter!”</p> + +<p>The commissioner turned to the fingerprint +man. “Where are the prints and photos you +took up at the house?” he asked.</p> + +<p>“Still in the developing room.”</p> + +<p>“Do you think they are developed?”</p> + +<p>“I’ll soon know, sir,” he answered, pressing +a button.</p> + +<p>The messenger entered who had attended to +Drew’s prints which the detective took in the +telephone-booth.</p> + +<p>“Get down to the developing room,” ordered +Pope. “Get me all the prints and positives of +Exhibit 12 of the Stockbridge case. Bring +what is already developed. Tell them to rush +the others.”</p> + +<p>The three men waited in silence for the return +of the messenger. Drew paced the floor +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_167'></a>167</span>thoughtfully. He clasped and unclasped his +hands behind his back. He had almost slipped +in an important matter. It was a chance he was +taking, but a vital one in the case. The fingerprints +taken by the expert in the library might +and might not jibe with those taken in the slot-booth. +If they were the same, or any one was +the same, the case would offer a new line for +investigation.</p> + +<p>A sliding footstep at the door announced the +messenger. He held a sheath of curling papers +in his hand. Pope reached and snatched +the photos. He ran over them with widening +eyes. He sorted them into two piles upon the +table.</p> + +<p>“Five prints!” he announced, glancing at +Drew with a sly smile. “Five of these prints +are the same as your set. In other words, the +man who made the impressions in the telephone-booth +was also in the library at or about the +time of the murder!”</p> + +<p>“Impossible!” snorted Fosdick.</p> + +<p>“Ah!” said Drew. “Photos don’t lie. Now +we’re getting there! That’s the first light I’ve +seen in some time. It clears the case of the +supernatural. It puts it where it belongs—in +the material world of flesh and blood and hate +and revenge.”</p> + +<p>“It does that!” corroborated the expert, siding +with Drew. “Now,” he added good-naturedly, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_168'></a>168</span>“I’ll help out some more. I’ve got a +book of notations made in the library. I spent +two hours there this morning. I flashed every +print I could see. There’s some of the butler +on the bottle and the tray. There’s a number +on the polished table. There are at least six on +the door knob, to say nothing of the smashed +panel. I suppose yours is among them, inspector?”</p> + +<p>Drew held out his right hand. “Look and +see,” he suggested with a short laugh. “I’ve +never been printed in my life.”</p> + +<p>“That won’t be necessary. These three +prints which correspond with the ones you took +in the booth, settle the matter. There’s no record +of this fellow in our cabinet. But—he was +in that library!”</p> + +<p>“Where did he leave his prints?” asked +Drew.</p> + +<p>Pope consulted a page of his note book. He +thumbed over another page, thrust his finger +between the sheet and turned to the photos. +“What’s the number on the back of that one?” +he asked, nodding toward the topmost photograph.</p> + +<p>“Ten,” said Drew, turning it over and studying +a penciled number.</p> + +<p>“Ten,” repeated the expert. “That is a print +which was flashed on the corner of the little +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_169'></a>169</span>table which was overturned when Stockbridge +fell to the floor after being shot.”</p> + +<p>“And the same man made it who made my +prints in the booth?”</p> + +<p>“The same!” declared the expert dryly.</p> + +<p>“I don’t see where you two are getting,” +said Fosdick. “How could a man get into that +library, shoot the old millionaire, get out again +and go over to a slot-booth?”</p> + +<p>“He might have been in the slot-booth first,” +suggested Drew with slow smiling. “From the +booth he went to the house and killed Stockbridge.”</p> + +<p>“The fact is established,” exclaimed Pope, +“that the man you are after was in the library +and in the booth. That’s all you can say. +There’s no way to determine the exact hour +these two sets of prints were made.”</p> + +<p>Drew lifted a second print. “No. sixteen,” +he said, turning to the expert. “Where was +that made?”</p> + +<p>Pope consulted his book. He glanced up at +Fosdick, who was ill at ease over the development +in the case. “That,” he said, swinging +his eyes till they met Drew’s, “that was made +on the hardwood floor directly under Stockbridge’s +body. We found the print, with others +of the little finger and middle finger when the +coroner moved the corpse!”</p> + +<p>The detective stared at Pope. “You mean,” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_170'></a>170</span>he said shrewdly, “that the man who made the +prints in the booth and on the little table, also +was down on his knees arranging Stockbridge’s +body, or doing something like that?”</p> + +<p>“He made a distinct impression on the floor +despite the fact that the body was moved over +it. The polish and the varnish helped to hold +this impression. I venture to say that it is there +yet.”</p> + +<p>“Good!” said Drew. “I may have a look at +it. I never went after prints in my investigation. +I left that to men who knew their business—like +yourself.”</p> + +<p>Pope smiled. He glanced at his book for a +third time. “What’s the number of that last +print?” he asked.</p> + +<p>“Forty-four!”</p> + +<p>“Taken from the edge of the heavy door +which was broken down by Delaney, I guess. +Looks like his work.”</p> + +<p>“I had a hand in that,” admitted Drew.</p> + +<p>“This print was close to the knob. There’s +none like it on the knob itself.”</p> + +<p>“Umph!” declared Fosdick.</p> + +<p>Drew glanced at the commissioner. He +smiled as he laid his hand on Fosdick’s shoulder. +“I’ve got you to thank,” he said, “for +letting me use the brains and facilities of the +police department. I think it clears the case +in a remarkable manner.”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_171'></a>171</span>“How?” asked the commissioner.</p> + +<p>“Well for one thing,” Drew said, lifting the +third photo. “For one thing, we know that +our man passed through the doorway before or +after the murder. He was in the library. He +was in that booth which is a half mile or more +away from the mansion.”</p> + +<p>“I’ll grant you that, but what does it prove?”</p> + +<p>Drew laid the photo on the table and turned +toward the doorway. “It proves,” he said, +“that Stockbridge was murdered by a man who +was never arrested in New York.”</p> + +<p>“That’s a large order!” chuckled the commissioner. +“There are a few good citizens and +a number of bad ones we haven’t got—yet!”</p> + +<p>“I’m satisfied,” said the detective, pulling his +hat down over his head. “I’m going to look +for a man who is too clever for his own good. +He’s stayed out of your clutches. He’s forgotten +more about telephones than most men know. +He’s as slippery as an eel and as clever as the +very devil. In one thing only did he err, so far +in this chase.”</p> + +<p>“What’s that?” asked the commissioner.</p> + +<p>“He didn’t wear gloves on the job. That’s +where we may trip him up.”</p> + +<p>“They all forget something,” said Fosdick, +as Drew hurried out through the door with a +bow toward the staring fingerprint man.</p> + +<p>The detective hurried down the steps,—passed +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_172'></a>172</span>the sergeant at the entrance, and turned +up his coat collar as he plunged from the building +and lowered his head beneath the down driving +snow. The entire matter was as he had told +Delaney. He would have to find who made the +prints!</p> + +<p>Deep, drifted snow barred his progress as he +struck down through a towering cañon and +walked eastward. He had no coherent idea save +the one that he wanted the grip of the open +places in his lungs and the feel of freedom from +stifling rooms and skeptical men.</p> + +<p>The case had resolved itself into a battle of +wits wherein the culprit who had murdered +Stockbridge, by unknown means, had all the advantages. +He was unknown. He had the largest +city in the world to hide himself in. He +could strike at any time and in any quarter. +Also, the detective realized, with a chilly oath, +the murderer might already be fleeing the city +for the south or west. It would be a natural +thing for him to do.</p> + +<p>Drew had one undisputed qualification for a +detective. He was a worker. He lacked the +Latin sense of deduction, or the cleverness of a +great operative who secured his men through +quick brain work and shrewdness.</p> + +<p>Hard work, and more work and still more +work had won for him the little position he held +in the city. He did not overrate his own powers. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_173'></a>173</span>He had failed too often to hold himself +too highly. Chance was a big factor in the criminal +game. The members of the criminal tribe +worked through luck and sheer audacity. Many +escaped from the net and moved in the underworld +until they made their final mistake which +was probably so glaring it couldn’t be overlooked.</p> + +<p>Despite the fact that the finger prints were +not of record, Drew held to the swirling conviction +that the man he was after was of the criminal +horde. There was much to lead him to this +belief. The cleverness in connecting up the two +telephone booths—the warning through the mail +to Stockbridge—the manner in which the murder +had been covered up in a score of details, +all pointed to a criminal mind of the cunningest +order. It savored of practice in crime and +study of natural conditions. Its bizarre features +placed it out from other crimes and raised +it to a class of its own.</p> + +<p>The snow which impeded the detective’s +steps, in some manner cleared his brain. He +began to review the series of events. He boxed +the case with returning shrewdness. He went +over the points like a sailor repeating the compass-chart. +He even saw a light.</p> + +<p>This light was a star that guided him around +a corner and then along the long reach of a +white-mantled street where children shrilled +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_174'></a>174</span>and played. Snow-balls flew past his head. +Sleighs and muffled taxis churned by. Women +in furs and heavy cloaks glanced up at his olive +face from which peered sanguine eyes bent upon +a known destination.</p> + +<p>He paused at the foot of a flight of steps +leading to a library. In this building he knew +there would be on file certain data concerning +three links of the chain which he was trying to +forge about the criminal or criminals who had +slain Stockbridge.</p> + +<p>He entered the storm-door, shook the snow +from his coat, and removed his hat with a +swinging bow as he drew erect in front of a +prim lady at a desk.</p> + +<p>“I want all the books you have on modern +telephony,” he said with a winning smile. “I’m +sure that you have one or two.”</p> + +<p>The prim lady who knew a gentleman when +she saw one, raised her brows and rapidly +thumbed over a filing-card system.</p> + +<p>“One or two,” she repeated. “Why, we have +over twenty. Now just what branch of Telephony +do you want? There are a number of +divisions in the subject. We have Smith on +Central Office practice. We have Steinward on +Induced Currents in Relation to Magnetism. +We have Oswerlander on Switchboards and +Carbon Transmitters. We have Burke on Circuits +and Batteries. We have<span style='white-space: nowrap'>––</span>”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_175'></a>175</span>“Hold on, please,” said Drew, catching his +breath. “I better try something easy. One of +those Juvenile books with simple diagrams and +switchboards or junction-boxes.”</p> + +<p>Drew carried the book to an alcove which +was deserted. He took off his coat, hung it on +the back of a chair, upended his hat and sat +down with a tired smile. Soon he was busy in +the mystery of electricity in relation to the +telephone. He conned over the pages. He +browsed along like a novice trying to understand +trigonometry. He frowned over such +terms as micro-ampere and micro-volt. He +grew dizzy following wiring diagrams which +were far worse than any clue he had ever attempted.</p> + +<p>“A telephone engineer,” he said half aloud. +“A man who could trace out this stuff ought to +make a mighty fine detective. I never saw such +a snarl. Now what does hysteresis and laminations +mean? What’s the idea of having an alternating +current of low voltage on the same +line with a talking current of three volts? I +don’t see how they can get two currents on one +set of wires. Maybe they don’t.”</p> + +<p>He tossed the book to the table in front of +him and rose with a frown. This frown changed +to a wrinkled furrow of half amusement as he +hurried back to the little prim lady.</p> + +<p>“Too deep for me,” he said, referring to the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_176'></a>176</span>book she had given him. “That may be a beginner’s +treatise, but I’m in the kindergarten +class in electricity. What’s a micro-volt?”</p> + +<p>“I’ll look it up, sir,” she said.</p> + +<p>“Never mind. I wouldn’t know, after you +did. Suppose you get me a book on magpies.”</p> + +<p>The librarian fingered her files. “Try Birds +of England,” she suggested, coming from behind +her desk and gliding like a pale shadow +over to a book-case. “Try this. It’s complete. +You’ll find magpies and starlings and piemags +and any number of plates of six colors in this +splendid volume.”</p> + +<p>“The one that interested me was black as a +crow,” he said, as he turned toward his alcove. +“Perhaps there are white magpies as well as +white crows. I never saw one, though. My +bird’s a deep one.”</p> + +<p>The little librarian stared after Drew’s vanishing +form with a slight pucker between her +eyes. For a man of his solid respectability, the +series of actions were strange indeed. She sat +down and wondered if he was a moving picture +editor trying to connect black magpies and telephones.</p> + +<p>Drew appeared in two minutes. He leaned +over the desk and startled the lady with a request +for anything pertaining to guns and projectiles. +These she had in plenty. A great many +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_177'></a>177</span>war books had been purchased during the period +which followed America’s declaration.</p> + +<p>The detective erected a breastwork with the +books she brought. He conned them with understanding +until he came to ballistics and trajectory. +He stopped there. He rose. His brain +was crammed with fact upon fact. He had the +formulæ of smokeless powder and the analysis +of cupronickle bullets. He had absorbed muzzle +velocity and angle of fire. He fairly bubbled +over with good humor as he thrust his +hands into his overcoat, caught up his hat and +started out the door after glancing back and +bowing to the librarian who smiled a good-by.</p> + +<p>The street was dark save for the glow of the +overhead arcs. He thrust out his arm and +tested the snow fall. It was not as heavy as +when he had entered the library. He went down +the steps, turned toward the north and plowed +along the sidewalk.</p> + +<p>Suddenly the thought came to him to glance at +his watch. He had forgotten time and place +over the hours in the pursuit of knowledge +which might and might not be applied to the +case at hand. It was almost six o’clock.</p> + +<p>“Lord,” he said in surprise. “I’m going +crazy. Two hours in a trance. Now for work. +I wonder what the operatives will have to report? +They ought to have something. I wonder,” +he added, peering under the fine drizzle +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_178'></a>178</span>of snow, “I wonder where the nearest telephone +is located? Another block, I guess.”</p> + +<p>His brain gathered up the skeins of the case +as he hurried along. Fingerprints, plaster-casts, +smooth bullets, locked rooms and a raven-black +magpie, trooped into their proper formation. +He dwelt longest on the telephone information +he had gathered in the library. The +case seemed bound up in whispering wires and +broken connections which might be spliced together +with patience and hard work.</p> + +<p>The whole matter, from the call of the millionaire, +down to the clew discovered in comparing +the finger prints at Detective Headquarters, +was a city-spread network of telephone +connections which had to be traced back to an +elusive individual who flitted like a shadow or +a whirling dervish across the detective’s vision.</p> + +<p>He reached the drug-store, paused outside, +glanced up and down the white-robed street, +then pressed the door open and stamped inside. +He found a nickel. Dropping this in the slot +and closing the booth, he asked Central for his +office phone.</p> + +<p>The connection was made with Harrigan on +the other end. “What’s new in the Stockbridge +case?” asked Drew in a whisper.</p> + +<p>He listened. He grew rigid as the faithful +operative summed up the entire series of reports. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_179'></a>179</span>There were six of them. The last was +from Delaney.</p> + +<p>“Hang up!” the detective almost shouted in +his eagerness. “Hang up, Harrigan, and let me +get him.”</p> + +<p>Finding a quarter instead of a nickel, Drew +dropped it in the large slot and jiggled the receiver’s +hook until Central answered.</p> + +<p>“Get me Gramercy Hill 9764!” he exclaimed. +“Quick! 9764 Gramercy Hill!”</p> + +<p>“That’s her number,” he said aloud. “Loris +Stockbridge’s number. It must be her number. +I haven’t forgotten that, have I?”</p> + +<p>The time consumed in getting the connection +seemed endless. Drew lifted one damp sole +from the floor of the booth and then the other. +The receiver’s diaphragm clicked finally. +“Hello!” he snapped. “Hello, who’s this?”</p> + +<p>He waited a full second. “This Delaney?” +he asked. “Who?” he added. “Oh! you’re the +maid! Well get me Miss Stockbridge or Mr. +Delaney. Yes, Delaney. D-e-l-a-n-e-y!”</p> + +<p>“This Delaney? ... No! ... Who?... Nichols? ... Harry Nichols? Hello, Nichols! ... Is Delaney there?”</p> + +<p>The big operative’s voice sounded with a rasp +on the wire. “What’s the news?” asked Drew. +“What’s that you’ve been telling Harrigan? +Something about a coffin? A coffin? What—a +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_180'></a>180</span>casket? A hardwood casket. I’ll be right up! +I’m coming!”</p> + +<p>The detective’s olive face was the color of +burnt pottery as he flipped the receiver on the +hook, thrust his knee against the door and +charged out of the booth and into the drug-store. +He wheeled, turned his coat collar up, +drew down his hat and dashed outside as an astonished +clerk leaned over the prescription +counter and stared after him.</p> + +<p>The message that Delaney had sent over the +snow-crusted wires, and along the underground +conduits, was laden with menace. It drove Drew +westward through the drifts like a man who had +a whip held over him. He crossed two avenues +before he sighted a taxi. He charged after this, +sprang to the running board, and shouted into +the driver’s muffled ear.</p> + +<p>“Drive like sin—full speed and more—up +Fifth Avenue! I’ll tell you when to stop! The +devils are not going to kill that little lady if +I can help it,” he added, as he opened the door +and climbed inside the taxi.</p> + +<div> +<a id='ch11'></a> +<p class='line mt3 center'><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_181'></a>181</span>CHAPTER ELEVEN</p> +<p class='line mb2 center'>“THE CLOSING NET”</p> +</div> + +<p>Night was falling upon the greatest city +in the world. After night would come +the myriads of electric lights in the huge +Broadway signs—the surface cars creeping +through the snow-fall like glow worms—the +muffled pedestrians and the chain-tired taxis, +with their well-groomed patrons, hastening to +ballrooms, cabarets and theaters more luxurious +than any dreamed of by Lucullus.</p> + +<p>Into the tide of this forming stream of wealth, +Drew’s taxi turned and ground northward +through the drifts. The detective had given no +definite address. He wanted the air of the Avenue +for at least two blocks, before he reached +the Stockbridge mansion. He signaled as a +familiar corner came in view. He turned his +overcoat collar up to his chin and stepped out, +as the driver brought the taxi to a slow stop +at the curb.</p> + +<p>“Stay around the corner!” he ordered. +“Stay, till I send word. Here’s a dollar for +supper. Get that and wait!”</p> + +<p>The driver touched his cap and reached for +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_182'></a>182</span>the bill. Drew swung northward, threw back +his head, and plowed along the snow-laden sidewalk. +Delaney’s statement over the telephone +had stirred every drop of red blood in his body. +Loris was in danger! This nerved him on. He +clenched his gloved fists as he reached the first +side street. He crossed the wheel-churned snow, +with his lips gripped in a hard white line. His +eyes raised in heavy-lidded scrutiny of the towering +turrets and spires of the mansion. Lights +shone from its windows as if in defiance to the +powers of darkness which encompassed the +dwelling.</p> + +<p>A snow-crusted form stepped out from a basement +shelter. Drew raised his arm as a barrier +when a figure of a man lurched in his direction.</p> + +<p>“Hello, O’Toole!” he blurted, recognizing the +operative. “What are <i>you</i> doing here?”</p> + +<p>O’Toole jerked a mittened finger in the direction +of the mansion. “Our lad’s in there,” he +said, thrashing his arms and flipping his finger +for a second time. “Harry Nichols!” he explained.</p> + +<p>“S—o! The whole case seems to be gathering +again. Every clue leads this way now. +What did you learn to-day?”</p> + +<p>O’Toole yawned. “I got on the job early,” +he said with frosty breath. “I waited. The lad +came down. He got in a taxi and I’m right +after him. First he went to the Quartermaster’s +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_183'></a>183</span>Offices at the Battery. Then he went to +Governor’s Island. From there I trailed him +to the Red Cross Headquarters. He ’phoned +Gramercy Hill 9764, at least three times.”</p> + +<p>“To the girl in the case?”</p> + +<p>“Yep, Chief! He’s gone on her. He tended +to some funeral matters connected with Stockbridge, +bought some flowers—three dozen lilies +of the valley—then came on up here. I’ve been +waiting a long time.”</p> + +<p>“Seen anybody about?”</p> + +<p>“Delaney and some Central Office men—that’s +all! Shall I stay here?”</p> + +<p>“Not here! Jump back in the alley and +watch the junction-box. I think Delaney has +been there. You’ll find the snow melted in +spots. Plant somewhere, and keep your eyes +open. Grab anybody you see tampering with +the wires to the house. I’m looking for trouble +to-night. They threatened Loris with a letter +this afternoon.”</p> + +<p>Drew did not stop to explain. He hurried on +ahead of O’Toole, turned at the iron-grilled +gate, passed through and pressed the button.</p> + +<p>A Central Office man with a gold-badge showing, +jerked the door open and glanced out. He +blinked sagely as he recognized the detective.</p> + +<p>“All right!” said Drew. “Let me in!”</p> + +<p>The door swung wider. Drew lunged through +and turned. “What’s new?” he asked, pointing +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_184'></a>184</span>a thumb over his shoulder. “Are those servants +still under arrest?”</p> + +<p>“Some of them, Inspector,” grunted the Central +Office man. “I can’t talk much. Fosdick +gave me hell for talking to a newspaper man. +He left word, though, that you could come in.”</p> + +<p>“Thanks!” Drew said dryly. “Thanks! +That’s kind of him. You are holding down this +door?”</p> + +<p>“Sure, Inspector! The butler and the second-man +are down at Headquarters. I don’t like +the job, but orders is orders.”</p> + +<p>Drew loosened his overcoat, removed his kid-gloves, +stamped his snow-covered shoes on the +rug, and hurried past the library, where stood +a burly Central Office man on guard. He +mounted the steps with the running motion of +a boy of fifteen. He glanced upward to where +velvet-soft light glowed at the entrance to +Loris Stockbridge’s suite of rooms. Delaney +stood framed in the opening. His huge bulk +blotted out the inner rooms. His face, seen in +the high shadows, was long and grim.</p> + +<p>“She’s in there,” said the operative, raising +his chin over his lifted arm. “Miss Stockbridge +is in there. She’s with her maid—one Fosdick +tried to pinch—and Harry Nichols. She’s got +a notice by special delivery, that the coffin she +ordered from the Hardwood Casket Company, +of Jersey City, will be delivered to-morrow. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_185'></a>185</span>She never ordered any coffin, Chief. Ain’t that +dirt—to a girl like that? What d’ye think of +it?”</p> + +<p>Drew’s answer to Delaney’s question was a +grinding of teeth and a sharp oath of defiance. +He clutched the operative’s arm in a nipping +grip. He led him into the tiny reception-hall +of the suite.</p> + +<p>The detective paused on the threshold of a +larger room. He dropped his hand from Delaney’s +arm. He stabbed sharp glances here +and there about the interior. He widened his +eyes as they came to rest upon a further doorway, +which was hung with soft tapestries gathered +to the side-walls by cords of silk. Beyond +this doorway, like the vista of some rare painting, +shone an inner light of a woman’s shrine.</p> + +<p>Silver and pearl and old rose blended into a +bower such as is found in palaces. Tiny medallions +and plaques and miniatures—narrow +framed studies in oil—fans, vases, statuettes of +ivory and rare china, a hundred choice and +dainty objects of haute-art were in that splendid +room.</p> + +<p>Drew advanced over a rug so soft and deep he +felt like a peri entering Paradise. He brushed +aside the tapestries and strode swiftly forward. +His hat came off as Loris advanced to meet him +from a large chamber, wherein the color scheme +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_186'></a>186</span>had been worked out in black and white with a +suggestion of green-in-gold.</p> + +<p>He forgot the material things of that apartment +as he bowed gallantly. He thrust his hand +forward and clasped strong fingers over her +own. The grief of her father’s death had +widened her eyes and set them in circles of +dark brows and tear-stained features. Her +voice clutched in her throat as she tried to speak. +Her hand was drawn from his slowly. It raised +to her broad forehead beneath her blue-black +hair, with a passing motion that dispelled some +of the doubt within her. She smiled wanly. +Her round, young breast rose and fell with the +rustle of perfumed laces. She swished her lavender +gown behind her with a turn of a white, +supple wrist upon which was a tiny, diamond-studded +watch of superior make.</p> + +<p>“Courage!” said Drew. “Have courage! +They won’t get you!”</p> + +<p>“They—they,” she breathed. “They have +threatened me like they threatened poor father. +They sent a letter. Oh, I wish I were a man!”</p> + +<p>Drew flushed beneath his olive cheeks. He +reached upward and turned down his overcoat +collar. He laid his hat on a chair, braced his +shoulders, and stared around the room. His +eyes wandered from the walls to the inner opening. +“Who’s in there?” he asked.</p> + +<p>“Harry—Harry Nichols. I telephoned for +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_187'></a>187</span>him. I was afraid. I admit I’m afraid, Mr. +Drew. You know what they did to father?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, I know. It was an error on my part. +We did not take the proper precautions. But +this time—we will!”</p> + +<p>“I hope you do. I don’t feel like myself, +after last night. It came so suddenly. I heard +you people talking in the lower hallway. I went +to the bannisters and saw all the servants at +the library door. And then—and then, I went +down without a particle of warning. It was a +shock, Mr. Drew.”</p> + +<p>“One I could have spared you,” admitted the +detective. “It was preventable,” he added, +turning toward Delaney.</p> + +<p>The operative stepped forward. He struck a +chair with his foot and tumbled it over. Picking +it up and setting it down on its legs, he flushed +guiltily.</p> + +<p>“Be careful!” snapped Drew. “Get me that +letter this young lady received from Jersey. Get +it! We’ll look it over right now!”</p> + +<p>Delaney glanced at Loris. “She’s got it,” he +said. “I gave it back to her.”</p> + +<p>Loris shuddered and pressed her hands to +her breast. “I tore it up,” she whispered. “I +was so excited and angry I tore it up. It’s +in the waste-basket.”</p> + +<p>“Fetch the basket!” said Drew to Delaney. +“Go get it. We’ll make this room our headquarters,” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_188'></a>188</span>he added, swinging about on one +heel. “We’ll stay right here and watch things, +Miss Loris.”</p> + +<p>The girl nodded prettily. Her courage came +back with flushed cheeks. She glanced up at +Drew’s strong jaw and face. The detective +squared his shoulder with a final shrug. “We’ll +stay here!” he said masterly. “Though all the +demons in hell are closing in on you, we’ll +stick. We’ll get them this time! I’ve almost +got my man. If he moves his pawns to-night, +we’ll round up the whole bunch and send them +to the chair!”</p> + +<p>“Are there more than one?”</p> + +<p>“Yes! One is directing—another or others +are doing his will. Your father was slain in +some mysterious manner which we have not, as +yet, determined. The man, or men, who caused +him to meet with death, left their marks behind +them—fingerprints—footprints, voices over +wires, and other evidences of material deviltry. +They blundered a score of times! They should +have killed that magpie. They did not wear +gloves when they should have worn gloves. +They forgot, or overlooked, that telephone calls +can be traced. We’ve traced them. We’ve almost +succeeded. The trouble is, that time is +short. What was in that letter?”</p> + +<p>Loris turned toward the inner room. Delaney, +followed by Harry Nichols in full uniform, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_189'></a>189</span>appeared. The operative held out a handful of +scrapped paper.</p> + +<p>“Ain’t much to learn here, Chief. It’s pretty +well torn up. I remember what it said, though.”</p> + +<p>“Repeat it!”</p> + +<p>“It was from the Hardwood Casket Company +of Jersey City. It was dated this morning. It +said that the coffin Miss Stockbridge ordered for +the lady who was about to die in her family, +would be delivered to-morrow afternoon by express +at her town house, as ordered.”</p> + +<p>“The curs!” exclaimed Drew.</p> + +<p>“Sure they are, Chief. The letter was signed +by the manager. I think it was the manager. I +couldn’t read his writing!”</p> + +<p>“Let me see the scraps.”</p> + +<p>Delaney sorted them into a small stack and +passed them to Drew. The detective lifted each +fragment, held it to the light, and placed it into +his right overcoat-pocket. “I get it,” he said. +“It looks genuine. Did you telephone them?”</p> + +<p>“Nope! I was a-waiting for you to come up +here. There’s a phone here. It’s over there!”</p> + +<p>Drew nodded. “I saw it,” he said thoughtfully. +“We better be careful how we use the +phones of this house. They tapped the wires +before, and they can do it again. We’re fighting +very high-class devils.”</p> + +<p>“It doesn’t seem real!” blurted Harry Nichols. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_190'></a>190</span>“I thought that death only stalked in No +Man’s Land. It’s right here, gentlemen!”</p> + +<p>Drew frowned and shook his head. He +glanced at Miss Stockbridge. He rubbed his +hands softly. “No more danger,” he warned +in a confident voice. “We’ve got twenty Central +Office men in the house or about the place. +No bank was ever better protected. There will +be no real trouble to-night.”</p> + +<p>“That’s what you said the other time, to father,” +Loris suggested without thought. “You +did—you remember? You were in the library +and he felt so confident nothing would happen. +Something did happen!”</p> + +<p>“I admit it!” Drew said with candor, “I +admit everything, Miss Loris. I’m partly to +blame. The trouble was, I underestimated my +adversary. A man should never do that. This +time, though,” he added with glazed eyes that +roamed the walls. “This time is going to be +different. Now, how about all your rooms? We +must be sure that there is no slip. We must +be sure<span style='white-space: nowrap'>––</span>”</p> + +<p>“Sure, we must be sure!” interrupted Delaney. +“I’ve looked everywhere, Chief. Leave +that to me!”</p> + +<p>Drew glanced at Loris, who had stepped toward +Harry Nichols. He studied the picture the +two made, with their heads close together. The +captain held himself defiantly, but with that certain +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_191'></a>191</span>polish which goes with a fondness for the +things of life worth having. He had chosen a +rather pretty girl, and upon her he had lavished +his attentions. He had defied Stockbridge! This +was motive enough for a crime. He was not +the criminal, decided Drew. There was that to +the captain’s resolute, though thick lips, and his +wide eyes, which assured the detective he would +not stoop to low things to gain his ends. He +had enlisted voluntarily. He had worked hard +at Plattsburg. He had served, and was upon +the eve of going to Pershing. No man with +such a record would slay a girl’s father to gain +the girl.</p> + +<p>The detective erased Harry Nichols from his +mind. “You two,” he said commandingly, “had +better go into the library! I mean Miss Stockbridge’s +writing-room. Stay there, please, till +Mr. Delaney and I notify you. Who else, beside +we four, are in this part of the house?”</p> + +<p>“Only the maid,” said Loris.</p> + +<p>“Go in, please, and wait. I’m going to lock +everything up. We’re going to take every precaution +this time. Frankly, I don’t see how any +agency can do more than we have already. Were +we dealing with ordinary crooks or blackmailers, +I would have you take a taxi and move to +some Fifth Avenue hotel. But it seems an unnecessary +risk. This is the safest place in the +world, despite the letter from the casket company +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_192'></a>192</span>and the former warning. What man can +enter this place to-night—without our permission?”</p> + +<p>“I’d like to see one!” blurted Delaney.</p> + +<p>Harry Nichols offered his arm to Loris. They +passed from the view of the two detectives with +the locked, gliding stride of two dancers who +moved to slow time. Drew heard the portières +which led to the writing-room rustle downward +and settle into place. He passed his hand over +his forehead and breathed deeply.</p> + +<p>“We’ll get busy,” he whispered tersely. +“We’ll search these rooms again. Let’s start +with a definite foundation!”</p> + +<p>Delaney grunted at the uselessness of this as +he reached and took the detective’s overcoat +which was peeled off and extended to him.</p> + +<p>“Hang it on a chair,” said Drew sharply. +“Over there with my hat. Now,” he snapped, +“what about the windows of this room, the little +reception hall and the bedroom over there? +That’s a bedroom, isn’t it?”</p> + +<p>“Sure, Chief! I frisked it good. The Central +Office men were up here early in the morning. +They went through everything. Fosdick, +they say, was like a bull. He said the thing +couldn’t be done.”</p> + +<p>“It <i>was</i> done!”</p> + +<p>“Did you get any clue, Chief, as to how it +was done?”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_193'></a>193</span>“It’s as much a mystery as ever. But we’re +trimming the tree called Truth with a broad +ax. I’m going around this case to get the man +or men who did it. Then we’ll find out how it +was done!”</p> + +<p>“Oh!” Delaney’s expression was thought-laden. +“Just thought of it, Chief. I got them +plaster-of-paris casts. I got ’em down stairs. +It was some job, believe me. I took everything +about that junction-box, after I’d thawed the +snow with hot blankets which a good-looking +cook brought to me.”</p> + +<p>“Go down and get them!”</p> + +<p>Delaney hurried out through the tapestries of +the room. Drew started his search of the apartment +by a study of the windows and the catches. +He opened one and glanced outside. Snow had +drifted to the depth of three inches on the sill. +This snow was unmarked. He examined all of +the sills extending from the three rooms. He +closed and locked the windows. He backed off +into the center of the reception room and studied +the situation from every angle. The furniture +was fragile and in sets of such splendid periods +his eyes closed over them. The rugs and tapestries—curtains +and portières—sheathings of +yellow hand-painted silk from Nippon—rare +ceramics and cloisonnés—a huge peach-blow +vase of the Ming dynasty and a hundred little +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_194'></a>194</span>jade and jasper knick-knacks were the outward +evidence of wealth.</p> + +<p>He opened the plate-glass cases and peered inside. +He crawled under a couch and backed out +dusting his hands. He tapped with slow +knuckles a long cheval-glass by the side of +which was a tiny gold-bracket and a silver-plated +telephone. He went the rounds of the walls, +lifting pictures, portraits and little military +oils by French painters of the Franco-Prussian +period. He found nothing to excite his suspicion!</p> + +<p>Entering a simple bedroom, with its tiled flooring +and its single white bed, he spared this +as he passed to the bath beyond, which had no +outlet save a ventilating shaft securely barred +by a bronze grating of close, fantastic-scrolled +mesh.</p> + +<p>Delaney’s heavy steps were heard in the reception +hall as Drew finished. Striding out into +the larger room he frowned as the operative +deposited a blanket upon a Persian rug and began +to untie its corners.</p> + +<p>“I got ’em here, Chief,” explained the assistant +with upturned face. “There’s five or six +prints—all alike.”</p> + +<p>“What? Repeat that!” Drew dropped to +one knee.</p> + +<p>“Sure, Chief. There’s only been one guy at +that junction-box before the freezing started. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_195'></a>195</span>He made plenty of tracks. He came and went +from the fence to the box. It’s a small foot. +There was plenty of prints made after the snow +piled on top of these little prints.”</p> + +<p>“The operatives?”</p> + +<p>“Sure, and the Central Office bunch! But +these prints I got here are the only ones under +the snow. They stuck up when I melted away +the surface.”</p> + +<p>Delaney offered a plaster-cast of the top of +a footprint. It was roughly done. It had been +made, like the others in the blanket, by pouring +cold plaster within a retaining bulge of soap. +The plaster had hardened and brought out each +detail. Drew traced his finger over the toe. +“Right foot,” he said. “Now let’s see the others!”</p> + +<p>“Here’s a left foot, Delaney,” added the detective +slowly. “Only one left and four right. +That might happen. You didn’t take them all. +Well, bundle them up and plant them somewhere. +Put them under that couch, out of sight. +I’ve got an idea!”</p> + +<p>“What is it, Chief?” asked the operative as +he drew on the knots until he had gathered the +corners together. “What’s new? I can’t see +anything in sight, at-tall, at-tall. One man—that’s +all I see.”</p> + +<p>“And that’s <i>all</i> I see—the trouble-hunter—Delaney!”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_196'></a>196</span>“But what about the tall guy who looked like +a German? The fellow the trouble-man saw +getting over the fence and beating it for Fifth +Avenue?”</p> + +<p>“He didn’t leave any tracks!”</p> + +<p>“Ah, Chief, get out! That ain’t human!”</p> + +<p>Drew paced the floor with his hands clasped +behind him. He wheeled with sudden energy. +“Go, you!” he exclaimed with a pointing finger. +“Hurry out of this house and telephone +Gramercy Hill Exchange. Tell the superintendent +to send over that trouble-man. I want to +compare these prints with his shoes. He couldn’t +have been lying. There’s no object in that! +But, Delaney, how could a man tap in on that +junction-box and never leave prints in the snow? +That’s my question!”</p> + +<p>“How could one shoot a man in a sealed room, +Chief? There ain’t much difference!”</p> + +<p>Drew snatched out his watch. “Hurry,” he +said. “Get over to Gramercy Hill Exchange—it’s +only three blocks from here. Ask Jack +Nefe, or whoever is in charge, for the trouble-man +who fixed the phone last night. He’ll be +able to tell us what part of the fence the tall +fellow, who looked like a German, got over. +Perhaps he wasn’t at the junction-box at all!”</p> + +<p>“Who, Chief?”</p> + +<p>“The tall fellow! Perhaps he was skulking +about the windows at the back.”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_197'></a>197</span>“Perhaps he was a ghost,” said Delaney to +himself as he lunged through the tapestries +toward the staircase which led down from the +third floor of the mansion.</p> + +<p>Drew crossed the room and rapped softly on +a panel by the portières which covered the opening +to the reading-room and library. He heard +a muffled word of warning. Loris Stockbridge +glided across the rugs and peered out. Her +face was set and tear-stained. She had been +sobbing upon an olive-drab shoulder.</p> + +<p>“Pardon,” said Drew with a slight sigh. “I +beg pardon, Miss Stockbridge. I want to look +over the sitting-room and examine the windows. +Where is the maid?”</p> + +<p>Loris touched her eyes with a handkerchief +drawn from her breast. She replaced this and +nodded over her shoulder. She parted the portières +with her unjeweled right hand. “The +maid,” she said softly, “is in her room. That’s +back of this reading-room. Shall I call her?”</p> + +<p>“You and Mr. Nichols come in here, please,” +said Drew. “I’ll knock on the maid’s door and +look her over. We can’t be too careful—remember +that. It’s getting late,” he added with candor.</p> + +<p>Drew allowed Harry Nichols and Loris to +pass him as he held the portières for them with +a thoughtful bow. He crossed the reading-room, +examined the books and cases, glanced +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_198'></a>198</span>under a low divan, and saw to it that each window +was latched before he knocked lightly upon +a further door which was hidden by curtains.</p> + +<p>A maid appeared, in smart white apron and +pursed lips of inquiry. Drew regarded her not +unkindly. He ran his eyes up and down her +trim figure from the black bow in her brown +hair to the wide ribbons which laced her trim +French shoes.</p> + +<p>“How long have you been with Miss Stockbridge?” +he asked.</p> + +<p><i>“Merci, Monsieur!”</i> she courtesied. “It has +been for zee longest time. <i>Cinq—sept, années, +monsieur,”</i> she counted mentally.</p> + +<p>“Good!” said Drew closing the door lightly. +“Good little girl. We won’t bother you the +rest of the night,” he added as he turned a good +key in a perfectly good lock and dropped the +curtains.</p> + +<p>“Now!” he said with a final glance about +the reading-room, with its morocco-bound tomes +and glowing lights. “Now, let the worst come! +Let that come what may!”</p> + +<p>He strode through to the reception room, +glanced slit-lidded at Loris and Nichols, who +had seated themselves in the deeper recess of a +splendid alcove, and hurried to the hall where +Delaney was hastily removing his coat, and +showing other evidences of some answer to his +quest at the telephone exchange.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_199'></a>199</span>“Well?” asked Drew as the bulk of the big +operative loomed through the tapestries. “Well, +what did you find out over there?”</p> + +<p>“Enough, Chief!” Delaney’s voice was hard. +He glanced at Loris and Nichols. His right eye +closed in a warning wink of caution.</p> + +<p>“Come into this other room,” said Drew. +“Come right in, Delaney. This way!” Drew +lifted the portières, then dropped them after the +operative had stumbled forward.</p> + +<p>“What did you find?” he asked into Delaney’s +ear. “Out with it!”</p> + +<p>The operative glanced about the reading-room. +He blinked at the glowing electrics. He +recovered his voice as he drew in a deep breath +which bulged his chest to barrel proportions.</p> + +<p>“I went,” he said huskily. “I went to Gramercy +Hill Exchange. Found the superintendent.... Fellow, you told me to find, Chief ... I +draws him to one side.... I asked about this +trouble-hunter.... He ups like I’d hit him.... He says fellow quit +to-day.... Says fellow.... Says he was no good.... Says he +was tapping joints instead of soldering them. +Says he only hired him on account of the shortage +of electricians and helpers ... because of the last Army draft.”</p> + +<p>“Did you get his address?”</p> + +<p>“I got it, Chief.... It is over on Fifty-third +Street near the River.... I didn’t go.... I +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_200'></a>200</span>wanted to see you first.... There’s more.”</p> + +<p>“Out with it!”</p> + +<p>“The superintendent says he never sent +that trouble-hunter over here last night.... There’s a record of sending another man named +Frisby.”</p> + +<p>“Did you see—Frisby?”</p> + +<p>“I did, Chief.”</p> + +<p>“What did he say?” Drew’s fingers had +clutched the operative’s arm. “What did he +say?” he repeated grimly.</p> + +<p>“Said, that Albert—that’s the trouble-hunter—had stopped +him on the way over here and +took his place.... Said, he was satisfied.... Albert could have <i>all</i> the jobs on a night like +last night. That’s just what Frisby said, +Chief!”</p> + +<p>Drew loosened his fingers from Delaney’s +arm and turned slowly. The portières swayed +slightly. They shook anew. They parted at +the center and revealed Loris Stockbridge. Her +eyes burned the soft gloom with glazed interrogation. +She raised her white hand and pressed +back her hair from her forehead. She stepped +forward with her knees striking against the +stiff satin of her skirt. She swung from Delaney +toward Drew.</p> + +<p>“What were you saying?” she asked imperiously. +“What did you say about a trouble-man? +What was it, please?”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_201'></a>201</span>“I’m lookin’ for one, Miss!” declared Delaney. +“I was over at the telephone company’s +exchange lookin’ for the lad that was here last +night and fixed the junction-box in the yard back +of the house. Mr. Drew wants him.”</p> + +<p>Loris turned toward the detective. “You +want him?” she asked softly. “What do you +want him for? Please tell me. I don’t like him, +at all.”</p> + +<p>It was Drew’s turn to draw in his breath. +He eyed the girl. He tried to fathom the reason +for her simple question and her objection. +“Miss Loris,” he said, shrugging his square +shoulders. “Why, it’s a slight matter. The +man has disappeared. We can’t find him. He’s +flown—perhaps.”</p> + +<p>“Is he a little chap with a satchel and a +testing set?” she asked. “A nice-mannered, +soft-voiced little man who was so obliging, and +yet so—oh! I don’t know what I have against +him. He’s so sly—don’t you think so, Mr. +Dr—e—w?”</p> + +<p>“When did you ever see him?” asked Drew, +feeling the blood rising to his cheeks at a +thought which surged through his brain.</p> + +<p>“Meet him? Why! he was here early this afternoon. +He was all over the house!”</p> + +<div> +<a id='ch12'></a> +<p class='line mt3 center'><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_202'></a>202</span>CHAPTER TWELVE</p> +<p class='line mb2 center'>“SUSPICION FASTENS”</p> +</div> + +<p>Triggy Drew had been trained in the +hardest school in the world. Loris +Stockbridge’s statement, delivered with +such sincerity and so naïvely, completely upset +him. It was like a gentle reminder that, as a +hunter of men, he had failed. He took the blow +with flaming cheeks and an almost stopped +heart.</p> + +<p>Delaney realized that something of moment +in the case had happened. He stared at his +chief, then turned his eyes upon Harry Nichols, +who stepped through the portières and stood by +Loris’ side.</p> + +<p>“What is it, Chief?” asked the operative. +“Was there anything in what she said?”</p> + +<p>“Anything!” exclaimed Drew, recovering +himself with a tossing shrug of his shoulders. +“Anything? Everything! The man we want +is<span style='white-space: nowrap'>––</span>”</p> + +<p>“Found?” breathed Loris clutching Nichols’ +arm.</p> + +<p>“Not yet—but <i>very</i> soon!” said the detective +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_203'></a>203</span>with sanguine eyes. “We want that trouble-hunter, +Delaney,” he added gathering in the +details for action as he spoke. “You’ll have to +hurry right over to the address and see if you +can round him up. If he isn’t there—get him! +I want him brought here at once. He’s got +much to explain!”</p> + +<p>“I’ll go right now,” said Delaney, starting +toward the reception room.</p> + +<p>“Wait,” said Drew.</p> + +<p>Delaney turned at the portières.</p> + +<p>“Don’t phone me here,” the detective +warned. “Don’t do anything by telephone. +We’re on the trail of a man or men who can tap +wires. He or they may have a confederate in +this house. Be careful—get your suspect and +bring him here. We’ll try him with the footprints. +We’ll check up with the fingerprints. +Then, if he don’t cave in, we’ll turn him over +to Fosdick and the Third Degree. I firmly believe +that Albert, whom I saw in the library +and who was in this house in the early afternoon +of this day, is implicated in the murder. +Strange that I never suspected him.”</p> + +<p>“I’m going!” growled Delaney, tearing his +eyes away from Loris and glancing through the +curtains. “I’m right after him, Chief. I won’t +stop till I get him, either.”</p> + +<p>“If you don’t make it in thirty minutes,” said +Drew glancing sharply at his watch, “if you +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_204'></a>204</span>don’t make it by then—come back here. Perhaps +something will have turned up in the meantime. +Get that?”</p> + +<p>“Sure, Chief! Good-by!”</p> + +<p>Delaney had passed through the portières, +crossed the reception room and pressed aside +the tapestries leading to the hallways, before +Drew stepped to the broad doorway and motioned +for Loris and Nichols to take their former +positions. He waited until they were seated +with their faces in the shadow cast by the +overhead silken hangings. He spoke then, and +to the point.</p> + +<p>“This case,” he said, thrusting his hands in +his coat pockets and striding back and forth. +“This case is clearing clue by clue. The trouble-man, +whom some one let into the house this +afternoon, is the missing link in the chain of +circumstance and applied deduction. Who let +him in?”</p> + +<p>“I did!”</p> + +<p>Drew stopped in his stride. “You, Nichols?” +he questioned sharply. “Why did you let him +in?”</p> + +<p>“Because I asked Harry to,” defended Loris +with heat. “I heard the bell ring. I sent the +maid downstairs. She came back and told me +that a man from the telephone company was +waiting to look over the connections. She said +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_205'></a>205</span>that he said that there was trouble with the +wires.”</p> + +<p>“I don’t believe it!” exclaimed Drew; “that +is,” he added hastily, “I don’t believe there +was anything the matter at all. In the light of +what Delaney has told me, that fellow came +here last night, when some one else named Frosby +or Frisby was sent. Now why would he +want to take another’s place? For one reason +only—the same reason that he came here this +afternoon. This reason concerns your future +health and security. We had one death in this +house which followed his first visit. We don’t +want anything to happen after his second visit.”</p> + +<p>“You are right, Mr. Drew,” said Nichols. +“I was careless. I went down stairs and talked +with the fellow. It was just a few minutes +after I arrived from downtown. He seemed so +plausible that I asked the Central Office Detective +at the door, who gave the permission. It +was all my fault, I guess.”</p> + +<p>“Where did this fellow go? What did he do +in the house?”</p> + +<p>“He went into the library and tested the +phone there. The connection seemed to be all +right. Then he went down stairs and tested +the butler’s ’phone. The butler had been taken +as a material witness by Fosdick. I followed +the man. He didn’t do anything but test and +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_206'></a>206</span>then talk with Franklin Official—I think it +was.”</p> + +<p>“Are you sure he talked over the phone? +It’s ridiculously easy for a person to hold down +the hook and make believe they are talking to +most anybody.”</p> + +<p>“I don’t know about that, Mr. Drew,” said +the captain, turning toward Loris. “Did he +talk to anybody when he used this ’phone, Miss +Stockbridge?”</p> + +<p>“I believe so, Harry. I really thought he +did.”</p> + +<p>Drew furrowed his brows in perplexity. There +was no evidence shown that the trouble-man +had ever talked with anybody, via wire, from +the mansion. He recalled the first appearance +of the lineman in the library. That time both +calls, to Central, might have been feigned by +holding down the hook and speaking into a disconnected +transmitter. The man was clever. +He knew all there was to be known concerning +telephony.</p> + +<p>“I’m a child,” the detective concluded, swinging +about the room in perplexity. “One thing,” +he added aloud to Loris and Nichols. “One +thing! We are absolutely alone in this part of +the house. I have locked the maid in her room. +No one can get through the door to the hall. +There’s a spring lock on it. Delaney closed it +when he went out.”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_207'></a>207</span>“And there’s a score of detectives scattered +about,” said the captain reassuringly, as he +leaned toward Loris. “Why should we fear +anything at all?”</p> + +<p>“I wouldn’t, Harry,” said Loris, “if it wasn’t +for what happened to poor father. Mr. Drew +took the same precautions and had everything +locked and watched. It doesn’t seem as if we +were in New York at all. It seems like some +mediæval time and place.”</p> + +<p>Drew reached for a fragile-looking chair, +turned it, sat down and thrust his custom-made +shoes out across the rug in the direction of +Loris and Nichols, whose faces shone white +and drawn in the soft light of the alcove where +they were seated.</p> + +<p>Swirling thought surged through the detective’s +brain. He went over the case with dulled +understanding. Briefly, he had eliminated the +former suspects and compressed the matter into +a small compass. His conclusion brought him +to his feet with slow swaying from side to side. +Some one in state prison was probably directing +matters. Some one in New York was carrying +out the arch-fiend’s orders. This free agent had +the nerve of the damned and the cunning of +Cagliostro. He had succeeded in planting a confederate +in the mansion, or entering himself, +and slaying Stockbridge. The entire case, concluded +Drew, rested in capturing the free agent +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_208'></a>208</span>before he could do further murder. Loris was +marked and had been from the first.</p> + +<p>“What servants remain?” he asked, dropping +his hand on his right hip pocket and feeling the +bulge of an automatic there. “Which of the +servants, Miss Stockbridge, have Fosdick and +his men left for you?”</p> + +<p>“The French maid,” said Loris softly.</p> + +<p>“I saw her! She looks all right. She says +she has been with you five or six years.”</p> + +<p>“Six—almost. It’s been over six years, Mr. +Drew!”</p> + +<p>“That ought to let her out of the case. Now, +the next one?”</p> + +<p>“The housekeeper, Mrs. Seeley. She has been +with us ten or twelve years—ever since I can +remember. Mother thought the world of Mrs. +Seeley.”</p> + +<p>“Who else?”</p> + +<p>“Father’s valet. They didn’t arrest him.”</p> + +<p>“He was down to my office. He looks all +right. I’ll cross him off the list of suspects. +Now, are there any more servants in the +house?”</p> + +<p>“There’s a French chef and a pantry man, I +think. Also there’s a poor old darkey who tends +to the furnace. I don’t believe he leaves the +basement. I never see him, only on holidays.”</p> + +<p>“The butler, then, and the doorman and the +second man and the rest of the servants have +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_209'></a>209</span>been taken down to Center Street for interrogation +and as suspects. That leaves us with very +few to handle, Miss Stockbridge. I’m going to +start by securing the door which leads into the +hallway. Then we’ll wait here.”</p> + +<p>Drew hurried through the tapestries, stopped, +and examined the lock of the door before he shot +home a second bolt which was functioned by a +butterfly of heavy gold alloy. He stood erect +with both hands pressing at his temples. It +came to him with double force that the same +precautions had been taken when Stockbridge +was alone in the library downstairs. There was +the lock of superior make and the winged-latch. +There was the two-inch, or more, door of dark +wood. There were the servants and detectives +both within and outside the mansion. Yet the +millionaire had been reached in a secret manner +through all the precautions.</p> + +<p>“Things repeat, sometimes,” mused Drew, +fingering the catch and the flat key. “The same +conditions bring the same results. I<span style='white-space: nowrap'>––</span>”</p> + +<p>The detective’s voice trailed into a whisper as +he heard footsteps outside the door. He reached +back to his pocket and waited. His heart +thumped like a prisoned bird within his breast. +It was a case of strained nerves. He felt the +responsibility of guarding Loris.</p> + +<p>“Bah!” he exclaimed, recovering himself and +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_210'></a>210</span>squaring his jaw. “Bah,” he repeated. “It’s +somebody for me.”</p> + +<p>He opened the door after twisting the butterfly +and turning the flat key in the lock. A blurred +figure pressed forward. A gruff voice boomed +from a muffling collar.</p> + +<p>“Hello, Chief! I’m back in a half-hour! No +luck, either!”</p> + +<p>Drew waited until Delaney had removed his +overcoat and overshoes, which he placed in one +corner by a hall-tree. “What did you find?” +he asked glancing toward the tapestries.</p> + +<p>“The fellow’s beat it for good. Landlady +says he owes her one week’s rent. He cleaned +out with a suit-case and left this.” The operative +reached in his pocket and brought forth a +single drill of quarter-inch diameter. He held +it out. “All I could find, Chief, after a quick +frisk. This was in the mattress.”</p> + +<p>“Regulation lineman’s wood-bit,” said Drew +as he examined the size number on the shank. +“This might have been the one used in boring +the hole between the slot-booths at Grand Central +Station.”</p> + +<p>“Then Albert is the lad, Chief?”</p> + +<p>“We don’t know, yet. There’s lots of bits +like this one. Did you try it for fingerprints?”</p> + +<p>“They’re all rubbed off! I had to pull it +from the mattress. It was stuck in a hole near +the foot of the bed.”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_211'></a>211</span>“Hold it!” said Drew. “Hold it for evidence. +Put it with your plaster casts. +Now<span style='white-space: nowrap'>––</span>”</p> + +<p>“Well, Chief?”</p> + +<p>Drew glanced at his watch. “I’m going out +to that drug-store,” he said. “I want to phone. +I can’t use the phones of this house. The +wires may be tapped. You stay right by this +door and wait till I get back. It won’t be more +than ten minutes. Go get my hat when you’re +putting the bit away. It’s in the corner by Loris +and Nichols. Tell them I’m stepping out and +that you will stand guard. They might hold +me. She is very nervous.”</p> + +<p>Delaney was back at the detective’s side, after +a clumsy stride through the tapestries. “Cute +couple,” he said, jerking his thumb over-shoulder +toward the inner room. “They’re sittin’ +there so close you couldn’t get a sheet of paper +between them. I like that colleen, Chief! She’s +the kind you see on them magazine covers—only +prettier.”</p> + +<p>“A cat can look at a queen,” quoted Drew, +pulling down his hat and opening the door wide. +“Be sure and lock this after me,” he warned. +“Lock and bolt it. Stand guard and don’t let +anybody in at all. I’m only going round the +block.”</p> + +<p>Delaney shut the door and turned the key. +He followed this action by twisting the butterfly. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_212'></a>212</span>Then he drew his gun and waited, grimly +alert.</p> + +<p>Drew reached the drug-store after a brisk, +lung-cleansing walk through the down-driving +snow. He dropped a coin in the slot and first +called up his office. Harrigan, who had remained +at his post, answered for most of the +operatives who were out on the case and who +had ’phoned in at every opportunity.</p> + +<p>“Get Frick at the prison,” Drew shot back, +after making a few notes. “Get him and tell +him to call up this ’phone,” Drew glanced at +the number over the transmitter. “Tell him +to call up Gramercy Hill 9749 and let whoever +I station here, know to whom and to what number +Morphy is talking in New York. Get +that?”</p> + +<p>“Sure,” came back over the wires. “Sure, +Chief. You want to pinch the fellow he’s connecting +with?”</p> + +<p>“I certainly do,” said Drew. “We can work +it this way. As soon as I find out from Frick +where Morphy or anybody else is ’phoning from +the prison, I can get a man over there in time +to make the arrest. The superintendent at +Gramercy Hill will help us out if the call comes +through his exchange. He can get the girl to +stall for a minute or two. I’ll send Delaney +here to hold this end of the wire. You keep +him posted as to developments. O’Toole, yes! +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_213'></a>213</span>He’s planted in the alley back of the house. He +can’t report. All the others are all right?”</p> + +<p>Drew hung up with a flip of the receiver. He +backed out of the booth and hurried around the +corner. He reached the iron-grilled gate of the +mansion with his head down and the snow seeping +between his collar and his neck.</p> + +<p>“Rotten night!” said the Central Office man +at the door. “I don’t think we’ll hear anything +from anybody. Them gunmen like the backrooms +of saloons too well to pull off a gun-play +in this storm, Inspector.”</p> + +<p>“You never can tell,” said Drew, shaking +his coat and hurrying toward the stairway +which led to Loris Stockbridge’s apartment.</p> + +<p>Delaney opened the door after a repeated +knock in Morse code. He eyed his chief. He +motioned toward the inner rooms. “All quiet,” +he said with a broad smile. “Them turtle doves +sure like to be left alone.”</p> + +<p>“And you would too! Especially if you lost +your only relative the night before—lost him +in the way she lost hers.”</p> + +<p>The big operative gulped down the thrust. +“What did you find out?” he asked in a husky +whisper.</p> + +<p>“Get your coat on. Get over to that drug-store +and plant near that booth—Gramercy Hill +9749. Frick, at the prison, is going to call that +booth up as soon as Morphy or anybody else +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_214'></a>214</span>there tries to get New York. If Frick gives +you a number, call up the superintendent at +Gramercy Hill and tell him who you are. He’s +on duty all night. He’ll give you the address +of the number, and stall the call. That’ll give +you time to rush to the address and grab your +man.”</p> + +<p>“I’ll grab him, Chief!” rumbled Delaney, +reaching for his storm coat which was supposed +to be fur-lined. “Leave that to me!” he +added. “Jus’ leave it tu me!”</p> + +<p>Drew eyed the operative’s huge hands. “I’ll +do that,” he said with a short laugh. “Now +hurry! No, wait.”</p> + +<p>“What is it, Chief?” asked Delaney in the +doorway.</p> + +<p>“If the address is downtown, or in Brooklyn, +what would you do then?”</p> + +<p>“I’d get the office, Chief, and have Harrigan +rush over a man. This super at Gramercy Hill +ought to be able to stall that call long enough +for us to connect—with both hands and both +feet.”</p> + +<p>“Go to it!” said Drew, pressing Delaney out +through the door. “Good luck,” he added as he +twisted the key and shot the bolt. “Now we +are getting there,” he said softly. “Unfortunately +for that devil up-the-river, he has to +phone from <i>one</i> place. That’s the thing which +will beat him. I hate to think what would happen +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_215'></a>215</span>if he was outside giving orders. He could +get away with it, nicely.”</p> + +<p>Drew never felt surer of himself in a case. +He tested the lock and bolt for a second time. +He draped the tapestries and strode into the +sitting room with his shoulders held back—a +sanguine light in his olive eyes.</p> + +<p>“Well, Miss Stockbridge,” he said, pausing +in the center of the room and smiling. “I think +we are on the verge of big things. The attempt +cannot be made to-night without we have plenty +of warning.”</p> + +<p>“Good!” exclaimed Loris, standing upright +and arranging her lavender gown about her +slipper-tops. “That’s the best news I’ve heard +in a long time, Mr. Drew,” she added, glancing +archly at the detective, beneath her dark lashes. +“Has that Mr. Delaney found any one?”</p> + +<p>Drew raised his brows. Loris’ question was +not exactly a compliment to the big operative, +who meant so well.</p> + +<p>“He hasn’t found anything,” said Drew, with +soft, pleasing voice. “He hasn’t done that, +but I’m venturing my future reputation that he +will find our man—the trouble-man perhaps.”</p> + +<p>Harry Nichols stepped to Loris’ side. “We +were children there,” he admitted frankly. “At +least I was. I never suspected him at all. His +manners were so pleasant. He seemed so weak +and intent about his business.”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_216'></a>216</span>“Ah!” said Drew, raising his finger. “That’s +it! He was intent about <i>his</i> business. Only, +this particular business concerned the taking of +a human life in cold blood. Mr. Stockbridge +was murdered by this fiend, in the guise of a +harmless trouble-hunter. How the murder was +accomplished and by what lethal method we do +not know. I’m acting on the theory that if we +catch the man we will find out how it was done. +If I can’t make him—Fosdick, Commissioner of +Detectives, will. May God help him if he doesn’t +talk to Fosdick!”</p> + +<p>“But can’t we find out how father was +killed?” asked Loris, with tears glazing over +her eyes. “It don’t seem—it don’t<span style='white-space: nowrap'>––</span>”</p> + +<p>The captain caught Loris about the waist and +led her to the divan in the alcove. She sank +down with her face covered with her hands. Soft +sobs, brought to her throat by the memory of +the murder, caused Drew to pace the rugs with +alert, nervous strides like a man who would +guard her from some menacing shadow. He +went to the ventilators and closed them slightly. +He crossed the room to the radiator-boxes and +set them in an open position. He adjusted a +thermostat on the wall, to seventy degrees. He +stood back then and listened with both ears +strained for outside sounds.</p> + +<p>Snow sifted across the curtain-drawn panes +with a cutting of fine diamonds against diamonds. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_217'></a>217</span>A wind whistled and moaned and swirled +over the turrets and towers of the mansion. +An echo lifted from the driving traffic of the +Avenue. Below this echo, so faint it seemed +like a murmur of a distant sea, the city throbbed +with the shifting of the whimpering wind. Once +it roared. Then afterward there was silence, +save for the sifting snow, and Loris’ low, throat +choke from welling sorrow.</p> + +<p>She sat up finally and dried her eyes. “I +should be ashamed of myself,” she said, brokenly. +“I must be brave. I fear something, +though. It seems to be in the room or the air. +What is it I fear, Mr. Drew?” Her question +was vague. Her eyes shone hectically bright +and strangely alluring to the detective.</p> + +<p>“There’s nothing to fear!” he declared with +a direct glance. “I’m armed! Then,” he added +as an additional encouragement. “Then, +Mr. Nichols is a soldier! You are in safe hands, +believe me!”</p> + +<p>Harry Nichols bowed politely. “I’ve got a +gun, myself,” he admitted candidly. “It’s not +that little one, either. It’s army regulation. +It, or the ones like it, have been stopping the +Huns. I guess we’ll take care of anything that +comes up to-night, Mr. Drew. It’s getting late, +isn’t it?”</p> + +<p>The detective glanced at his watch. “I ought +to hear from Delaney,” he said, replacing the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_218'></a>218</span>watch and reaching for a chair. “Delaney is +like old Dobbin—faithful and slow.”</p> + +<p>Drew sat down, pulled at the knees of his +black trousers and rested his heels on the thick +soft pile of a Persian rug. Behind him was +the cheval glass and the telephone stand. Before +him, and in the shade of the silk draperies, +Loris’ eyes glowed alongside the captain’s resolute +face.</p> + +<p>The minutes passed with the trio in the same +position. The snow sifted across the cold panes. +The wind whined. Suddenly between gusts, Loris +asked point-blankly:</p> + +<p>“Do you suspect that man, Morphy?”</p> + +<p>“Yes; I do!” said Drew with a snap. “I believe +that every single lead we have points to +him. I believe he planned to destroy your father +ever since the day of conviction. I believe<span style='white-space: nowrap'>––</span>”</p> + +<p>“But he is in prison.”</p> + +<p>“Ah!” said the detective, with bright eyes. +“So is his master, Lucifer, in the lower regions. +He’s there, but he has a long arm. Morphy’s +tool in this affair is probably the telephone repair-man. +You saw him. Mr. Nichols saw him. +I saw him. We all agree that he does not look +the part of a scoundrel and a scoundrel’s tool. +But,” Drew paused and spread out his hands; +“but,” he continued, “that’s the reason he was +chosen for Morphy’s murderous work. You +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_219'></a>219</span>can’t send a thug into a drawing room—or a +library. You can’t cut a sharp slice with a dull +tool. This trouble-hunter is all that the name +implies—a hunter of trouble. I don’t doubt +that we have the case rounded up, save for +bringing him in. Morphy, we can get at any +time. He’s in prison and he’s getting very +close to the little green door that leads to the +electric-chair. One slip to-night, and we have +him!”</p> + +<p>“Miss Stockbridge must go south after the +funeral,” said Nichols. “She can’t be jeopardized! +She is nervous and has suffered acutely. +I for one am sorry we let her stay here. It is +the place she should not be. They know where +to look for her!”</p> + +<p>“They’re beat to-night,” assured Drew, rising +and stretching his arms. “My! my!” he +added, “this is slow, sleepy work. I’d ask for +tea, but I think it’s best we stay locked in here. +Don’t you, Miss Stockbridge?”</p> + +<p>“Marie can get some. There’s a service-waiter +running up to her room. Suppose I order +tea, or coffee, and cakes. It might cheer us +up?”</p> + +<p>Drew held out a warding arm as Loris rose +and started toward the writing room. “I’ll +tend to it,” he said. “You stay right here close +up to Mr. Nichols. We’re taking no chances at +all.”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_220'></a>220</span>The detective parted the portières and +knocked upon the maid’s door as he turned the +key with his left hand. He waited as she gave +the order through a silver-plated speaking tube. +He heard the service-waiter rising. He leaned +forward and took the tray with a sharp glance +about the maid’s room. It was as clean and +as neat as a work basket. A French novel, with +a vivid portrait of a poilu carrying a very sharp +bayonet on its cover, lay in the center of a white +counterpane on the bed.</p> + +<p>“Good-night!” he said as he closed and carefully +locked the door. He reached downward +and caught up the tray. He started across the +writing-room. He paused in its center as he +heard:</p> + +<p>“Burrrr! Burrrr! Burrrrr!”</p> + +<p>Shrillingly the perfumed air of the suite vibrated +with the silver notes of the telephone. +Drew hesitated, with the tray balanced in his +hand. He took one step forward as Loris +swished across the sitting-room, lifted the hard-rubber +receiver and voiced a soft, “Hello!”</p> + +<p>Drew let go of the tray and sprang forward. +He parted the portières and watched Loris’ +face. It changed between seconds to a flushed +mask of crimson-fear. She staggered back, +dropped the receiver, and cried “Harry!” as +she sank to the floor.</p> + +<p>Drew darted across the rugs and snatched up +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_221'></a>221</span>the instrument. He heard a low, chuckling +laugh that died to a whisper and then to nothingness. +He flipped the receiver back on the +hook. He turned with a savage twist. He +stared across the room toward Loris, who had +risen to her knees and whose head was against +Nichols’ olive-drab breast.</p> + +<p>“What was said?” he questioned sharply.</p> + +<p>A mass of turbaned, midnight-hued hair uncoiled +and fell about the girl’s white face. Glorious +eyes dulled, then glowed, with the fire +which was pulsing within her. Her lips trembled +and went blanched as she throated brokenly:</p> + +<p>“The man—the man at the other end said.... He said that his master had ordered my +coffin.... He said that I had only a few hours +to live.... He said that he would call me up +again.... For me to be ready then, to meet +my Master and my—doom.”</p> + +<div> +<a id='ch13'></a> +<p class='line mt3 center'><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_222'></a>222</span>CHAPTER THIRTEEN</p> +<p class='line mb2 center'>“A SILENT PRISONER”</p> +</div> + +<p>Loris Stockbridge finished speaking +with a low sob which went straight to the +detective’s heart. He advanced across +the room and ran his arm about her supple +waist. “We’ll help her to the divan,” he told +Nichols. “That’s it! Right over here and in +the corner. She’s all right. I’ll tend to that +threat which came over the wires.”</p> + +<p>Drew backed away and turned toward the +telephone. He eyed it with cold calculation. +He took one step further, then wheeled and +glanced at Nichols.</p> + +<p>“I want to trace that call if it is humanly +possible,” he said with decision. “We can find +out, at least, from where it came. Suppose you +leave me here with Miss Stockbridge, and you +go down stairs and around to the drug-store?”</p> + +<p>Loris rested her weight on one elbow. She +sat erect, with slowly widening eyes. Her hands +strayed to her hair and pressed it back from +her ears. She gained command of herself after +a shudder had passed through her slender body. +She half rose.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_223'></a>223</span>“I’ve heard that voice before!” she exclaimed, +pointing toward the ’phone. “It was +familiar, Mr. Drew. Now where have I heard +it?”</p> + +<p>“Some friend of your father’s?”</p> + +<p>“No, I don’t think it was. But I’ve heard it +in this house.”</p> + +<p>“A servant—the valet?”</p> + +<p>“No! No, Mr. Drew, it wasn’t the valet’s +voice. It was whispering and consumptive. It +squeaked. It sounded like a little boy’s voice.”</p> + +<p>“How about that trouble-man?” Drew advanced +with keen steps. He felt that he was +very close to the truth.</p> + +<p>“It might have been. Only—only, Mr. Drew, +it was younger—thinner—squeakier. It was a +terrible voice. It rings and rings in my ears. +It was so sure!”</p> + +<p>“Ump!” declared Drew with clenched fists. +“It won’t be so sure,” he said, squaring his +jaw. “It won’t be near so sure, next time. I +think it was that trouble-man you heard. Don’t +you remember anything he said when he was in +the house, for comparison?”</p> + +<p>“I just heard him say—I heard him say that +the connections, I think he called them, were all +right. Then he went away, Mr. Drew.”</p> + +<p>“Did his voice squeak then?”</p> + +<p>“It was rather low—like a boy’s or a girl’s. +He seemed too polite. He had his cap in his +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_224'></a>224</span>hand.” Loris stopped speaking and stood erect. +She arranged her gown and glanced down at +Nichols. “I feel stronger,” she said bravely. +“I wonder what became of that tea?”</p> + +<p>Drew stepped into the writing-room and +found the tea-pot upon its side. He poured +from this a cup of tea which he carried to Nichols. +“Just taste it,” he ordered. “I want to +be sure it isn’t doped or anything like that. +That’s it. Just a small swallow. It’s all right, +isn’t it? It isn’t bitter?”</p> + +<p>Nichols handed the cup to Loris. “Drink it,” +he said with confidence. “That’s good tea—only +a little cold.”</p> + +<p>Drew took the empty cup and set it down on +a small table. “You’ll go for me?” he asked +Nichols. “I want it traced without using the +wires of this house. They might be tapped.”</p> + +<p>“Be back in ten minutes!” said the captain +at the tapestries, after Loris had nodded. +“Whom shall I ask for at Gramercy Hill?”</p> + +<p>“The superintendent—Jack Nefe! If he isn’t +there, get the chief operator. Delaney will attend +to that. Find out from what number the +call came. We might get that whispering devil +right away.”</p> + +<p>“I believe it was the trouble-man,” said Loris, +as Drew returned after locking the door to +the hallway. “Now that I think of it—I’m almost +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_225'></a>225</span>sure it was. He just tried to change and +lower his voice—that was all.”</p> + +<p>“Lower it?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, Mr. Drew. It was so faint that I hardly +heard it at first. He seemed afraid of something. +Perhaps somebody was in the room +where he was telephoning.”</p> + +<p>“That might have been. Well—he can’t hurt +or harm you that way. The thing is for you to +keep up your courage. Fear is a terrible thing +if you would let yourself be mastered by it. It +might be their game to break you down by a +series of threats.”</p> + +<p>“I won’t do that. I’ve Harry and you to +stand by me!”</p> + +<p>Drew pulled out his watch. “It’s getting toward +midnight,” he said. “No word yet from +Delaney or any of the others on watch. I think +that the storm will clear soon. You can go to +bed. Harry—Mr. Nichols and I’ll get a deck +of cards and keep watch out here. We’ll do +sentry duty. He’s used to that!”</p> + +<p>Loris glided about the room. She stopped at +the cheval glass and arranged her hair with a +series of twists that formed a turban secured +by loops. She swished around and glanced +archly toward Drew. Their eyes met bravely. +Hers dropped under shading lashes.</p> + +<p>“I’m all right,” she whispered with a half +laugh. “I did look awful. It was the shock of +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_226'></a>226</span>hearing that terrible man. How childish to call +me up and say what he did. He didn’t mean +it!”</p> + +<p>“Ah,” said Drew, reaching in his pocket and +bringing out a key. “Ah, he did mean it, I +think. He has overreached himself by telephoning. +Gramercy Hill Exchange is on the alert. +There’s Mr. Nichols with good news, at the +door. Now for his report.”</p> + +<p>The captain came in, brushing snow from his +olive-drab uniform. He glanced at Loris as +he strode across the room and took her hand +with a firm grip. “Delaney,” he said confidentially, +“was right at the booth. He was sitting +on a chair, propped up and talking with +the prescription clerk. He did the telephoning +to Gramercy Hill. I don’t know who he got +there, but they already knew about the call.”</p> + +<p>Nichols turned toward Drew for confirmation.</p> + +<p>“That’s right!” the detective exclaimed. +“They should know! The vice-president, Westlake, +has left orders to record all calls to this +house. Where was that whispering voice from, +Mr. Nichols?”</p> + +<p>“From Forty-second Street and Broadway.”</p> + +<p>“Close!” exclaimed Drew, rubbing his hands. +“The fellow took chances.”</p> + +<p>“It came from a slot-booth in a cigar store in +a big building. It only lasted two minutes. The +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_227'></a>227</span>operator at Gramercy Hill says the first voice +she heard, asking for Gramercy Hill 9764, was +harsh and loud. I don’t understand that.”</p> + +<p>“Harsh and loud,” repeated Drew, toying +with his watch chain. “That’s odd. Was it +the same man that Miss Stockbridge heard?”</p> + +<p>“The operator don’t know. Delaney says +maybe there were two of them. One, who called +up, and one who talked to this room.” Nichols +turned and nodded toward the silver-plated +telephone.</p> + +<p>“Hardly possible,” mused Drew. “I think he +changed his voice after he got the connection. +He didn’t want Miss Stockbridge to recognize +him.”</p> + +<p>Loris glanced at the two men. “What will +they do?” she asked anxiously. “Will Mr. +Delaney and the other detectives catch him by +that call?”</p> + +<p>“Hardly,” said Drew. “He was in and out +within three minutes. The bird has flown from +there!”</p> + +<p>“But where will he go?”</p> + +<p>“I don’t know, Miss Stockbridge. I wish that +I did know. There are over a hundred thousand +telephones in New York he could use. It’s +impossible to guess which one. The booths at +the Grand Central are covered by one of my +operatives. The telephone company is on the +alert for all calls to this house. All they can +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_228'></a>228</span>do is to record them and tell us what happens +after it happens. We are trying now to get this +whispering dog when he is compelled to wait +at a booth. If Morphy ’phones him from the +prison to-night we have him. The telephone +company is going to delay the call after getting +the number. It would look natural. Then, we +can strike at the booth or place where the call +is directed in time to catch the man Morphy is +telephoning to. Up to now, Morphy has not +’phoned or Delaney would have said something +about it.”</p> + +<p>“But can’t you stop these calls?” asked Loris.</p> + +<p>“Very easy. We could order the wires disconnected. +But then we wouldn’t catch our +man. He would be suspicious and wait for another +time.”</p> + +<p>“The whole thing seems so strange, Mr. Drew. +We’re locked in here. The house is so well +guarded. All they can do is ’phone and yet we—at least I am +nervous. Why have I got that +strange feeling?”</p> + +<p>“From experience!” declared Drew. “If we +knew how your poor father was killed there +wouldn’t be cause for worry. We don’t know. +It was so subtle that we are confronted with the +unknown in terrible form. You feel a shadow +and so do I. A reaching shadow about this +splendid house of yours. It isn’t anything we +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_229'></a>229</span>can grasp and say, ‘Come here! You’re under +arrest.’ It’s the uncanny mystery of the entire +case that holds us three on the ragged-edge. I +confess I have not been myself since last night. +The powers of darkness and Lucifer, himself, +have nothing on the people we are fighting.”</p> + +<p>“How about running Morphy in the guard +house, or whatever they have up there?” asked +Nichols. “Why not lay the case before the +warden and have him put out of harm’s way? +That’s what they’d do in the Army!”</p> + +<p>“We can’t prove a single thing on him!” +declared Drew. “He used the ’phone—once or +twice. Perhaps he has permission from the +superintendent of state prisons to do so. He +has business interests which require his telephoning, +we’ll say.”</p> + +<p>“Then we’re just going to wait right here?” +asked Loris, stamping her slipper. “Wait right +here and let them do their worst?”</p> + +<p>“The city detectives would do the same thing +I’m doing,” said Drew on the defensive. +“They’d trap their men. Do you want to see +the man or men who slayed your father, escape? +He will, or they will, unless we give them enough +rope to hang themselves.”</p> + +<p>“Or wire!” said Nichols cheerfully. “No, +Loris, Mr. Drew is right. He’s done everything. +All we have got to do, is wait. Let’s sit down +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_230'></a>230</span>for a little while. Delaney said he might have +word soon.”</p> + +<p>Drew waited until Loris had pressed herself +into a small compass at the back of the divan, +with Harry Nichols leaning over her in a shielding +position which was thoughtful and at the +same time affectionate. He strode toward the +writing room and parted the heavy, silk portières. +He studied every detail. He dropped +the portières and crossed the sitting room to +the doorway leading into Loris’ chamber. This, +too, he searched with his eyes. Backing to the +center of the room he dropped his chin in +thought. A sound outside the mansion caused +him to turn and hurry to a window. He brushed +the curtain aside and tried to peer out. He +rubbed the frosted glass vigorously. His nose +pressed to a white button as he searched the +side street. A taxi had come to a grinding halt +directly below the window. Its wheels spun +upon the slippery surface. A man leaned out +of an open doorway and urged the driver on +with a brandished fist of ham-like proportions. +The driver backed into the snow, dropped into +first speed and stepped on his throttle. The +taxi leaped forward, gripped the surface, and +plowed toward Fifth Avenue in a welter of +flying ice and flakes.</p> + +<p>Drew sprang back and faced Loris and Nichols +who had risen and were standing together +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_231'></a>231</span>in the glow from the cluster over their heads.</p> + +<p>“What happened?” they asked in unison. +“What was outside?”</p> + +<p>“Delaney!” snapped Drew, dragging out his +watch and glancing at it. “Delaney’s got word +where to find his man. He’s on the trail at +last! It’s twelve-two. We ought to have that +fellow in a half hour.”</p> + +<p>“The trouble-man?” asked Loris, with rising +hopes. “Do you think it is the trouble-man, Mr. +Drew?”</p> + +<p>“Nine chances in ten, it is! I’m venturing a +guess it is. If we get him—if Delaney gets +him—he’ll know it. Delaney used to work under +the old-time police chiefs. They showed +scant consideration.”</p> + +<p>“But, he won’t hurt him!” said Loris, with +a tremulous exclamation.</p> + +<p>“That murderer! Why, Miss Stockbridge, +isn’t he plotting to slay you? Didn’t he kill +your father? I wish I were in Delaney’s place.”</p> + +<p>“Me too!” declared Nichols, drawing closer +to the detective. “Say, Inspector, I want to +congratulate you. I do.”</p> + +<p>“Wait, Harry. Just wait! You two sit down +and be quiet. This affair is a personal one with +me. I don’t doubt that Morphy or perhaps +some one else in state prison ’phoned to the +same party who phoned Miss Loris. That was +all we needed. Delaney jumped into a taxi +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_232'></a>232</span>and hurried downtown as fast as the storm permitted. +Perhaps the call came from the same +booth. I don’t think so, though.”</p> + +<p>“The one at Forty-second Street and Broadway?”</p> + +<p>“I don’t think so, Nichols. This fellow seems +to pick a new one every time. He’s very crafty. +That alone shows a criminal mind.”</p> + +<p>Drew paced the floor with soft gliding. He +turned at the portières and crossed to the tapestries. +He returned and stood before Loris and +Nichols.</p> + +<p>“Captain,” he said, “we can now begin to +reconstruct this case. We can get some of the +dead-wood from our minds. It is apparent to +me that one of Mr. Stockbridge’s sworn enemies—Morphy, for instance—confined +in state’s +prison, set about to slay both members of the +family. He secured a confederate whom he +knew. This confederate has never been arrested +in the state. We have that from the finger +prints in the booth at Grand Central. We will +presume that this confederate is the trouble-man. +He is probably an expert electrician. He +either tapped in on the wires the night Mr. +Stockbridge was murdered or got behind the +switchboard and called up the library ’phone.”</p> + +<p>“The switchboard?” asked Loris. “You +mean the big place where the girls are?”</p> + +<p>“Not exactly there. The wires run down and +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_233'></a>233</span>are tagged. It would be possible for him to cut +in somewhere between the switchboard and the +conduits. Now I don’t know how it was done. +There’s several ways. But wherever he tapped +in, he must have used a magneto to ring Mr. +Stockbridge up, and afterwards a battery-set to +do the talking. All this Westlake says it would +be necessary to do, so that the operator would +not notice a permanent signal on the board.”</p> + +<p>“What was his object?” asked Nichols.</p> + +<p>“To cover himself. He first disconnected the +wires and waited till I sent for a trouble-man. +Frosby, or Frisby, was sent. The trouble-man +took his place. He came here and looked the +place over. He lied to Mr. Stockbridge and I +when he told us about that tall German in the +alley. If there was such a man there before +the snow froze we would have his footprints.”</p> + +<p>“You haven’t them?” asked Loris.</p> + +<p>“No. Delaney has a set made by this trouble-hunter +when he was at the junction-box. This +must have been the time he either cut the connections +so that I would send for him, or it was +the time when he called up and threatened Mr. +Stockbridge with death within twelve hours. +You remember that the telephone company have +no record of the call. Now the next call<span style='white-space: nowrap'>––</span>”</p> + +<p>“Was there another?” the girl asked.</p> + +<p>“Yes—to your father at or about the moment +he died. That was from the Grand Central Station +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_234'></a>234</span>at Forty-second Street. There’s a good +record of that. Your father knocked the telephone +down when he dropped dead. The operator +noticed that the connection was open and +put on the howler. The record is clear on that.”</p> + +<p>“But what is all this twisting and turning +for?”</p> + +<p>“To throw us off, Miss Stockbridge. We’re +dealing with a crafty, cunning mind. This mind +took the extreme precaution of connecting two +booths at Grand Central so that a man in Sing +Sing could talk to your father without leaving a +record at the Westchester Exchange or at Gramercy +Hill Exchange. How this was done I don’t +know. It could be done with auxiliary batteries +and looping so that the Gramercy Hill operator +thought the Westchester call was to a slot booth, +while another call from the next booth to this +house was really the same connection shunted +or looped through. Westlake, vice-president of +the telephone company, says that there would +be several ways of doing this. He added it +would take an expert in telephony.”</p> + +<p>“I’m all twisted up, Mr. Drew. I suppose +you understand it. But what about that call +to-night—the one that frightened me?”</p> + +<p>“The man was sure of himself!” said Drew +without thinking. “He has his plans made. He +figures they will not fail!”</p> + +<p>“Oh, you mean<span style='white-space: nowrap'>––</span>”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_235'></a>235</span>“I mean, Miss Stockbridge, that he expects to +slay you in the same manner your father was +slain. We have this advantage. You are not +alone in this room or these rooms. Your father +was alone. The murderer will have Mr. Nichols +and myself to deal with this time! Be calm.”</p> + +<p>“But—I don’t see how he could—get in +here?”</p> + +<p>“Nor do I. The point is that he got into the +library and out again without trace. He had an +hour to do his work in. Here, he is running +every risk.”</p> + +<p>“But he has already been here, Mr. Drew.”</p> + +<p>The detective glanced keenly at Nichols, who +had shot the statement straight through clean +white teeth.</p> + +<p>“I know it,” Drew said with a trace of anxiety +in his voice. “That is disquieting. But +we have searched these rooms and found absolutely +no trace of tampering with locks or ventilators +or window-catches.”</p> + +<p>“Could he climb up here? He might have +climbing irons,” added Nichols glancing toward +the windows.</p> + +<p>“A good porch-climber could do it,” Drew +mused, with his eyes sweeping the curtains. +“A very good one could. There are only three +or four good ones out of prisons. They never +go in for murder.”</p> + +<p>“Wouldn’t money buy them?” asked Loris. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_236'></a>236</span>“Mr. Morphy may have retained one—with +some of the gold he stole from poor father.”</p> + +<p>“Retained,” repeated Drew, turning with +sudden intentness. “Retained, is hardly the +word, Miss Loris. Hired, is more to the point. +Hired assassins are not uncommon. We have +the Becker case and the Hope murder. We +have<span style='white-space: nowrap'>––</span>”</p> + +<p>Drew allowed his voice to trail to a whisper. +“We have,” he declared, “our man! There’s +the front door bell! It’s Delaney!”</p> + +<p>“You have splendid ears, Mr. Drew.”</p> + +<p>“I have to have, Miss Stockbridge. Now,” +he added sharply, “you and Mr. Nichols go into +the library—the writing room. I think the case +is closing. There may be a little excitement if +Delaney’s got that fellow. I, for one, am not +going to stand much from him. Please go into +the other room. That’s right. Stand there, +Harry, in case we need a soldier!”</p> + +<p>Drew advanced step by step toward the tapestries. +He lifted his gun from his hip pocket, +examined it with narrowed eyes, then replaced +it loosely. He brushed the curtains aside and +had the key out, as heavy steps shook the upper +stairway and a knock sounded on the panels of +the door.</p> + +<p>“Who’s there?” asked Drew.</p> + +<p>“Delaney, Chief!”</p> + +<p>“All right! Just a moment.”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_237'></a>237</span>The detective glanced through the slit in the +tapestries, saw that Nichols and Loris were +across the room, then twisted the butterfly-latch, +at the same time he thrust in the flat key +and turned the lock.</p> + +<p>The door swung open. Delaney’s huge bulk +blocked the way. He half turned, cursed savagely, +and clutched a pipe-stem neck with rude +fingers. “Come along, you!” he boomed. “Get +in there!”</p> + +<p>The form of a man hurtled by Drew, fell and +rose, then fell again beyond the tapestries in +the center of the sitting room. Drew, like some +lithe cat, was over him with a drawn gun. Delaney +puffed across the rugs and tried to speak +as the detective leaned and studied the chalk-pale +face below shielding cuffed hands which +were raised impotently.</p> + +<p>“The trouble-man!” exclaimed Loris fearsomely.</p> + +<p>A Central Office detective slouched through +the door, deposited a kit of lineman’s tools on +the floor near the tapestries, then retired discreetly.</p> + +<p>“It’s him!” said Drew. “Please get back, +Miss Stockbridge. We’re going to fix this fellow.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, please don’t strike him.”</p> + +<p>“Please—Miss Stockbridge. I’ll promise +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_238'></a>238</span>nothing in this connection. This is the man +who foully murdered your father.”</p> + +<p>Loris shrank back and against Nichols’ extended +arm. Drew glanced at her with swift +concern. He dropped his eyes to the man at his +feet. “What happened?” he asked Delaney. +“Has this fellow said anything? Done any +talking?”</p> + +<p>Delaney glared at the trouble-man. “Never +a word has he said, Chief. He’s a clam. +But<span style='white-space: nowrap'>––</span>”</p> + +<p>“What’s that? Go on, Delaney!”</p> + +<p>“Why, Chief, I wouldn’t have brought him +here if he hadn’t said to Morphy over the ’phone +that <i>’it’</i> was fixed in her room. Now what does +he mean by that <i>’it’?”</i></p> + +<p>“We’ll find out!” declared Drew, dropping +to the prisoner’s side.</p> + +<div> +<a id='ch14'></a> +<p class='line mt3 center'><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_239'></a>239</span>CHAPTER FOURTEEN</p> +<p class='line mb2 center'>“THE PRISONER SPEAKS”</p> +</div> + +<p>The detective wasted no time searching the +trouble-hunter’s pockets. His skilled fingers +drew forth two envelopes, a note +book and a small roll of money, the least of +which was ten-dollar bills and the greatest, on +the inside, spread out to three staring noughts +and a one in front of these.</p> + +<p>“One thousand and sixty dollars!” said +Drew dryly, handing the roll to Delaney. “This +fellow’s well heeled. Perhaps for a get-a-way. +Take that. Now here<span style='white-space: nowrap'>––</span>”</p> + +<p>Drew tapped the envelopes with his fingers, +spread them open and removed their sheets of +closely-written paper.</p> + +<p>“First letter,” he announced with raising +brows, “is from Standard Electrical Co., of +Chicago, recommending Albert Jones as a capable +electrician. I don’t doubt it. He’s capable +of most anything.”</p> + +<p>Delaney took the letter and waited with his +eyes fastened upon the silent figure who had not +revealed his identity from the time of the arrest.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_240'></a>240</span>“Second letter,” continued Drew, “is addressed +to Albert Jones, General Delivery, New +York Post Office. It is from Ossining. It is +signed Mortimer Morphy. How careless,” said +the detective, rising in his excitement. “How +<i>very</i> careless! It goes on to say that everything +is all right. That the appeal is pending with +the governor. That uncle Monty was expected +to die and that aunt Lou was very low.”</p> + +<p>Drew paused and glanced toward Loris and +Nichols. “You know what that means?” he +asked. “Uncle Monty was Mr. Montgomery +Stockbridge and aunt Lou would figure out for +you, Miss Stockbridge. Keep this, Delaney. +We’re going to convict this man right here—whether +he talks or not. This letter was written +to him two months ago. It shows premeditation.”</p> + +<p>“He looks ill,” said Loris. “His face is so +white.”</p> + +<p>“Dope!” snapped Drew, pressing down the +prisoner’s right eyelid and glancing at the pupil. +“A narcotic of some kind shows in the +small iris. It’s like a pin head. Yen she, eh, +Delaney?”</p> + +<p>“Guess it is, Chief. Frisk his cap and belt. +They carry it there, sometimes.”</p> + +<p>Drew started at the prisoner’s hair and went +over his entire body with careful fingers. A +bulge, at the waist, resolved itself into a chamois +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_241'></a>241</span>money-belt which contained five cartridges, +a small handful of electric fuses and a spool of +fine wire.</p> + +<p>Drew eyed this last with furrowed brow. He +pocketed it finally and studied the cartridges.</p> + +<p>“Twenty-two, cupronickle, center-fire,” he +announced with a hard smile. “That forges +another chain. We’re getting there. He was +loaded for something, Delaney.”</p> + +<p>“Sure and he was. Look at those handcuffs, +Chief. I made them tight as I could.”</p> + +<p>Drew handed up the cartridges and fuses and +rattled the cuffs. The prisoner protested by +turning partly over. His eyelids fluttered and +opened full upon Loris. She shrank back between +the curtains. Her hands went up to her +face in voiceless fear. “Please keep away,” +said Drew. “This man is always dangerous. +I want to trim his claws before I take any +chances with him. Delaney,” he added, “get my +overcoat and bring me those plaster-casts. This +case grows interesting. I wonder who the fellow +is? ‘Albert Jones’ doesn’t convey much. He +is a friend and tool of Morphy. Poor Morphy! +I wonder what he’ll say when the governor gets +this evidence? He’s buried now for twenty long +years of penal service. He picked a good tool, +though. A smart man!”</p> + +<p>The prisoner did not brighten to any extent +under the professional flattery. His eyes closed. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_242'></a>242</span>The cuffed wrists dropped down upon his chest. +He breathed slowly as Drew took the overcoat +Delaney brought, and found the photos of the +finger prints which Fosdick and the expert at +headquarters had both declared were not on +record.</p> + +<p>“A little ink,” Drew said to the operative. +“We’ll smear this fellow’s thumb and see if his +print answers to the print I found in the booth +at Grand Central. I’ll venture that it does.”</p> + +<p>Nichols extended a fountain pen which the +detective opened, sponged on the corner of a +handkerchief, and returned with a chuckle of +satisfaction.</p> + +<p>“Ah,” he said, gripping the prisoner’s hand +and smearing a thumb with a rolling motion +across the back of the print. “Ah, Delaney, +see here. The same whorls and loops. The +same tiny V-shaped scar. One, two, three—center +right. This is the man. We have him deeper +in toward the place with the little, green door. +He knows what I mean!”</p> + +<p>The prisoner’s lips closed to a thin, hard line. +A tiny spot of hectic fire burned in the center +of each cheek as Drew completed the searching +and rose.</p> + +<p>“Footprints, now!” he said with a snappy +order. “Compare those plaster casts you took +at the junction-box back of this house. Are +they the same? There’s a series of four screw +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_243'></a>243</span>holes in his rubber-heels, Delaney. Do they +compare with the casts. Measure them!”</p> + +<p>“Sure and they do,” said the big operative, +rising and pointing to the small projections. +“This lad, Chief, was the only one around that +junction-box till after the snow froze and drifted +over. That’s my idea, Chief. It caught him, +didn’t it, Chief?”</p> + +<p>“Every little helps to forge the chain,” Drew +said. “He’s in bad now. His only chance is +to tell us what he knows about Morphy? What +was said over the telephone wire? What did +Frick say?”</p> + +<p>“It was this way, Chief,” Delaney said. “I’m +waiting talking with the drug-clerk when there’s +a ring on the slot-booth ’phone. It’s Jack Nefe +at Gramercy Hill. He says to me that Frick +had just ’phoned and said that Morphy had +come out of the guard room, looked around, +then, after chinning with a keeper at the front +gate, he had started going over a telephone book +for a number. Nefe said for me to hold the +wire. Then I gets a number, Chief. It’s +Gramercy Hill 11,678. Nefe said that was a +booth in the new Broadway Subway at Forty-first +Street. I piles into a cab and arrives there +just as this fellow had finished boring a hole between +the two booths—11,678 and 11,679. I +waits behind a slot-machine. Some one rang +up when he coupled the wires, listens, then asks +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_244'></a>244</span>Gramercy Hill central for this ’phone here in +Miss Stockbridge’s room. You see the game, +Chief?”</p> + +<p>“Go on!” said Drew. “Be very clear!”</p> + +<p>“This fellow was connecting Morphy at state +prison with this house through the two slot +booths. I sneaked up and waited for him to +finish. He’s busy with a pair of pliers. I falls +on him like a ton of bricks. Then after I get +the cuffs on, I listens in. It’s Morphy roaring +there, with that big bull voice of his. He’s mad +’cause he gets no answer. He shouts over and +over, Chief—’Bert! Bert! Bert! Is it planted +in her room? Her room. Is it there?’” Delaney +paused and stared about the sitting room.</p> + +<p>“What does he mean, Chief?” he asked huskily. +“What is that <i>’it’?”</i></p> + +<p>“Go on!” said Drew tersely.</p> + +<p>“I got Morphy off the wire, Chief. I got +Frick and then Frick got the warden. He’s a +good fellow. He listened to me, then he calls +some guards and they drag Morphy through the +prison and down to the coolers. I guess they’re +down in the ground, somewhere. Anyway, +Chief, he’s gone for good—unless they send him +to the chair for his part in the murder of Stockbridge.”</p> + +<p>“He’ll go! What I want to know now, Delaney, +is this fellow’s right name. Morphy said +’Bert,’ eh?”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_245'></a>245</span>“Sure he did, Chief. ‘Bert! Bert! Bert!’ +That’s close to Albert. Albert Jones, like’s in +the letter.”</p> + +<p>“No! That would be a throw-off. He’s some +other kind of a Bert. Let me see his cap.”</p> + +<p>Delaney picked the prisoner’s cap from the +rug and passed it over to Drew. The detective +examined it, ripped the silk, and looked under +the lining. He straightened and handed it to +Harry Nichols.</p> + +<p>“Can you make that name out?” he asked. +“Your eyes are younger than mine. Perhaps +Miss Stockbridge can read it. It’s Spanish, I +think. ‘Gusta’ or ‘Gasta.’ The rest is obliterated +with grease.”</p> + +<p>“Antofagasta!” declared Loris suddenly. +“It’s Antofagasta, Chile.”</p> + +<p>“Fetch the lineman’s kit, the Central Office +man brought,” said Drew to the operative. +“Put it right here by this fellow’s side. I—we +are getting close to the truth in this case.”</p> + +<p>Delaney hurried back with the satchel. It was +the same one that Drew had seen in the library +on the evening Stockbridge was murdered. It +had excited no suspicion then.</p> + +<p>“A magneto,” said the detective. “First +comes a ringing magneto which has seen much +service. Put that over there, Delaney. Spread +a paper or something. Ah,” Drew added, +“here’s a set of small dry batteries arranged +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_246'></a>246</span>in series. Three or four of them. I don’t +know just what they’re for, but Bert does.”</p> + +<p>The prisoner’s pale eyes blinked and were +closed again as the lids compressed in wrinkled +determination. He moved slightly when Drew +pressed a knee against his chest. He coughed +with dry catching deep down in his throat. The +detective felt of his pulse. It was faint but +steady—like a tired sleeper’s.</p> + +<p>“He’s coming out of it,” Drew said. “He’ll +talk after awhile. Let’s see, what is this?”</p> + +<p>Delaney leaned over the satchel. “Another +link,” said Drew, drawing out a telephone receiver +without wires attached to it. “And +here,” he added, “is the testing set with the +sharp clamps. That’s for listening in or talking +with other people’s connections. I don’t doubt +that this fellow knows his business. Here’s a +micro-volt meter that registers fractions of +volts. Here’s an ammeter of the pocket size. +I’ve seen this kind on automobiles for testing +dry-cells. Now, what is this?”</p> + +<p>“Looks like a full set of jimmies!” blurted +Delaney. “That’s a sectional jimmy!”</p> + +<p>“He’s got everything,” said the detective, +turning and glancing at Loris. “Here, Miss +Stockbridge,” he said, holding up an empty +cartridge shell. “Here is the most important +link in the chain against him. It’s a twenty-two +shell which has been fired. See—wait—what’s +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_247'></a>247</span>this, Delaney? The cap on the end hasn’t been +struck. The cartridge was discharged—the cap +is intact. How could that be?”</p> + +<p>Loris and Harry Nichols leaned over the detective. +He turned the tiny shell around in his +fingers. He sniffed it. He held it out so they +could see the end. “Discharged,” he exclaimed, +“without touching the detonating cap on the +end! That’s odd! Very suggestive!”</p> + +<p>“Let me see it,” said Nichols. “I’ll tell. +We have exams on these things. This seems to +have been fired,” he continued with thought. +“It’s been fired without concussion. I’d say it +was heat that did it. A match touched to the +base here would fire the cap, which would, in +turn, set off the powder. There’s a different +color to the brass at the cap end. It looks to +me like a shell which has been clamped down +by three—no, four screws. There’s marks on +the rim. See them, Loris—Miss Stockbridge? +Right there. Right at my nail.”</p> + +<p>“That’s about right, Harry!” declared Drew, +reaching for the cartridge. “It was clamped +down with small screws. It was ignited or set +off by heat. It forms part of a home-made pistol +which conforms, to a hair, with Fosdick’s +statement that the bullet never went through a +barrel that was rifled.”</p> + +<p>“That’s your own statement!” blurted Delaney. +“Fosdick never had brains enough to +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_248'></a>248</span>figure a thing out like that. All he knows is +pinch everybody two or three times. I’ve seen +him do it.”</p> + +<p>Drew eyed the prisoner. “So you see,” he +said softly, cuttingly, “crime does not pay. +The net has closed over your head. You erred +a score of times. You couldn’t afford to make +one little mistake. I could—I did! I’ve made +a hundred in this case already! It’s the hound +and the hare. The hound loses the scent and +brays on blunderingly till he picks it up again. +You lost me time and again. You fooled me +in that lineman’s guise when you came into +the library. Your make-up was perfect. You +said just the right things.”</p> + +<p>The prisoner’s lips curled in a thin cruel line. +He rattled the cuffs defiantly. His shoulders +lifted then fell back upon the rug.</p> + +<p>“Bert!” snapped Drew. “Bert!” he repeated +with awakening thought. “Delaney,” he +said, turning and glancing up at the operative’s +broad, flushed face. “I got this fellow located. +What was the name of the man we tried to find +in the Morphy failure? The one we had a bench-warrant +for? He was indicted. The indictment +was sealed. You know! It’s a name you didn’t +like. The fellow who escaped to Rio or South +America? Who afterwards went to Antofagasta. Ah, Cuthbert!”</p> + +<p>“That’s it, Chief! Cutbert! Cutbert Morphy—the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_249'></a>249</span>old devil’s brother. This is him!”</p> + +<p>Drew rubbed his hands vigorously. “It is!” +he exclaimed, with his eyes swinging over the +prisoner’s drawn features. “Cuthbert Morphy—a +brother’s tool and confederate. We’re +getting on!”</p> + +<p>The detective rose and faced Loris and Nichols. +“Captain,” he said, “a firing squad at sunrise +would be the Army’s answer to this man’s +deviltry. Consider what he has done. He’s +worked back to New York after a year as a +fugitive. He connected in some manner with +Morphy at Sing Sing. Perhaps he went there +as a visitor under the pretext of business connected +with Morphy’s affairs. This scheme was +hatched there in the prison. It was financed by +Morphy. It succeeded in so far as Mr. Stockbridge +was concerned. First the telephone call +to the cemetery superintendent. Then followed +his visit to this house for the purpose of fixing +some fiendish device. Or<span style='white-space: nowrap'>––</span>”</p> + +<p>“He might have fixed the windows, Chief,” +suggested Delaney. “He might have opened a +catch and climbed in afterwards.”</p> + +<p>“He wasn’t near the windows,” said Drew. +“He had something else in the back of his +crafty, twisted brain. He came and went out, +with Mr. Stockbridge and I watching him. He +called up, then, and threatened the death. He +probably looped the library ’phone up with Sing +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_250'></a>250</span>Sing at or about midnight. We have a record +of both calls.”</p> + +<p>“Why,” asked Loris, as Drew paused in +thought. “Why did he have Morphy connected +with father? I can’t see, Mr. Drew, that +part of it. The rest, you have told is, is very +clear.”</p> + +<p>“Nor I yet,” admitted the detective. “But +that is a detail. It is probably the criminal’s +ego, which is in every one of them, to notify +their prey that the hour has come. Morphy was +an artist in crime. He was a master mind in +finance and chicanery. What better revenge +could he think of than to notify Mr. Stockbridge +that death was about to strike? It savors of +Machiavelli and Borgia. Whom the gods destroy +they first make mad. He tried it on you.”</p> + +<p>“Gods!” blurted Delaney with ire. “Devils, +you mean, Chief!”</p> + +<p>“Yes, or worse!” said Drew, glancing sternly +at the prisoner. “This fellow,” he added, +“is the agent for the destroyer. Now how was +it done?”</p> + +<p>Delaney glanced about the walls of the room +in apprehension. “I’ll take another look +around,” he suggested heavily. “Maybe with +them new ideas we can locate something that +might be planted for the killing.”</p> + +<p>Drew glanced sharply at the prisoner’s face. +A faint sneer was on the thin lips. The wrists +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_251'></a>251</span>twisted and turned in the handcuffs. The steel +chain rattled metallically. Loris backed step after +step toward the shielding curtain and Harry +Nichols. “Oh!” she said suddenly, as she +dropped her head against his breast. “Oh, Harry! +there can’t be anything like <i>that.”</i></p> + +<p>“Certainly not!” Drew hastened to ejaculate. +“That’s nonsense. If there was anything planted +in either of these three rooms, there’s no +one to get in and operate it. I’ve searched! +Mr. Delaney has searched. Do you want us to +search again?” Drew’s lips were drawn with +doubt as he stared anxiously from Loris to +Nichols. “I’ll do it, captain, if you say so. I +think we’ve done enough work, however. The +thing is to get this fellow to talk. I don’t want +to give him over to Fosdick and the third degree +till we see if he is going to treat us right. +He can turn state’s evidence on Morphy, who +blundered. Then he’ll get off lightly. Morphy +is the master mind.”</p> + +<p>“He only smiles,” said Nichols, tapping his +breast suggestively. “I’ve a gun here and I’ve +a mind to use it. Do you think I want Miss +Stockbridge murdered like her father was murdered? +I’ll shoot that cur! He’s a whispering +snake! A Hun!”</p> + +<p>“Don’t!” sobbed Loris, as Nichols thrust his +hand in his coat and drew out a flat automatic +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_252'></a>252</span>of .44 caliber. “Don’t, Harry! Perhaps this +man is innocent.”</p> + +<p>“Innocent!” declared Nichols. “Why, Loris—why, +Miss Stockbridge, you don’t think +<i>that</i>, after all the things Mr. Drew has discovered. +I’ll wager my commission he’s guilty as +Hell, and I mean it, Loris.”</p> + +<p>“He’s that!” Delaney declared. “He and his +brother the devil are one in sin. They’re lost +spirits.”</p> + +<p>“Now everybody,” said Drew, gathering in +the group with his eyes, which were strangely +bright. “Everybody keep very quiet for a minute. +Let me think.”</p> + +<p>“Sure and I will, Chief. I’m thinking I want +to think, myself.”</p> + +<p>Drew frowned at Delaney. He dropped his +eyes and studied the prisoner’s hands. They +were strangely white and remarkably small for +a man who had labored at telephone-repairing. +The detective’s glance rested on the ink-stained +thumb. His mind swung with this thought to +the footprints. Following the train he arrived +at the first conclusion that an expert in telephony +could devise most any kind of a practical +method for opening a window or a ventilator. +He dismissed this theory with a glance about +the room. The ventilator was well-hidden and +inaccessible to any one without a step-ladder. +Considerable time devoted in climbing upon a +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_253'></a>253</span>chair and a case of jade ornaments might reach +it, but the trouble-man had not been alone in +the room when he inspected the telephone.</p> + +<p>Drew went over the salient details of the +Stockbridge tragedy. One fact stood out. The +windows had been well locked. The sashes were +covered with snow. A climber, even on the face +of the house, would have difficulty in springing +a catch by a secret method, raising the window +and entering without leaving a track of some +kind. He dismissed this supposition as untenable. +He turned to Delaney, fully puzzled.</p> + +<p>“Was there a climber’s set in that bag?” he +asked sharply.</p> + +<p>“I didn’t see any, Chief. I don’t think this +fellow’s a climber. He ain’t built like one. His +shoes are smooth on the bottom and his hands +are all polished up around the nails. Looks to +me, Chief, as if he might be able to pick most +any kind of a lock.”</p> + +<p>“The locks are out of the question!” snapped +Drew. “I examined them. They’re not in line. +Has anybody here any suggestions?”</p> + +<p>Drew stared at the prisoner’s drawn, white +face as he asked this question. “He wasn’t +long in this part of the house,” said the captain. +“The maid watched him. She thought +perhaps he might take something.”</p> + +<p>“Fosdick is to blame!” said Drew almost +losing his temper. “He should have given strict +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_254'></a>254</span>orders at the door not to let anybody in till +the case was settled. It’s all mixed up now. +This man had ample opportunity to cover himself. +A clever sneak could do most anything +under your eyes without you seeing him operate. +I suppose the only thing to do is to turn +him over to Headquarters. He’ll get his!”</p> + +<p>Loris frowned slightly at Drew’s manner. +The detective did not act like his former self. +She watched him pace the floor between the prisoner +and the tapestries. He came back with a +square set to his jaw and a hard glint in his +olive eyes which gleamed like steel behind velvet.</p> + +<p>“Stand him up!”</p> + +<p>Delaney stared at his chief. He opened his +mouth, then closed it firmly. “All right,” he +said, reaching down. “I’ll stand him up if you +let me give him an upper-cut. I don’t like these +silent crooks. They’re snaky, Chief.”</p> + +<p>“No unnecessary violence, gentlemen,” suggested +Nichols as Loris laid her hand on his +arm. “I’d like to have him alone for a few +minutes—but outside. Go easy. Perhaps he’ll +talk.”</p> + +<p>“It may be your life or this man’s!” gritted +Drew, stepping up to the prisoner after a sharp +glance at Loris. “I pity him when Fosdick gets +hold of him. He’ll talk then!”</p> + +<p>The prisoner swayed with Delaney’s fingers +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_255'></a>255</span>gripping his collar in a vice-strong clutch. His +white-pale face, his narrow-set eyes, his furtive +glance to left and right like a cornered rat, +brought Drew to mind of a man who was slowly +breaking down. He lowered his brows and +clutched the prisoner’s elbow with strong fingers +that pressed deep through the coat sleeve.</p> + +<p>“Out with it!” he demanded harshly. “It’s +your last chance to save your miserable skin. +You’re not going to get any mercy from the +Commissioner. You know what he’ll do to +you!”</p> + +<p>The prisoner twisted loose from Drew’s +clutch. His eyes wavered as he stared at Loris +for a long second, then dropped to the floor. +They closed in painful thought. Suddenly he +blanched with passion.</p> + +<p>“I’ve no use for you coppers!” he screamed +shrillingly. “I hate the sight of you and your +kind. Let me go! Let me go!”</p> + +<p>“Fine chance,” whispered Delaney, tightening +his grip on the prisoner’s collar. “You +got a fine chance, you murderin’, thievin’, second-story +man! I’d paste you if the lady wasn’t +here! Sure I would, right between the eyes!”</p> + +<p>“Easy,” said Drew. “Leave him to me. +He’s thinking the thing over. I don’t mind +telling him that the magpie beat him. That +and the carelessness of Morphy in calling up +when he must have known that Frick was in the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_256'></a>256</span>front office of the prison. It’s always the way, +Bert. He travels the fastest, up or down, who +travels alone. It’s the lone star that gives us +the trouble. There’s nobody to peach on him!”</p> + +<p>The prisoner bit his upper lip. A slight +sign of blood showed. He tasted this with the +tip of his tongue. His eyes narrowed in calculation. +He turned and faced Drew with slit-lidded +intentness.</p> + +<p>“I haven’t done a thing,” he whispered. +“You ain’t got a thing on me.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, no!” blurted Drew with heat. “I ain’t +got a thing. I’ve been asleep since the time +you murdered this girl’s father. I’ve had ten +men on your trail since the beginning. I don’t +hold the first murder so much against you as +I do the projected one—which missed fire by a +scant margin. You slayed a man with your +devilish ingenuity, but you’re not going to put +it over on his daughter. I’ve seen to that! I +notice nobody has called up and said this was +the Master talking. There’s a good reason.”</p> + +<p>The prisoner fluttered his pale lashes and +glanced at the telephone. He closed his eyes +with a smile shadowing his lips.</p> + +<p>“There’s a good reason,” repeated Drew. +“You are not in some booth at Forty-first +Street to make the connection. Morphy is in +the strongest cooler. He’s booked for twenty +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_257'></a>257</span>years. After that he’ll get more. He can’t +help you!”</p> + +<p>“Oh, you coppers,” said the trouble-man. +“Just give me five minutes and I’d show you. +I don’t hold anything against the girl. I never +saw her before.”</p> + +<p>“You lie!”</p> + +<p>“Why don’t you take these cuffs off-a-me? I +can’t hit back.”</p> + +<p>“I’d sooner take the chance outside,” said +Drew, glancing at Loris. “I’d do it there!”</p> + +<p>Delaney tightened his grip and half held the +trouble-hunter in the air. He raised on his toes +with the strain.</p> + +<p>“Oh, don’t!” exclaimed Loris. “I’ll have to +ask you to stop this. I can’t let it occur in my +house!”</p> + +<p>“Miss Stockbridge,” said Drew with soft rebuke. +“Miss Stockbridge, I’ve been in the detective +business for twenty years. I never saw +in that time a more dangerous man. He is the +super-type who usually falls through the errors +of other men. This fellow has brains. He’s +an expert in telephony and in wireless. There +are a number of patents in the patent office under +his name.”</p> + +<p>“Then he may be innocent, Mr. Drew.”</p> + +<p>“He’s as guilty as the Kaiser!” exclaimed +Delaney, twisting the prisoner around. “Look +at him. He’s been trying to murder the finest +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_258'></a>258</span>little lady in the country. She never harmed +anybody. She’s devoting most of her time to +Red Cross work and the—Army,” added the +big operative with a touch of brogue as he +glanced at Nichols.</p> + +<p>“But he has not said that he murdered father,” +said Loris.</p> + +<p>“Sure an’ he won’t say it. I know the breed +of this snake. He wants nothing used against +him in the trial. He’ll have the evidence of us +four to show that he didn’t say anything. I +never saw an innocent man who wouldn’t talk!”</p> + +<p>“We’re getting nowhere,” objected Drew, +taking command of the situation. “Take him +out, Delaney, and turn him over to the Central +Office bunch. They’ll take him down to +Fosdick!”</p> + +<p>The prisoner lifted his manacled hands. He +dropped them after a slow glance at Drew’s +square jaw.</p> + +<p>“Come on!” said Delaney with a jerk backward.</p> + +<p>“Wait!”</p> + +<p>Drew and Nichols leaned forward. “Well?” +asked the detective, as the prisoner bowed his +head. “Well? Well?”</p> + +<p>“Is that true about my brother—Morphy?”</p> + +<p>“It is!” Drew said with ringing conviction. +“It’s true! He’s out of this world. He’s +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_259'></a>259</span>buried alive and the key has been thrown +away.”</p> + +<p>“The jig is up, then,” said the trouble-man, +turning toward the telephone. “Let me telephone,” +he said in a whisper. “I want to use +it,” he repeated faintly. “I’ll show you how +that—that Stockbridge died.”</p> + +<div> +<a id='ch15'></a> +<p class='line mt3 center'><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_260'></a>260</span>CHAPTER FIFTEEN</p> +<p class='line mb2 center'>“THE VOICE ON THE WIRE”</p> +</div> + +<p>The prisoner lifted his manacled hands and +held them toward Drew. “Let me loose,” +he said, “and I’ll explain everything +that I’ve done! I want it off my mind. I won’t +sleep until you people are satisfied. I know +you—you copper! I know Fosdick—the third +degree artist.”</p> + +<p>Drew frowned as he glanced at the cuffs. He +scratched his dark hair and combed his fingers +back toward his ears. He turned and glanced +at Loris and Nichols in the opening between the +two splendid rooms.</p> + +<p>“I don’t like to take a chance with this fellow,” +he admitted. “Do you want me to, Miss +Stockbridge? It’s your life he was after, and +he may be shamming now. You never can trust +an opium addict. They have no soul.”</p> + +<p>“I’ve as much as a copper’s!”</p> + +<p>“Shut up, you!” boomed Delaney, threateningly. +“Shut up! There’s a lady in this +room!”</p> + +<p>The prisoner clicked his cuffs together. He +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_261'></a>261</span>stared at the cheval glass and the telephone. +“A lady?” he repeated through the corner of +his lips. “A limb of the Stockbridge tree,” he +said bitterly. “I hold nothing against her. I +told you that before. But we promised the old +man we’ll take care of her after we killed him, +and she came near going—let me tell you that. +I could have killed her with twenty words.”</p> + +<p>“He’s rambling,” said Delaney, reaching for +the prisoner. “The dope has gone to his head. +I don’t believe there’s any<span style='white-space: nowrap'>––</span>”</p> + +<p>“Easy, Delaney,” warned Drew thoroughly +on the alert. “Don’t make the mistake of underestimating +this fellow. He acts like a man +who has repented—who wants to right some of +the wrong he has done. I don’t think we are +taking chances in letting this fellow loose. He +is unarmed. I tended to that. If he wants to +’phone—let’s let him.”</p> + +<p>“Your case, Chief!”</p> + +<p>Drew reached in his pocket and brought +around a police regulation revolver. “I’ll have +this right here!” he snapped as he slowly +raised it. “You, Delaney, unlock one cuff and +pass it to me. I’ll wrap the chain around my +left wrist. If this fellow tries anything I’ll +tend to his case—forever. These .44’s are +made for stopping purposes, eh, Mr. Nichols?”</p> + +<p>“They certainly are, Mr. Drew. I think we +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_262'></a>262</span>can handle that little man without trouble. +What does he want to telephone for?”</p> + +<p>“What for, Bert?” asked Drew, swinging and +confronting the prisoner. “Do you want to +say good-by to somebody?”</p> + +<p>“Good-by is right,” whispered the trouble-man, +extending his hands toward Delaney, who +fished out a small key. “Yes, it’s good-by to +somebody. Unlock them!”</p> + +<p>“Hold on!” exclaimed Drew. “I don’t like +that tone. You’ll have to act better than that, +Bert. What do you want to get loose for? +What number do you want? I’ll call up.”</p> + +<p>“No, I got to do it. I want one hand free—that’s +all.”</p> + +<p>Loris stepped to Drew’s side. “Can there +be anything about the room,” she asked, “that +he wants to use? Perhaps he’ll pick something +up and use it too quickly for you to stop him.”</p> + +<p>“I don’t think so,” said Drew grimly. “This +gun, Miss Stockbridge, happens to have a hair +trigger. We’ll chance it—with your permission.”</p> + +<p>“I’m not afraid for myself—but don’t you +think the poor fellow should be prevented from +harming himself. He acts just like a man who +wanted to do something terrible. He seems to +have given up hope.”</p> + +<p>“A woman’s intuition,” mused Drew. “Perhaps +a close one,” he said aloud. “You get +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_263'></a>263</span>back into the other room, Miss Stockbridge. +Let Mr. Nichols stand in front of you for protection. +I’m going to grant this fellow’s request. +Delaney, unlock the left cuff!”</p> + +<p>The key rattled in the tiny key-hole as Drew +poised his revolver and drew a sight between +the prisoner’s fluttering eyelids. “Stand right +there,” whispered the detective tersely. “Right +there,” he added, reaching with his left hand +and taking the cuff and chain from the operative. +“Now, Bert, you’re half free. What do +you want with the telephone?”</p> + +<p>The prisoner pinched his wrist and worked +his hand like a hinge. A white mark, which +slowly changed to red, showed where Delaney +had clamped the handcuff down to its last notch. +The trouble-man eyed this mark. His lips +hardened. He strained on the chain as he lifted +his fingers to his brow with a tired gesture.</p> + +<p>“Hurry!” said Drew. “Hurry, Bert, or +we’ll cuff you up again. Do you want to telephone?”</p> + +<p>“Y—e—s!” The voice was tremulous and +dry. “Yes! I’ll use it. I’ll show you how +that pirate—Stockbridge—was killed. The yellow +squealer!”</p> + +<p>Loris raised her chin proudly. She leaned +against Nichols in the doorway. “I won’t stand +for that!” declared the soldier. “You are being +insulted in your own house!”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_264'></a>264</span>“Wait, Harry! Something is going to happen! +I know it is!”</p> + +<p>“You’re right, lady,” whispered the prisoner. +“It’s going to happen to—well, I don’t +care. I’m done. The jig is up!”</p> + +<p>Cuthbert Morphy shrugged his shoulders and +turned toward Drew. He stared at the menacing +revolver with a cryptic smile. “Get your +man downstairs,” he said, in hollow tones. +“Get him to go in the library and call up this +number. Tell Central to connect the two ’phones +in this house. Shout into the library transmitter +when the connection is made.”</p> + +<p>Drew frowned. “What’s all that for?” he +asked.</p> + +<p>“Do as I say.”</p> + +<p>“I don’t know about that. I give orders here. +What do you want that done for? I thought +you wanted a number on the ’phone. I thought +you would get somebody on the wire who would +explain everything.”</p> + +<p>“Everything will be explained, Inspector. +Everything! I told you the jig was up with +me. I mean it, too. There’s nothing left but +the truth.”</p> + +<p>Drew wound the handcuff chain tighter about +his left wrist. He braced his feet and turned +to Delaney. “Go downstairs,” he said, “and +call up this number. Do what this fellow says. +The number is Gramercy Hill 9764.”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_265'></a>265</span>Loris and Nichols lifted their brows as they +turned toward each other. “I’m afraid,” said +the girl. “Something is not right, Harry.”</p> + +<p>“It’s the only way we’ll ever find out what +this man means. If they take him away without +letting him talk over the ’phone we’ll never +know. Leave things to Mr. Drew. He’s armed! +I’m armed! There’s no danger!”</p> + +<p>“Get downstairs to the library!” Drew ordered. +“Do what this man wants. Shout into +the transmitter. Go now!”</p> + +<p>Delaney lunged through the tapestries and +unlocked the door to the hall. He paused there +in thought. He turned and glanced back.</p> + +<p>“Hurry!” exclaimed Drew. “Hurry now!”</p> + +<p>The big operative cursed audibly as he descended +the two flights of carpeted steps. He +nodded to the Central Office man at the library +door. He passed inside, rounded the table and +stood by the ’phone. He picked up the receiver. +His eyes wandered along the floor as he waited. +A dark spot showed on the hardwood. It was +where the millionaire’s blood had gushed forth +from the bullet hole in the base of his brain.</p> + +<p>“Gramercy Hill 9-7-6-4!” said Delaney with +a bull’s voice.</p> + +<p>“B-r-r-r-r-! B-r-r-r-r-! B-r-r-r-r-r!” sounded +from the ringing-box of the silver plated telephone +in the sitting-room of Loris Stockbridge’s +suite.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_266'></a>266</span>The prisoner pulled at the chain as he leaned +toward the telephone. “It’s ringing,” he said +in a thin whisper. “Let me—let me listen in.”</p> + +<p>Drew studied the entire situation before he +granted permission. Loris and Nichols were +framed between the silken portières. The captain +held his army regulation revolver at his +hip. Loris leaned forward with her dark eyes +smoldering and intent. The blood had left her +cheeks. They were white and tersely set. She +seemed older to Drew. He smiled reassuringly, +dropped his gun to his hip, pressed it against +the prisoner and shoved him toward the ’phone +as a “B-r-r-r-r-” sounded above the lifting roar +of Delaney’s voice in the depths of the great +mansion.</p> + +<p>The room became charged and surcharged +with electricity. A crackling sounded as Drew’s +feet glided inch by inch over the silk rug. The +storm outside whined and synchronized with +the rise and fall of the great voice shouting +“Hello! Hello! Hello! Hello, you!”</p> + +<p>The trouble-man turned. His hand reached +upward and lifted the hard-rubber receiver +from the hook. His lids fluttered toward Loris. +His eyes softened with memories. “I’m glad +I didn’t do it!” he hissed across the room. +“Good-by, lady—good-by!”</p> + +<p>“Be careful!” snapped Drew, pressing the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_267'></a>267</span>revolver firmly against the prisoner’s right side. +“Be careful! This is a hair trigger!”</p> + +<p>The trouble-man smiled a twisted, wan smile +as he turned his head toward the transmitter +and said huskily:</p> + +<p>“Hello! Hello! You big copper! Shout on! +See how loud you can curse me! That’s it. +That—is—it!”</p> + +<p>Drew heard Delaney’s voice rise in indignation. +The taunt had spurned him to greater +effort. The metallic diaphragm of the receiver +roared and clicked. It echoed the voice. It +stopped. It vibrated again. It reached a reed-like +tune of high-pitched anger. The prisoner +closed his eyes and stiffened. He pressed the +receiver directly over his ear. He drew back on +the chain and to one side. Drew’s face darkened +with suspicion. It was too late. The detective +had time to spring away as a cone of +lurid light and flame shot out from the telephone +diaphragm and splashed across the prisoner’s +set face. A sharp detonation racked the +perfumed air of the room. Smoke wreathed +about the astonished Inspector’s head, and +floated upward toward the ventilator.</p> + +<p>Cuthbert Morphy’s muscles relaxed. He +spun, sank to his knees, then pitched forward +across the rug with a bullet in his brain. Drew +untwisted the chain with a wrist flip, sprang +forward toward the cheval-glass, and stamped +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_268'></a>268</span>his foot down upon the smoking telephone receiver +as if it were the head of a rattlesnake.</p> + +<p>He turned with clear light striking out from +his eyes. He nodded toward the leaning form +of the girl and the erect one of the captain. +He divined in seconds how the murder of Montgomery +Stockbridge had been accomplished. +The full series of events and clues flashed +through his brain. It was like an orderly array +seen at a picture show.</p> + +<p>Cuthbert Morphy, guised as a trouble-hunter +in the employ of the telephone company, had +devised a single-shot pistol out of a telephone +receiver and had caused it to be actuated by the +human voice so that it would always strike in +the most vulnerable part of man’s anatomy—the +ear.</p> + +<p>With this lethal instrument he had slain the +millionaire, and, when trapped and in danger +of execution, he had employed the same method +to bring about his own death. It was a fitting +end to a life of crime and drug-brought imageries.</p> + +<p>Delaney, with drawn gun and wild of eyes, +burst through the tapestries and brought up +with a dizzy lurch before the body of Cuthbert +Morphy. He stammered and glared downward. +He swung his heavy chin and stared at Loris +and Nichols in the gloom of the further curtains. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_269'></a>269</span>He clapped Drew on the shoulder with +a heavy hand.</p> + +<p>“Had to shoot him, eh, Chief? What’d he +try? What—you got your foot on?”</p> + +<p>“An electric pistol,” said Drew, with a grim +smile distending his olive-hued lips. “An infernal +machine, Delaney. I hope it isn’t a repeater. +Cut that wire! Both wires! Get your +knife out and cut through them, quick! I won’t +take any chances.”</p> + +<p>The big operative pocketed his revolver with +a back swing of his right hand, brought it forward +empty and ran it down his trouser pocket. +He brought out a buck-horn jack-knife, pried +it open, stooped and slashed through the two +silk cords holding the receiver to the bottom of +the transmitter which had fallen from the +bracket.</p> + +<p>Loris swayed with supple limbs. She raised +her hands and pressed her unjeweled fingers +against her face. She sobbed once, then turned +and threw herself upon Nichols’ drab shoulder. +“Harry,” she cried. “Oh, Harry—what happened? +I didn’t see what happened!”</p> + +<p>The captain glided an arm about her waist +and half-carried, half-led her to a couch in the +reading-room. “Rest here a minute,” he said, +leaning down. “Be cool and as brave as you +can. The trouble-man won’t trouble you any +longer. He took his own medicine!”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_270'></a>270</span>Nichols returned to the sitting room in time +to hear Drew exclaim, after Delaney had +reached down and lifted the receiver, “The case +is closed! This closes it with a bang! Give +me that electric pistol, Delaney!”</p> + +<p>The operative handed it over. “Get a big +rug,” ordered Drew with sudden thought. +“Cover that fellow over till we call the Central +Office men and the coroner. I want to examine +this receiver.”</p> + +<p>“Right here on this little table would be a +good place,” suggested Nichols, lifting off a +handful of ivory ornaments and depositing +them on top of a glass case. “I’ll spread a paper +here. I’d like to see what’s inside that +thing myself.”</p> + +<p>“Do you know anything about electricity or +telephony?” asked Drew, as he turned the hard-rubber +receiver in his hand and stared at the +listening end.</p> + +<p>“Very little, Inspector. But fire-arms are in +my line and that seems to be one.”</p> + +<p>The detective nodded. “It’s one, all right,” +he said, holding it out with a steady hand. +“Looks harmless, don’t it? Two binding-posts +on one end. A rubber cap on the other. Notice +that diaphragm.”</p> + +<p>Nichols took the receiver and squinted at the +rubber cap. “By George!” he said. “This is +odd. There’s a tiny hole drilled or punched in +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_271'></a>271</span>the center. It’s about the same size as the +bore of a twenty-two caliber revolver.”</p> + +<p>“Look at your hands!” said Drew. “What +the devil,” he added with dawning conviction. +“Say, Delaney, do you remember that spot of +black under my left ear. The one you noticed +after we left yesterday morning? The<span style='white-space: nowrap'>––</span>”</p> + +<p>“Sure, Chief. That’s where you got the smut—from that receiver!”</p> + +<p>“I got it when I picked up the telephone in +the library downstairs and tried to get Central. +Do you remember how long she took? This is +the same receiver in all probability. The trouble-hunter +removed it from the library connections, +loaded it, and brought it up here. It looks +like any ordinary receiver. The telephone company +have some with binding posts and some +without. This is an earlier model.”</p> + +<p>“The spot of black was from the first discharge +when Stockbridge was killed!” exclaimed +Delaney.</p> + +<p>Drew ran his fingers around the inner rim of +the rubber cap. He held them up. “See!” he +exclaimed. “No wonder my neck was marked. +That settles that mystery, Delaney. If we +had any brains at all we would have connected +the soot and the telephone. If we had done +that we’d have solved the case early this morning, +or yesterday morning. It’s after one, +now!”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_272'></a>272</span>“This hole,” said Nichols, “was the only +thing in the whole dastardly scheme that could +have been seen. It’s the size of the end of a +lead pencil. Funny you didn’t notice it?”</p> + +<p>“I looked everywhere but there,” admitted +Drew. “The receiver hangs with the diaphragm +end down. That’s the reason I didn’t see it. +Well—there’s always a reason,” he added. +“Now, Delaney, fetch me that trouble-hunter’s +satchel. We’ll see what this pistol is made of +and how it is made. I venture to say that it +is simple.”</p> + +<p>Delaney awoke from his stupor and lifted a +rug which he tossed over the body of Cuthbert +Morphy. He wiped his hands with a finite motion. +He wheeled and slouched lankily across +the polished floor. He returned with the lineman’s +kit.</p> + +<p>“Pliers,” said Drew, as the big operative removed +the straps and reached his hand inside. +“I saw a pair there when we had it open before,” +the detective added, unscrewing the rubber +cap of the receiver and lifting the thin +metal diaphragm from the face of two tiny magnets +which were wound with fine silk wire.</p> + +<p>“Regulation magnets,” whispered Nichols, +leaning over the detective’s shoulder. “They’re +regulation except there’s a hole drilled down +between them. There must be a barrel all the +way through the receiver.”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_273'></a>273</span>“We’ll see. Got those pliers, Delaney?”</p> + +<p>The operative passed up a pair. “Ah,” +chuckled the detective, unscrewing the binding-posts +and lifting off a hard rubber cap. “Ah, +see here!”</p> + +<p>Delaney rose and peered over the captain’s +shoulder straps. The two men watched Drew’s +nimble fingers trace out the mechanism of the +electric pistol.</p> + +<p>“It’s simple!” declared the detective. “It’s +very simple and ingenious in construction. It’s +a crowning wonder to me that some one hasn’t +used this sort of device to carry out a wholesale +slaughtering. Suppose they never thought +of it.”</p> + +<p>Drew glanced at the silent mound under the +Persian rug. “The wrong road,” he whispered +tersely. “He took the wrong road. He was a +mechanical and electrical genius. He was a +patent expert.”</p> + +<p>Delaney worked his brows up and down. +“Shall I call Miss Stockbridge?” he asked.</p> + +<p>“I’ll do it,” Nichols said, turning and hurrying +through the portières. He returned with +Loris leaning upon his arm. Her eyes were +glazed and tear-laden. She held a tiny, limp +lace handkerchief between her trembling fingers.</p> + +<p>“There’s no danger,” said Drew. “Come +here, Miss Stockbridge,” he added. “I want +to show you what was all ready for you.”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_274'></a>274</span>The detective raised the hard-rubber receiver. +“Here we have the diaphragm,” he said, pointing. +“It’s a round plate of soft iron. It’s secured +to the rubber by an insulated ring. It is +the part you press up to your ear when you +listen at a telephone. There’s a small hole +punched in this one. The same sized hole extends +down through the center core, or magnet. +This hole isn’t rifled. It couldn’t well be rifled +save with special machinery. That’s why the +bullet found in Mr. Stockbridge’s brain was +without longitudinal scorings. It was fired +from a smooth-bored pistol.”</p> + +<p>“That’s what you thought!” blurted Delaney +with loyalty.</p> + +<p>“I was at sea,” said Drew. “Now,” he continued, +“we have a live cartridge at the opposite +end of this core from the diaphragm. See +it?” Loris leaned over the little table.</p> + +<p>“Right here!” The detective pointed. +“That is a twenty-two cartridge with a cupronickle +bullet. See the cap? See how it is held +from coming back by those tiny screws about +the rim?”</p> + +<p>Loris nodded and gathered up her straying +hair.</p> + +<p>“Now,” continued Drew. “Now, this cartridge +was exploded by the action of the human +voice. Here’s a tiny spiral of very slender +platinum wire. It must be number forty, at +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_275'></a>275</span>least. That’s very fine! This spiral is in series +with the winding about the magnets. The same +current pulsated by the human voice which actuates +the receiver diaphragm, also passed +through this spiral. Now,” Drew paused. +“Now,” he added with rising voice, “here is a +tiny charred piece of match-head, I guess. It +was set in the coil. It flared when the wire became +hot. The heat was sufficient to ignite the +cap. See it!”</p> + +<p>“I see it!” exclaimed Nichols.</p> + +<p>“The action is simple,” continued Drew. “A +pulsation of the current which was formed by +the action of the vibrating, transmitter diaphragm, +also pulsated the fine wire before it +went to the receiver magnets. The louder the +voice into the transmitter the more current—measured +in fractions of amperes—passed +through the spiral. It became sufficiently hot +to flare the piece of match-head or whatever +Cuthbert placed there. This flare was communicated +to the percussion cap, or fulminate of +mercury, at the base of the cartridge. This exploded +the powder charge, which in turn projected +the cupronickle bullet forward through +the tube or the bore of the receiver and out +through the thin, metal diaphragm, and<span style='white-space: nowrap'>––</span>”</p> + +<p>“What’s that?” asked the operative.</p> + +<p>“Out through the hole in the diaphragm,” +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_276'></a>276</span>continued Drew, “and right into your ear or my +ear, Delaney!”</p> + +<p>“Not into mine!” exclaimed the operative. +“I’ll never telephone as long as I live, Chief!”</p> + +<p>“We’ll all be careful,” said Nichols, turning +toward Loris.</p> + +<p>Drew gathered together the different parts +of the telephone receiver. “Evidence against +Morphy,” he said dryly, as he dropped them +into the side pocket of his coat. “They are our +Exhibit A if he ever finishes that twenty years +in the cooler.”</p> + +<p>Loris reached out her hand. “You saved my +life,” she said. “You saved it, Mr. Drew.”</p> + +<p>“I blundered and blundered and blundered +on this case,” admitted the detective frankly. +“Now I’m going to request you to wait a few +minutes before I call the coroner. Delaney has +some questions. I feel sure he wants to ask me +one or two.”</p> + +<div> +<a id='ch16'></a> +<p class='line mt3 center'><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_277'></a>277</span>CHAPTER SIXTEEN</p> +<p class='line mb2 center'>“THE END”</p> +</div> + +<p>Triggy Drew’s eyes shone with triumphant +fire as he turned and faced the +group gathered in the sitting room.</p> + +<p>He adjusted his coat lapels, clicked his heels +and smiled politely. His hand strayed up to his +short-cropped mustache which was still neat +and well-trimmed despite the labors of the day.</p> + +<p>“Although the case is practically closed,” he +said with concern, “there are features which +are not entirely cleared up—even in my mind. +Perhaps we have a little time,” he added, glancing +at his watch. “Let’s go into the other room—away from these +memories—and have a cup +of tea, if Miss Stockbridge will be so kind as to +order some.”</p> + +<p>Loris glanced at Nichols. She nodded as she +turned toward Drew. He moved over to the +rug which covered Cuthbert Morphy’s body. He +stooped and adjusted this. He rose and +dimmed the lights by snapping off two of the +switches and turning a bulb in its socket. He +hesitated as he glanced at the telephone wires +which Delaney had cut.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_278'></a>278</span>“Central will wonder what has happened,” +he said half aloud. “The connections leading +to this house have given them a lot of trouble +in the last few hours. I suppose they haven’t +another trouble-man like this one, though?” +Drew pointed toward the shadowed rug which +gleamed with silk and rare woven designs.</p> + +<p>Loris raised her hand and grasped the portières. +She shuddered slightly. She allowed +her eyes to wander over the room as if for a last +fleeting glance. They locked with the detective’s +own. She smiled with a plaintive droop to her +mouth.</p> + +<p>“I’ll order the tea,” she said invitingly. +“Will you come in?”</p> + +<p>Drew bowed and followed her through the +portières. Delaney already stood by the door +which led to the maid’s room. Harry Nichols +had picked up a small book and was impatiently +examining its pages. The soldier turned and +eyed the detective.</p> + +<p>“We’ll sit down?” he asked, laying the book +on a cushion. “I’m a bit curious to know how +you worked out a number of things. I think +that Miss Stockbridge is, too.”</p> + +<p>“I’d like to be a detective!” exclaimed Loris, +gliding across the room and tapping with her +knuckles on the door. “Wouldn’t you, Mr. Delaney?” +she added naïvely.</p> + +<p>Delaney chuckled. “I would, Miss,” he said +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_279'></a>279</span>with candor. “I’m not a regular. I’m only a +volunteer. Mr. Drew has me along to do the +heavy work. He says what I can’t lift I can +drag.”</p> + +<p>Loris smiled as the maid answered by opening +the door to a crack. “Tea for four,” she +said. “Pekoe and tea biscuits—unless<span style='white-space: nowrap'>––</span>”</p> + +<p>She turned and widened her eyes prettily. +“Would you have anything else?” she asked +Drew.</p> + +<p>“Strong tea!” exclaimed the detective. “I’ll +take ‘hops,’ as we call it. Make it very strong +and then we’ll settle some of these questions. +My head is none too clear. I’ve been under a +strain. I’m frank to admit that!”</p> + +<p>The tea arrived within ten minutes. Drew +had prevented Delaney from ’phoning for the +coroner or to Fosdick. “Some matters to clear +up,” he whispered suggestively. “We’ll leave +this place with the case entirely completed.”</p> + +<p>Nichols arranged two chairs about a tiny +teak-wood table. He had set this table within +the bay of an alcove. The space was small, +with Delaney’s big feet very much in the way.</p> + +<p>Drew poised his cup and glanced from Loris +to Nichols. Their heads were very close together. +The blue-black luster of the girl’s hair +was a perfect contrast to the officer’s blond +pompadour which was slightly disarranged. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_280'></a>280</span>The light from above haloed with the soft fire +of frosted glass and cut prisms.</p> + +<p>The detective upended the cup, drank deeply, +then passed it over to Delaney. “Another, +please,” he said, watching the operative struggling +with a saucer which was far too fragile +for his thick fingers. “One more cup,” he +added. “No sugar.”</p> + +<p>Loris leaned from the cushion at the small of +her back and glanced toward the portières with +thought-laden eyes. “Poor misguided fellow,” +she said softly. “I feel uneasy, Mr. Drew. +Somehow or other I feel that we were partly +responsible for his death. I wish it hadn’t happened.”</p> + +<p>“I’ll agree with you. We must forget more +than we remember in this world. Our time is +short. The coroner and the Central Office squad +will have to be notified. I don’t doubt that +Fosdick will be surprised at the turn in the +case. He has some of your servants locked up, +you know!”</p> + +<p>Loris pressed closer to Nichols. “I wish that +body wasn’t in there,” she whispered. “Suppose +he had other confederates who would break +in?”</p> + +<p>“He worked alone,” assured Drew, finishing +the second cup and setting it down. “I found +no evidence of another crook. He worked single-handed +and single-minded. He made one +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_281'></a>281</span>mistake. Morphy was a bungler. A bungler is +a man who lets his artistic temperament get the +better of him. Had he allowed Cuthbert to slay +both the—Mr. Stockbridge and yourself over +the ’phone, he would never have solved the case. +It was the telephoning from Sing Sing that +opened up the entire matter.”</p> + +<p>“The inevitable slip!” exclaimed Nichols.</p> + +<p>“Yes,” said Drew. “They all make it. I +could tell you of a thousand instances. But +back of the inevitable slip, as you call it, is something +deeper. It has not often been mentioned +in dealing with criminals.”</p> + +<p>“What is it?” asked Loris.</p> + +<p>“Ego! Criminal ego! Most transgressors +would go to the electric chair if the newspapers +would write enough about them.”</p> + +<p>Loris raised her brows. “Is that the reason,” +she asked, “why Morphy telephoned before +he killed poor father?”</p> + +<p>“Exactly!” declared the detective. “Ego explains +much that we call revenge. Now,” he +added, glancing about and at a tiny clock on a +cabinet. “Now the questions from everybody! +Make them short. Mr. Delaney and I will leave +in ten minutes.”</p> + +<p>Nichols glanced at Loris. “You first,” he +said.</p> + +<p>“I’ve just one or two, Mr. Drew,” she said.</p> + +<p>“What are they?”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_282'></a>282</span>“Why did that poor dead man spare my life +when he called me up the first time? He could +have killed me then.”</p> + +<p>“I explained that. It wasn’t <i>his</i> vendetta.”</p> + +<p>“Vendetta?”</p> + +<p>“That is what this case is. An almost successful +attempt to wipe out, or I should say obliterate, +the Stockbridge Family—root and +branch. Morphy had nursed the thing for over +a year. He had soured up there in prison. His +mind became abnormal. He conceived an abnormal +revenge. Also a personal one. He had +every reason to believe that he would never be +discovered.”</p> + +<p>“Then, Mr. Drew, he would have called me +up on the phone later and done what he did—to +father? He would have told me who he was +over the telephone, and—and<span style='white-space: nowrap'>––</span>”</p> + +<p>“Yes, Miss Stockbridge. Yes, be calm, +though. He is beyond the pale now. You will +never hear from him again. Be assured of +that!”</p> + +<p>Drew leaned in his chair and glanced at Delaney. +The big operative fidgeted in his seat, +squirmed, reached for the tea-pot, then drew +back his hand and started drumming the table +with his fingers.</p> + +<p>Nichols disengaged his arm from behind +Loris and squared his shoulders. He moved +forward. “I’m going to ask a question for Miss +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_283'></a>283</span>Stockbridge,” he said. “Did you ever suspect +her?”</p> + +<p>“Never!” declared Drew.</p> + +<p>“Or me?”</p> + +<p>The detective hesitated before he answered. +His smile cleared the air as he said. “Once—for +about an hour. That was when I found out +that you were partly German. I got over it, +though.”</p> + +<p>“So did I,” declared Nichols. “I got over +the German part in no time. I enlisted!”</p> + +<p>“That’s a good answer! The best one I +know!”</p> + +<p>Delaney turned to his chief. He drew in his +legs. “There’s a question I’d like to ask,” he +said.</p> + +<p>“What is it?”</p> + +<p>“That magpie?”</p> + +<p>Drew eyed Loris. “It’s her bird now,” he +said. “She may not want it dragged back here +again. I shouldn’t think she would.”</p> + +<p>“I don’t!” exclaimed Loris. “I wish that +you would explain how you followed the clew, +though. It talks so seldom, and then when it +does talk it says such nonsense it’s a perfect +enigma.”</p> + +<p>“That bird,” said Drew, “was the fine turning +point of the case. Before it was brought +into the office, downtown, I had no clew to start +from. There was no indication to show from +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_284'></a>284</span>whence the blow had fallen. Your father was +slain for a motive. He was talking to Morphy +when he died. Cuthbert had connected the two +men.”</p> + +<p>“Through the two booths?” asked Loris.</p> + +<p>“Yes. Through the booths at Grand Central. +Their conversation was probably a brief one. +Morphy undoubtedly gloated a minute or two, +then told Mr. Stockbridge that his time had +come on this earth. Naturally Mr. Stockbridge +asked who was talking. Morphy answered by +stating who he was, and also that he was at +Sing Sing. Mr. Stockbridge repeated this statement +aloud. He probably said, ‘What, Sing +Sing?’ or ‘Ah, Ossining!’ or words to that effect. +The bird heard it and remembered it.”</p> + +<p>“How strange!” exclaimed Nichols.</p> + +<p>“Not at all,” said Drew, leaning forward. +“It was just like a magpie to pick out the one +salient part of a conversation and repeat it. +The couplet ‘Sing Sing’ was one it had never +heard. It is so striking to even a bird. It probably +came with such emphasis, there was no +forgetting it!”</p> + +<p>The group facing the detective was silent for +a long minute. Delaney moved uneasily as +Nichols toyed with his cup. Loris breathed in +suppressed wonder at the tiny clew which had +overthrown the best laid plans on the part of +Morphy and his confederate. It was like an +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_285'></a>285</span>echo of a dead voice coming back to confront a +murderer. She shivered as she widened her +eyes and stared at Drew.</p> + +<p>“There’s another question,” she said. “How +did the trouble-man get into this house in the +first place, Mr. Drew?”</p> + +<p>“I was responsible. He forced my hand!”</p> + +<p>“How?”</p> + +<p>“By a clever subterfuge. He disconnected +the library telephone wires at the junction-box +in the alley. He knew that sooner or later Mr. +Stockbridge would try to use the ’phone. He +couldn’t get a connection, or I couldn’t. It was +the time I tried to ’phone and then notified +Gramercy Hill Exchange through another +’phone. He was listening in and consequently +caught the gist of my orders to Harrigan. He +hurried to Gramercy Hill Exchange and there +met Frisby, another trouble-man, starting out +to investigate my complaint. He took Frisby’s +place, hurried over and closed the library connection +and then came into the house, stating +that we had sent for him.”</p> + +<p>“Clever,” said Nichols. “That was clever, +wasn’t it?”</p> + +<p>“Remarkably so!” exclaimed Drew. “It was +a case of making the detective on the premises +act as a tool. It was like a safeblower asking +a night watchman to move a safe out on a truck. +I never suspected that fellow at all. I hardly +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_286'></a>286</span>looked at him when he was testing the connections +in the library. I even heard him rattling +a pair of pliers over the binding posts on the +receiver. That was the time he took the old +one off and put on the loaded pistol. It was +done very quickly.”</p> + +<p>The detective paused and glanced at his +watch. “We must go,” he said, staring at Loris +with soft interest. “I’m afraid we’re keeping +you from your sleep.”</p> + +<p>“No. I want to ask you another question,” +she said eagerly. “I’m still in doubt about the +slot booths at Grand Central. Why were they +used?”</p> + +<p>“As a throw off! That is what the English +would call shunting. Electricians use the same +word. It means diverting a current or a connection. +Cuthbert did this so that his trail +would be harder to check up. He thought of almost +everything.”</p> + +<p>“He missed his vocation!” interjected +Nichols.</p> + +<p>“And misused his talents,” added Loris. +“Think of being clever enough to do all of those +things, and stoop to murder. He paid ten times +over. He must have been under that man Morphy’s +power. So many men were. I heard father +say that when Morphy was arrested. He +said Morphy was the most dangerous man in +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_287'></a>287</span>the world. That he would cause trouble sooner +or later.”</p> + +<p>Drew rose and nodded. “He did that!” he +exclaimed with conviction. “He came very +close to getting away with it. But for the magpie +and the fact that he ’phoned from the prison +at the same time your father was murdered, +there would have been no clew. Cuthbert would +have entered this house after you were slain, +and removed the receiver. That would have +thrown the case into one of the unsolved mysteries. +Electricity is a dangerous tool in the +hands of clever crooks.”</p> + +<p>“It leaves no trace!” said Delaney, rising +and standing by his chief. “It isn’t made out of +anything except little shakes in the wire or +something like that.”</p> + +<p>Drew smiled good-naturedly. “It’s a mystery +to most people,” he said, turning toward +the windows and listening. “It’s a bigger mystery +to a woman than to a man,” he added. +“It’s a good agent if properly used and kept +within bounds. It brings back life as well as +takes it. It creates and also destroys. No one +knows what it is. All that we do know about +it is its action on material substances—the +power to transform mechanical energy into vibrations +and then back again into mechanical +energy.”</p> + +<p>“Like a voice on a wire?” asked Loris.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_288'></a>288</span>“Yes, Miss Stockbridge. The mechanical +vibration of a diaphragm in a telephone transmitter +is changed to electrical vibrations, passes +along a wire and changes back to the same thing +we had at the beginning. Cuthbert took advantage +of this fact. All that was sent into the library +was Morphy’s voice on the wire. The +wire left no trace. The voice actuated the diaphragm +and at the same time the fine heating +coil at the cap on the cartridge. The energy of +the voice was sufficient to raise the temperature +of the coil. This raise in temperature flashed +some compound set in the wire. The flash +started the fulminate of mercury in the cap. +The cap exploded the smokeless powder. It was +a series of steps each a little higher than the +one below it.”</p> + +<p>“Was there any other way of doing the same +thing?” Nichols inquired, as he rose lankily and +stood over Loris.</p> + +<p>“Yes!” declared Drew. “I can look back +over what I found in the technical books about +electricity and telephony and see several other +ways for Cuthbert to accomplish the same result. +The electrical pistol did not necessarily +have to be actuated by the human voice.”</p> + +<p>“How terrible!” Loris whispered, with her +brow puckering. “Perhaps others will use the +same idea to slay their enemies.”</p> + +<p>“We’ll keep it a close secret,” the detective +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_289'></a>289</span>said. “It rests with us four, now. Outside of +us, there is only Morphy who knows.”</p> + +<p>“How else could the pistol be discharged?”</p> + +<p>“Two other ways that I see, Miss Stockbridge. +It would be rather easy to arrange a +little magnetic trigger in the receiver. This +trigger could be actuated by an excess of current—say +the connecting of a hundred and ten +volt lighting circuit on the line. It might burn +out the magnet wiring, but it would also release +the trigger and fire the cartridge.”</p> + +<p>“That’s like a door-catch?”</p> + +<p>“Yes,” said Drew. “Like a door-catch operated +by a magnet or like the firing pin of a large +cannon. They’re not all operated by lanyards. +Some work with push-buttons.”</p> + +<p>Nichols passed his hand over his brow. “I +know another way,” he said, glancing down at +Loris. “There is a way which is far cleverer +than Cuthbert thought of. It could be done by +a tuning-fork or reed.”</p> + +<p>“Certainly!” exclaimed Drew. “I never +thought of that. A reed attuned to a certain +voice could be adapted to trip a trigger. Then +the loaded receiver could be set so that one of +your friends who had a peculiar voice, either +high or low, would slay you. Rather terrifying +revenge, that!”</p> + +<p>“Beyond the pale!” said Nichols. “It’s too +bad this man Cuthbert didn’t exercise one-tenth +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_290'></a>290</span>of his genius in perfecting war inventions. He’d +have helped us a lot.”</p> + +<p>Drew nodded and strode to the curtains at a +side window. He peered out, rubbed the frosted +panes, and pressed his nose against the glass.</p> + +<p>“Stopped snowing!” he exclaimed, coming +back and clasping Delaney’s arm. “You hurry +downstairs and telephone Fosdick that we are +waiting for him. Tell him to notify the coroner +that there’s a subject here which will interest +him. We’ll not explain everything to either the +coroner or Fosdick. No one save us shall know +the secret of the receiver.”</p> + +<p>“Delaney,” said Nichols, as the big operative +started through the portières. “Mr. Delaney.”</p> + +<p>“Yes!” boomed back through the room.</p> + +<p>“Ask the Commissioner if he will release Miss +Stockbridge’s servants. It was an outrage.”</p> + +<p>“That’s right!” exclaimed Drew, striding to +the portières. “Tell him I said so, Delaney. +Tell him just what you think. Give it to him +strong! He bungled and he don’t deserve a bit +of sympathy.”</p> + +<p>“Mr. Drew?”</p> + +<p>The detective wheeled on one heel and glanced +back at Loris, who had risen and was standing +with her arm linked within Nichols’. “Mr. +Drew,” she repeated with slow insistence, +“won’t you have another cup of tea before you +go?”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_291'></a>291</span>“That I will, Miss Stockbridge. We three +shall drink to the end of the case. Have you +asked all the questions you want to? I want to +forget this night as soon as possible. You were +too close to death to suit me.”</p> + +<p>“I don’t think of any more questions,” said +Loris, disengaging her arm and gliding across +the room. “We’ll get the tea. There is one +matter. I want to pay you for your splendid +services.”</p> + +<p>“Ah!” exclaimed Drew. “Ah, Miss Stockbridge, +they were far from being splendid. I +lost my reputation in the first instance. I should +never have allowed your father to remain alone +in the library. That was very short-sighted on +my part.”</p> + +<p>“You couldn’t think of everything.”</p> + +<p>“I underestimated the gravity of the situation.”</p> + +<p>“Perhaps father didn’t explain how dangerous +his enemies really were.”</p> + +<p>“No, I don’t think it was that, exactly. I +had been reading so many accounts of German +spies that I connected this case with one of them. +I took precautions against anything that a German +might think of. I didn’t figure on super-brains +of the criminal order. Cuthbert Morphy +had them!”</p> + +<p>The maid appeared with the tray and hot +water. Drew took the cup from Loris with a +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_292'></a>292</span>bow. He allowed the tea to cool as he glanced +at the two lovers. They had grown closer together +over the time of the investigation. Nichols +had that poise which is given to well-trained +army men. He never said too much. This was +a trait which pleased the detective immensely. +It spoke volumes for Loris and her judgment in +placing her trust in him.</p> + +<p>“I actually hate to leave you people,” Drew +said, finishing the cup. “But I must be on my +way.”</p> + +<p>Loris arched her dark brows. Her mouth +parted into a soft smile. Her eyes glistened +with moisture. “Harry is going, too,” she +said, glancing from Drew to Nichols. “He has +to go! I’ll sleep upstairs in mother’s old room +to-night. The maid can watch. Perhaps the +butler will be back.”</p> + +<p>“He’ll be back!” ejaculated the detective, adjusting +his coat collar and stroking his mustache. +“I’ll see to that if I have to go over +Fosdick’s thick head. You can expect all of +your servants within an hour.”</p> + +<p>Heavy footfalls on the rugs outside the suite +announced Delaney. He came through the portières +rubbing his hands in the manner of a man +who was well-satisfied with his errand.</p> + +<p>“I got them!” he boomed, glancing from +Drew to Nichols and then letting his eyes shine +on Loris. “I got Fosdick, first. I told him +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_293'></a>293</span>what I thought of him, too. I don’t like him. +Never did! He said he’d be right up and see +about things. He can see!” The big operative +swung toward his chief.</p> + +<p>“How about the coroner?” asked Drew.</p> + +<p>“He’s coming as fast as his hurry-up wagon +will let him. I told him there was another—well, +you know what I told him, Chief?”</p> + +<p>The detective lifted his lowered brows. “Yes! +Yes!” he said hastily, after a keen glance at +Loris. “Yes. You did right. Now, get into +the other room and gather up all of the tools +and plaster-casts and every scrap of our own +evidence. Put them in the trouble-man’s satchel. +Set the satchel outside the door to the hall. +Then wait for me. I’ll be but a minute.”</p> + +<p>Delaney paused. “There’s one thing,” he +said in a half stammer<span style='white-space: nowrap'>––</span>“One thing, Chief, +that’s been troubling me while I was ’phoning +to the coroner and to Fosdick.”</p> + +<p>“What is it?”</p> + +<p>“If I can have that magpie? I’m going to +give it to my wife—Mary—if I can. There’s no +bird in the house.”</p> + +<p>Drew turned toward Loris who had drawn +Nichols to a window.</p> + +<p>“Can he have it, Miss Stockbridge?” he +asked.</p> + +<p>“Certainly!”</p> + +<p>“Thanks,” throated the operative, passing +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_294'></a>294</span>through the portières with renewed energy. +“Thanks,” he added under his breath as he +started picking up the plaster casts and tools. +“That’s how we caught ‘Cutbert,’ and I’ll +nurse the bird like a Grand Opera singer.”</p> + +<p>Loris glided from out the curtains and +crossed the room. She stood a moment under +a cone of soft light which reflected downward +and brought out every detail of her gown and +girlish figure. She turned and smiled widely at +Drew who stood by the portières.</p> + +<p>“I’ve almost forgotten something,” she said, +drawing out a chair and sitting down with a +graceful sweep of her skirt. “I’ve forgotten +that you are tired and that you have worked +hard.”</p> + +<p>“Not at all,” said Drew.</p> + +<p>“Yes, you are tired and you have worked +very hard. Harry will bear me out in that. He +was just saying that you would make a good +major of overseas forces. Why don’t you join +the army?”</p> + +<p>Drew reached into his right hand trouser +pocket. He brought his hand out with a small +gold badge between his fingers. “I’ve already +joined the army,” he said. “This is a Secret +Service badge. Don’t you know that much work +can be done over on this side? A burnt warehouse, +for instance, is equal to a victory for the +Kaiser. My agency is almost exclusively devoted +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_295'></a>295</span>to Government work. We never mention +it, though.”</p> + +<p>“I see,” said Loris, reaching into a pigeonhole +and drawing out a small yellow check-book. +“I’m glad,” she added, picking up a mother-of-pearl +penholder and inspecting the pen-point. +“I rather thought you would do your share. I +think everybody should to the limit of their +pocketbook and ability. Harry is.”</p> + +<p>Drew bowed slightly. “That’s right, stick by +Harry,” he said to himself. “She’s a sticker +and then some,” he added, frowning toward +the check-book and the poised pen.</p> + +<p>“Mr. Drew?”</p> + +<p>The detective took one step in her direction. +He waited then.</p> + +<p>“Mr. Drew, how much money do I owe you? +I’ll pay you out of my account until the estate +is settled.”</p> + +<p>The detective smiled broadly. “Nothing,” +he said, toying with his watch chain. “I don’t +think you owe me anything in this case.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, but I do!”</p> + +<p>“I don’t think so. Your father retained me. +He was—was slain through my own carelessness. +I think I owe you something.”</p> + +<p>“I can’t let it remain that way.” Loris +turned and widened her eyes. A tiny pout +sweetened her mouth. Nichols came across the +rugs and stood by her side. He turned to Drew.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_296'></a>296</span>“That wouldn’t be fair,” he said. “You certainly +earned your fee in this case. Why, you +look five years older than when you came up +into my rooms with that little pistol!”</p> + +<p>Drew touched his mustache. He closed his +lips. Fatigue swept over him as he said huskily:</p> + +<p>“I’ve aged, yes. Well, I guess I have. The +responsibility was more than I expected.”</p> + +<p>“How much?” asked Loris, opening the +check-book.</p> + +<p>Drew raised his eyes to the ceiling. A faint +smile brightened his olive skin and brought out +the fullness of his cheeks.</p> + +<p>“Five thousand dollars,” he said, without +glancing at Loris.</p> + +<p>She dipped the pen into the ink well, leaned +her elbow on the leaf of the writing desk and +hastily scratched a check with angular writing +which had certainly been cultivated in a select +boarding school. She turned, waved the check +in the air, then rose and advanced toward the +detective, who had not lowered his eyes.</p> + +<p>“Thank you,” she said, holding out the oblong +of tinted paper. “I want to thank you.”</p> + +<p>Nichols stared at the detective. The soldier’s +eyes were like bayonets beneath a parapet. He +had thought the figure rather high. Loris had +no one to advise her save himself and the presence +of Drew had tied his tongue.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_297'></a>297</span>“I want to thank you,” repeated Loris.</p> + +<p>Drew lowered his eyes and reached for the +check. He glanced at it, started folding two +edges, then smiled brightly as he crossed the +room, picked up the mother-of-pearl penholder +and dipped it into the ink.</p> + +<p>“I’ll endorse it,” he said, flattening out the +check with his palm. “I’ll endorse it so that it +can be transferred.”</p> + +<p>“To whom?” asked Loris.</p> + +<p>“Why, to where it belongs. Do you think +that I could take it? It’s too much in the first +place. In the second place I’m going to do my +full bit from now on. What do you say, if we +endorse this over to the American Red Cross? +It’ll buy beds and bandages and it’ll help out +all around!”</p> + +<p>Loris lifted her eyes beneath her down dropping +lashes. She smiled with tiny puckerings +at the corners of her mouth. The glance was so +archly sweet that Drew felt it was more than a +reward. He caught her mood and hastily +dashed off his signature across the back of the +check.</p> + +<p>“You present it to them,” he said. “Take it +with my compliments to the treasurer of your +own division. I’ll venture they will not question +the signature.”</p> + +<p>Nichols’ hand crept out. It clasped over +Drew’s fingers in a soldier’s grip. The two +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_298'></a>298</span>men faced each other. Drew reached up his left +arm and patted the captain on the shoulder. +“Two bars,” he said. “I hope to see stars +there,” he added sincerely. “Stars, when you +come back from the conquest of Berlin.”</p> + +<p>“They’ll be there!” declared Loris with +flashing eyes. “Harry will get them!”</p> + +<p>Delaney peered through the portières despite +his instructions to the contrary.</p> + +<p>“All set, Chief,” he said. “I hear Fosdick +downstairs.”</p> + +<p>“Coming,” said Drew, as he turned away +from Loris and Nichols.</p> + +<p>The two detectives paused in the center of +the room. The mound under the splendid rug +held their eyes for a fleeting moment. The ends +of the telephone wires lay across the hardwood +floor. They glanced at these.</p> + +<p>“No trace!” said Drew. “We needn’t tell +Fosdick much. Come on!”</p> + +<p>Delaney held out the detective’s coat and +hat. Drew thrust his arms into his silk-lined +sleeves, pulled the hat down over his eyes and +swung as the big operative turned his shoulder.</p> + +<p>“Look,” whispered Delaney.</p> + +<p>Loris Stockbridge and her lover stood under +the glow from the soft clusters of the inner +room of the suite. The captain held his peaked +cap in his right hand. He also was departing.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_299'></a>299</span>“Turtle-doves,” Delaney breathed with almost +pride.</p> + +<p>“Ah!” said Drew. “Ah, my friend, you +must remember that we were once that way ourselves. +But now—but now, Delaney—there is a +thing which is sweeter than love’s young dream. +It is a tired man’s sleep. I think I have earned +mine to-night!”</p> + +<p class='line center'>THE END</p> + +<hr class='dashed' /> + +<p class='line fs1r2 mb1 center'>ZANE GREY’S NOVELS</p> + +<p class='line center fs0r8 mb1'><span class='b'>May be had wherever books are sold. Ask for Grosset & Dunlap’s list.</span></p> + +<p>THE LIGHT OF WESTERN STARS</p> + +<p>A New York society girl buys a ranch which becomes the center of frontier warfare. +Her loyal superintendent rescues her when she is captured by bandits. A +surprising climax brings the story to a delightful close.</p> + +<p>THE RAINBOW TRAIL</p> + +<p>The story of a young clergyman who becomes a wanderer in the great western +uplands—until at last love and faith awake.</p> + +<p>DESERT GOLD</p> + +<p>The story describes the recent uprising along the border, and ends with the finding +of the gold which two prospectors had willed to the girl who is the story’s heroine.</p> + +<p>RIDERS OF THE PURPLE SAGE</p> + +<p>A picturesque romance of Utah of some forty years ago when Mormon authority +ruled. The prosecution of Jane Withersteen is the theme of the story.</p> + +<p>THE LAST OF THE PLAINSMEN</p> + +<p>This is the record of a trip which the author took with Buffalo Jones, known as the +preserver of the American bison, across the Arizona desert and of a hunt in “that +wonderful country of deep canons and giant pines.”</p> + +<p>THE HERITAGE OF THE DESERT</p> + +<p>A lovely girl, who has been reared among Mormons, learns to love a young New +Englander. The Mormon religion, however, demands that the girl shall become +the second wife of one of the Mormons—Well, that’s the problem of this great story.</p> + +<p>THE SHORT STOP</p> + +<p>The young hero, tiring of his factory grind, starts out to win fame and fortune as +a professional ball player. His hard knocks at the start are followed by such success +as clean sportsmanship, courage and honesty ought to win.</p> + +<p>BETTY ZANE</p> + +<p>This story tells of the bravery and heroism of Betty, the beautiful young sister of +old Colonel Zane, one of the bravest pioneers.</p> + +<p>THE LONE STAR RANGER</p> + +<p>After killing a man in self defense, Buck Duane becomes an outlaw along the +Texas border. In a camp on the Mexican side of the river, he finds a young girl held +prisoner, and in attempting to rescue her, brings down upon himself the wrath of her +captors and henceforth is hunted on one side by honest men, on the other by outlaws.</p> + +<p>THE BORDER LEGION</p> + +<p>Joan Randle, in a spirit of anger, sent Jim Cleve out to a lawless Western mining +camp, to prove his mettle. Then realizing that she loved him—she followed him out. +On her way, she is captured by a bandit band, and trouble begins when she shoots +Kells, the leader—and nurses him to health again. Here enters another romance—when +Joan, disguised as an outlaw, observes Jim, in the throes of dissipation. A gold +strike, a thrilling robbery—gambling and gun play carry you along breathlessly.</p> + +<p>THE LAST OF THE GREAT SCOUTS, +By Helen Cody Wetmore and Zane Grey</p> + +<p>The life story of Colonel William F. Cody, “Buffalo Bill,” as told by his sister and +Zane Grey. It begins with his boyhood in Iowa and his first encounter with an Indian. +We see “Bill” as a pony express rider, then near Fort Sumter as Chief of +the Scouts, and later engaged in the most dangerous Indian campaigns. There is +also a very interesting account of the travels of “The Wild West” Show. No character +in public life makes a stronger appeal to the imagination of America than +“Buffalo Bill,” whose daring and bravery made him famous.</p> + +<p class='line center'><span class='sc'>Grosset & Dunlap, Publishers, New York</span></p> + +<hr class='dashed' /> + +<p class='line fs1r2 mb1 center'>KATHLEEN NORRIS’ STORIES</p> + +<p class='line center fs0r8 mb1'><span class='b'>May be had wherever books are sold. Ask for Grosset & Dunlap’s list.</span></p> + +<p>MOTHER. Illustrated by F. G. Yohn.</p> + +<p>This book has a fairy-story touch counterbalanced by +the sturdy reality of struggle, sacrifice, and resulting peace +and power of a mother’s experiences.</p> + +<p>SATURDAY’S CHILD. +Frontispiece by F. Graham Cootes.</p> + +<p>Out on the Pacific coast a normal girl, obscure and lovely, +makes a quest for happiness. She passes through three +stages—poverty, wealth and service—and works out a +creditable salvation.</p> + +<p>THE RICH MRS. BURGOYNE. +Illustrated by Lucius H. Hitchcock.</p> + +<p>The story of a sensible woman who keeps within her +means, refuses to be swamped by social engagements, lives +a normal human life of varied interests, and has her own +romance.</p> + +<p>THE STORY OF JULIA PAGE. +Frontispiece by Allan Gilbert.</p> + +<p>How Julia Page, reared in rather unpromising surroundings, +lifted herself through sheer determination to a higher +plane of life.</p> + +<p>THE HEART OF RACHAEL. +Frontispiece by Charles E. Chambers.</p> + +<p>Rachael is called upon to solve many problems, and in +working out these, there is shown the beauty and strength +of soul of one of fiction’s most appealing characters.</p> + +<p class='line center'><i>Ask for Complete free list of G. & D. Popular Copyrighted Fiction</i></p> + +<p class='line center'><span class='sc'>Grosset & Dunlap, Publishers, New York</span></p> + +<hr class='dashed' /> + +<p class='line fs1r2 mb1 center'>THE NOVELS OF MARY ROBERTS RINEHART</p> + +<p class='line center fs0r8 mb1'><span class='b'>May be had wherever books are sold. Ask for Grosset & Dunlap’s list.</span></p> + +<p>“K.” Illustrated.</p> + +<p>K. LeMoyne, famous surgeon, drops out of the world that +has known him, and goes to live in a little town where +beautiful Sidney Page lives. She is in training to become a +nurse. The joys and troubles of their young love are told +with that keen and sympathetic appreciation which has +made the author famous.</p> + +<p>THE MAN IN LOWER TEN. +Illustrated by Howard Chandler Christy.</p> + +<p>An absorbing detective story woven around the mysterious +death of the “Man in Lower Ten.” The strongest +elements of Mrs. Rinehart’s success are found in this book.</p> + +<p>WHEN A MAN MARRIES. +Illustrated by Harrison Fisher and Mayo Bunker.</p> + +<p>A young artist, whose wife had recently divorced him, +finds that his aunt is soon to visit him. The aunt, who +contributes to the family income and who has never seen +the wife, knows nothing of the domestic upheaval. How +the young man met the situation is humorously and most +entertainingly told.</p> + +<p>THE CIRCULAR STAIRCASE. Illus. by Lester Ralph.</p> + +<p>The summer occupants of “Sunnyside” find the dead +body of Arnold Armstrong, the son of the owner, on the circular +staircase. Following the murder a bank failure is announced. +Around these two events is woven a plot of +absorbing interest.</p> + +<p>THE STREET OF SEVEN STARS. +Illustrated (Photo Play Edition.)</p> + +<p>Harmony Wells, studying in Vienna to be a great violinist, +suddenly realizes that her money is almost gone. She +meets a young ambitious doctor who offers her chivalry and +sympathy, and together with world-worn Dr. Anna and +Jimmie, the waif, they share their love and slender means.</p> + +<p class='line center'><span class='sc'>Grosset & Dunlap, Publishers, New York</span></p> + +<hr class='dashed' /> + +<p class='line fs1r2 mb1 center'>R. M. BOWER’S NOVELS</p> + +<p class='line center fs0r8 mb1'><span class='b'>May be had wherever books are sold. Ask for Grosset & Dunlap’s list.</span></p> + +<p>CHIP OF THE FLYING U. Wherein the love affairs of Chip and +Della Whitman are charmingly and humorously told.</p> + +<p>THE HAPPY FAMILY. A lively and amusing story, dealing with +the adventures of eighteen jovial, big hearted Montana cowboys.</p> + +<p>HER PRAIRIE KNIGHT. Describing a gay party of Easterners +who exchange a cottage at Newport for a Montana ranch-house.</p> + +<p>THE RANGE DWELLERS. Spirited action, a range feud beween +two families, and a Romeo and Juliet courtship make this a bright, +jolly story.</p> + +<p>THE LURE OF THE DIM TRAILS. A vivid portrayal of the +experience of an Eastern author among the cowboys.</p> + +<p>THE LONESOME TRAIL. A little branch of sage brush and the +recollection of a pair of large brown eyes upset “Weary” Davidson’s +plans.</p> + +<p>THE LONG SHADOW. A vigorous Western story, sparkling with +the free outdoor life of a mountain ranch. It is a fine love story.</p> + +<p>GOOD INDIAN. A stirring romance of life on an Idaho ranch.</p> + +<p>FLYING U RANCH. Another delightful story about Chip and +his pals.</p> + +<p>THE FLYING U’S LAST STAND. An amusing account of Chip +and the other boys opposing a party of school teachers.</p> + +<p>THE UPHILL CLIMB. A story of a mountain ranch and of a +man’s hard fight on the uphill road to manliness.</p> + +<p>THE PHANTOM HERD. The title of a moving-picture staged in +New Mexico by the “Flying U” boys.</p> + +<p>THE HERITAGE OF THE SIOUX. The “Flying U” boys stage +a fake bank robbery for film purposes which precedes a real one +for lust of gold.</p> + +<p>THE GRINGOS. A story of love and adventure on a ranch in +California.</p> + +<p>STARR OF THE DESERT. A New Mexico ranch story of mystery and adventure.</p> + +<p>THE LOOKOUT MAN. A Northern California story full of action, +excitement and love.</p> + +<p class='line center'><span class='sc'>Grosset & Dunlap, Publishers, New York</span></p> + +<hr class='dashed' /> + +<p class='line fs1r2 mb1 center'>THE NOVELS OF WINSTON CHURCHILL</p> + +<p>THE INSIDE OF THE CUP. Illustrated by Howard Giles.</p> + +<p>The Reverend John Hodder is called to a fashionable church in +a middle-western city. He knows little of modern problems and in +his theology is as orthodox as the rich men who control his church +could desire. But the facts of modern life are thrust upon him; an +awakening follows and in the end he works out a solution.</p> + +<p>A FAR COUNTRY. Illustrated by Herman Pfeifer.</p> + +<p>This novel is concerned with big problems of the day. As <i>The +Inside of the Cup</i> gets down to the essentials in its discussion of religion, +so <i>A Far Country</i> deals in a story that is intense and dramatic, +with other vital issues confronting the twentieth century.</p> + +<p>A MODERN CHRONICLE. Illustrated by J. H. Gardner Soper.</p> + +<p>This, Mr. Churchill’s first great presentation of the Eternal +Feminine, is throughout a profound study of a fascinating young +American woman. It is frankly a modern love story.</p> + +<p>MR. CREWE’S CAREER. Illus. by A. I. Keller and Kinneys.</p> + +<p>A new England state is under the political domination of a railway +and Mr. Crewe, a millionaire, seizes a moment when the cause +of the people is being espoused by an ardent young attorney, to further +his own interest in a political way. The daughter of the railway +president plays no small part in the situation.</p> + +<p>THE CROSSING. Illustrated by S. Adamson and L. Baylis.</p> + +<p>Describing the battle of Fort Moultrie, the blazing of the Kentucky +wilderness, the expedition of Clark and his handful of followers +in Illinois, the beginning of civilization along the Ohio and +Mississippi, and the treasonable schemes against Washington.</p> + +<p>CONISTON. Illustrated by Florence Scovel Shinn.</p> + +<p>A deft blending of love and politics. A New Englander is the +hero, a crude man who rose to political prominence by his own powers, +and then surrendered all for the love of a woman.</p> + +<p>THE CELEBRITY. An episode.</p> + +<p>An inimitable bit of comedy describing an interchange of personalities +between a celebrated author and a bicycle salesman. It +is the purest, keenest fun—and is American to the core.</p> + +<p>THE CRISIS. Illustrated with scenes from the Photo-Play.</p> + +<p>A book that presents the great crisis in our national life with +splendid power and with a sympathy, a sincerity, and a patriotism +that are inspiring.</p> + +<p>RICHARD CARVEL. Illustrated by Malcolm Frazer.</p> + +<p>An historical novel which gives a real and vivid picture of Colonial +times, and is good, clean, spirited reading in all its phases and +interesting throughout.</p> + +<p class='line center'><span class='sc'>Grosset & Dunlap, Publishers, New York</span></p> + +<hr class='dashed' /> + +<p class='line fs1r2 mb1 center'>THE NOVELS OF GEORGE BARR McCUTCHEON</p> + +<p class='line center fs0r8 mb1'><span class='b'>May be had wherever books are sold. Ask for Grosset & Dunlap’s list.</span></p> + +<p>GRAUSTARK. Illustrated with Scenes from the Play.</p> + +<p>With the appearance of this novel, the author introduced a new +type of story and won for himself a perpetual reading public. It +is the story of love behind a throne in a new and strange country.</p> + +<p>BEVERLY OF GRAUSTARK. Illustrations by Harrison Fisher.</p> + +<p>This is a sequel to “Graustark.” A bewitching American girl +visits the little principality and there has a romantic love affair.</p> + +<p>PRINCE OF GRAUSTARK. Illustrations by A. I. Keller.</p> + +<p>The Prince of Graustark is none other than the son of the heroine +of “Graustark.” Beverly’s daughter, and an American multimillionaire +with a brilliant and lovely daughter also figure in the story.</p> + +<p>BREWSTER’S MILLIONS. +Illustrated with Scenes from the Photo-Play.</p> + +<p>A young man, required to spend one million dollars in one year, +in order to inherit <i>seven</i>, accomplishes the task in this lively story.</p> + +<p>COWARDICE COURT. +Illus. by Harrison Fisher and decorations by Theodore Hapgood.</p> + +<p>A romance of love and adventure, the plot forming around a +social feud in the Adirondacks in which an English girl is tempted +into being a traitor by a romantic young American.</p> + +<p>THE HOLLOW OF HER HAND. Illustrated by A. I. Keller.</p> + +<p>A story of modern New York, built around an ancient enmity, +born of the scorn of the aristocrat for one of inferior birth.</p> + +<p>WHAT’S-HIS-NAME. Illustrations by Harrison Fisher.</p> + +<p>“What’s-His-Name” is the husband of a beautiful and popular +actress who is billboarded on Broadway under an assumed name. +The very opposite manner in which these two live their lives brings +a dramatic climax to the story.</p> + +<p class='line center'><i>Ask for Complete free list of G. & D. Popular Copyrighted Fiction</i></p> + +<p class='line center'><span class='sc'>Grosset & Dunlap, Publishers, New York</span></p> + +<hr class='dashed' /> + +<p class='line fs1r2 mb1 center'>SEWELL FORD’S STORIES</p> + +<p class='line center fs0r8 mb1'><span class='b'>May be had wherever books are sold. Ask for Grosset & Dunlap’s list.</span></p> + +<p>SHORTY McCABE. Illustrated by Francis Vaux Wilson.</p> + +<p>A very humorous story. The hero, an independent and vigorous +thinker, sees life, and tells about it in a very unconventional way.</p> + +<p>SIDE-STEPPING WITH SHORTY. +Illustrated by Francis Vaux Wilson.</p> + +<p>Twenty skits, presenting people with their foibles. Sympathy +with human nature and an abounding sense of humor are the requisites +for “side-stepping with Shorty.”</p> + +<p>SHORTY McCABE ON THE JOB. +Illustrated by Francis Vaux Wilson.</p> + +<p>Shorty McCabe reappears with his figures of speech revamped +right up to the minute. He aids in the right distribution of a +“conscience fund,” and gives joy to all concerned.</p> + +<p>SHORTY McCABE’S ODD NUMBERS. +Illustrated by Francis Vaux Wilson.</p> + +<p>These further chronicles of Shorty McCabe tell of his studio for +physical culture, and of his experiences both on the East side and at +swell yachting parties.</p> + +<p>TORCHY. Illus. by Geo. Biehm and Jas. Montgomery Flagg.</p> + +<p>A red-headed office boy, overflowing with wit and wisdom peculiar +to the youths reared on the sidewalks of New York, tells the +story of his experiences.</p> + +<p>TRYING OUT TORCHY. Illustrated by F. Foster Lincoln.</p> + +<p>Torchy is just as deliriously funny in these stories as he was in +the previous book.</p> + +<p>ON WITH TORCHY. Illustrated by F. Foster Lincoln.</p> + +<p>Torchy falls desperately in love with “the only girl that ever +was,” but that young society woman’s aunt tries to keep the young +people apart, which brings about many hilariously funny situations.</p> + +<p>TORCHY, PRIVATE SEC. Illustrated by F. Foster Lincoln.</p> + +<p>Torchy rises from the position of office boy to that of secretary +for the Corrugated Iron Company. The story is full of humor and +infectious American slang.</p> + +<p>WILT THOU TORCHY. Illus. by F. Snapp and A. W. Brown.</p> + +<p>Torchy goes on a treasure search expedition to the Florida West +Coast, in company with a group of friends of the Corrugated Trust +and with his friend’s aunt, on which trip Torchy wins the aunt’s +permission to place an engagement ring on Vee’s finger.</p> + +<p class='line center'><span class='sc'>Grosset & Dunlap, Publishers, New York</span></p> + +<hr class='dashed' /> + +<p class='line fs1r2 mb1 center'>BOOTH TARKINGTON’S NOVELS</p> + +<p class='line center fs0r8 mb1'><span class='b'>May be had wherever books are sold. Ask for Grosset & Dunlap’s list.</span></p> + +<p>SEVENTEEN. Illustrated by Arthur William Brown.</p> + +<p>No one but the creator of Penrod could have portrayed +the immortal young people of this story. Its humor is irresistible +and reminiscent of the time when the reader was +Seventeen.</p> + +<p>PENROD. Illustrated by Gordon Grant.</p> + +<p>This is a picture of a boy’s heart, full of the lovable, humorous, +tragic things which are locked secrets to most older +folks. It is a finished, exquisite work.</p> + +<p>PENROD AND SAM. Illustrated by Worth Brehm.</p> + +<p>Like “Penrod” and “Seventeen,” this book contains +some remarkable phases of real boyhood and some of the best +stories of juvenile prankishness that have ever been written.</p> + +<p>THE TURMOIL. Illustrated by C. E. Chambers.</p> + +<p>Bibbs Sheridan is a dreamy, imaginative youth, who revolts +against his father’s plans for him to be a servitor of +big business. The love of a fine girl turns Bibb’s life from +failure to success.</p> + +<p>THE GENTLEMAN FROM INDIANA. Frontispiece.</p> + +<p>A story of love and politics,—more especially a picture of +a country editor’s life in Indiana, but the charm of the book +lies in the love interest.</p> + +<p>THE FLIRT. Illustrated by Clarence F. Underwood.</p> + +<p>The “Flirt,” the younger of two sisters, breaks one girl’s +engagement, drives one man to suicide, causes the murder +of another, leads another to lose his fortune, and in the end +marries a stupid and unpromising suitor, leaving the really +worthy one to marry her sister.</p> + +<p class='line center'><i>Ask for Complete free list of G. & D. Popular Copyrighted Fiction</i></p> + +<p class='line center'><span class='sc'>Grosset & Dunlap, Publishers, New York</span></p> + +<hr class='dashed' /> + +<p class='line fs1r2 mb1 center'>THE NOVELS OF STEWART EDWARD WHITE</p> + +<p class='line center fs0r8 mb1'><span class='b'>May be had wherever books are sold. Ask for Grosset & Dunlap’s list.</span></p> + +<p>THE BLAZED TRAIL. Illustrated by Thomas Fogarty.</p> + +<p>A wholesome story with gleams of humor, telling of a young man +who blazed his way to fortune through the heart of the Michigan +pines.</p> + +<p>THE CALL OF THE NORTH. Ills. with Scenes from the Play.</p> + +<p>The story centers about a Hudson Bay trading post, known as +“The Conjuror’s House” (the original title of the book.)</p> + +<p>THE RIVER MAN. Ills. by N. C. Wyeth and C. F. Underwood.</p> + +<p>The story of a man’s fight against a river and of a struggle between +honesty and grit on the one side, and dishonesty and shrewdness +on the other.</p> + +<p>RULES OF THE GAME. Illustrated by Lejaren A. Hiller.</p> + +<p>The romance of the son of “The Riverman.” The young college +hero goes into the lumber camp, is antagonized by “graft,” and +comes into the romance of his life.</p> + +<p>GOLD. Illustrated by Thomas Fogarty.</p> + +<p>The gold fever of ’49 is pictured with vividness. A part of the +story is laid in Panama, the route taken by the gold-seekers.</p> + +<p>THE FOREST. Illustrated by Thomas Fogarty.</p> + +<p>The book tells of the canoe trip of the author and his companion +into the great woods. Much information about camping and outdoor +life. A splendid treatise on woodcraft.</p> + +<p>THE MOUNTAINS. Illustrated by Fernand Lungren.</p> + +<p>An account of the adventures of a five months’ camping trip in +the Sierras of California. The author has followed a true sequence +of events.</p> + +<p>THE CABIN. Illustrated with photographs by the author.</p> + +<p>A chronicle of the building of a cabin home in a forest-girdled +meadow of the Sierras. Full of nature and woodcraft, and the +shrewd philosophy of “California John.”</p> + +<p>THE GRAY DAWN. Illustrated by Thomas Fogarty.</p> + +<p>This book tells of the period shortly after the first mad rush for +gold in California. A young lawyer and his wife, initiated into the +gay life of San Francisco, find their ways parted through his downward +course, but succeeding events bring the “gray dawn of better +things” for both of them.</p> + +<p class='line center'><i>Ask for Complete free list of G. & D. Popular Copyrighted Fiction</i></p> + +<p class='line center'><span class='sc'>Grosset & Dunlap, Publishers, New York</span></p> + +<hr class='dashed' /> + +<p class='line center'>STORIES OF RARE CHARM</p> +<p class='line fs1r2 mb1 center'>BY GENE STRATTON-PORTER</p> + +<p class='line center fs0r8 mb1'><span class='b'>May be had wherever books are sold. Ask for Grosset & Dunlap’s list.</span></p> + +<p>LADDIE. Illustrated by Herman Pfeifer.</p> + +<p>This is a bright, cheery tale with the +scenes laid in Indiana. The story is told +by Little Sister, the youngest member of +a large family, but it is concerned not so +much with childish doings as with the love +affairs of older members of the family. +Chief among them is that of Laddie, the +older brother whom Little Sister adores, +and the Princess, an English girl who has +come to live in the neighborhood and about +whose family there hangs a mystery. +There is a wedding midway in the book +and a double wedding at the close.</p> + +<p>THE HARVESTER. Illustrated by W. L. Jacobs.</p> + +<p>“The Harvester,” David Langston, is a man of the woods and +fields, who draws his living from the prodigal hand of Mother +Nature herself. If the book had nothing in it but the splendid figure +of this man it would be notable. But when the Girl comes to his +“Medicine Woods,” and the Harvester’s whole being realizes that +this is the highest point of life which has come to him—there begins +a romance of the rarest idyllic quality.</p> + +<p>FRECKLES. Decorations by E. Stetson Crawford.</p> + +<p>Freckles is a nameless waif when the tale opens, but the way in +which he takes hold of life; the nature friendships he forms in the +great Limberlost Swamp; the manner in which everyone who meets +him succumbs to the charm of his engaging personality; and his +love-story with “The Angel” are full of real sentiment.</p> + +<p>A GIRL OF THE LIMBERLOST. +Illustrated by Wladyslaw T. Brenda.</p> + +<p>The story of a girl of the Michigan woods; a buoyant, lovable +type of the self-reliant American. Her philosophy is one of love and +kindness towards all things; her hope is never dimmed. And by the +sheer beauty of her soul, and the purity of her vision, she wins from +barren and unpromising surroundings those rewards of high courage.</p> + +<p>AT THE FOOT OF THE RAINBOW. +Illustrations in colors by Oliver Kemp.</p> + +<p>The scene of this charming love story is laid in Central Indiana. +The story is one of devoted friendship, and tender self-sacrificing +love. The novel is brimful of the most beautiful word painting of +nature, and its pathos and tender sentiment will endear it to all.</p> + +<p class='line center'><span class='sc'>Grosset & Dunlap, Publishers, New York</span></p> + +<hr class='dashed' /> + +<p class='line center'>JOHN FOX, JR’S.</p> +<p class='line fs1r2 mb1 center'>STORIES OF THE KENTUCKY MOUNTAINS</p> + +<p class='line center fs0r8 mb1'><span class='b'>May be had wherever books are sold. Ask for Grosset & Dunlap’s list.</span></p> + +<p>THE TRAIL OF THE LONESOME PINE. +Illustrated by F. C. Yohn.</p> + +<p>The “lonesome pine” from which the +story takes its name was a tall tree that +stood in solitary splendor on a mountain +top. The fame of the pine lured a young +engineer through Kentucky to catch the +trail, and when he finally climbed to its +shelter he found not only the pine but the +<i>footprints of a girl.</i> And the girl proved +to be lovely, piquant, and the trail of +these girlish footprints led the young +engineer a madder chase than “the trail +of the lonesome pine.”</p> + +<p>THE LITTLE SHEPHERD OF KINGDOM COME. +Illustrated by F. C. Yohn.</p> + +<p>This is a story of Kentucky, in a settlement known as “Kingdom +Come.” It is a life rude, semi-barbarous; but natural +and honest, from which often springs the flower of civilization.</p> + +<p>“Chad.” the “little shepherd” did not know who he was nor +whence he came—he had just wandered from door to door since +early childhood, seeking shelter with kindly mountaineers who +gladly fathered and mothered this waif about whom there was +such a mystery—a charming waif, by the way, who could play +the banjo better that anyone else in the mountains.</p> + +<p>A KNIGHT OF THE CUMBERLAND. +Illustrated by F. C. Yohn.</p> + +<p>The scenes are laid along the waters of the Cumberland, +the lair of moonshiner and feudsman. The knight is a moonshiner’s +son, and the heroine a beautiful girl perversely christened +“The Blight.” Two impetuous young Southerners fall +under the spell of “The Blight’s” charms and she learns what +a large part jealousy and pistols have in the love making of the +mountaineers.</p> + +<p>Included in this volume is “Hell fer-Sartain” and other +stories, some of Mr. Fox’s most entertaining Cumberland valley +narratives.</p> + +<p class='line center'><i>Ask for Complete free list of G. & D. Popular Copyrighted Fiction</i></p> + +<p class='line center'><span class='sc'>Grosset & Dunlap, Publishers, New York</span></p> + +<hr class='dashed' /> + +<p class='line center'>NOVELS OF FRONTIER LIFE BY</p> +<p class='line fs1r2 mb1 center'>WILLIAM MacLEOD RAINE</p> + +<p class='line fs0r8 center'>HANDSOMELY BOUND IN CLOTH. ILLUSTRATED.</p> + +<p class='line center fs0r8 mb1'><span class='b'>May be had wherever books are sold. Ask for Grosset & Dunlap’s list.</span></p> + +<p>MAVERICKS.</p> + +<p>A tale of the western frontier, where the “rustler,” whose depredations +are so keenly resented by the early settlers of the range, +abounds. One of the sweetest love stories ever told.</p> + +<p>A TEXAS RANGER.</p> + +<p>How a member of the most dauntless border police force carried +law into the mesquit, saved the life of an innocent man after a series +of thrilling adventures, followed a fugitive to Wyoming, and then +passed through deadly peril to ultimate happiness.</p> + +<p>WYOMING.</p> + +<p>In this vivid story of the outdoor West the author has captured +the breezy charm of “cattleland,” and brings out the turbid life of +the frontier with all its engaging dash and vigor.</p> + +<p>RIDGWAY OF MONTANA.</p> + +<p>The scene is laid in the mining centers of Montana, where politics +and mining industries are the religion of the country. The +political contest, the love scene, and the fine character drawing give +this story great strength and charm.</p> + +<p>BUCKY O’CONNOR.</p> + +<p>Every chapter teems with wholesome, stirring adventures, replete +with the dashing spirit of the border, told with dramatic dash +and absorbing fascination of style and plot.</p> + +<p>CROOKED TRAILS AND STRAIGHT.</p> + +<p>A story of Arizona; of swift-riding men and daring outlaws; of +a bitter feud between cattle-men and sheep-herders. The heroine +is a most unusual woman and her love story reaches a culmination +that is fittingly characteristic of the great free West.</p> + +<p>BRAND BLOTTERS.</p> + +<p>A story of the Cattle Range. This story brings out the turbid +life of the frontier, with all its engaging dash and vigor, with a charming +love interest running through its 320 pages.</p> + +<p class='line center'><span class='sc'>Grosset & Dunlap, Publishers, New York</span></p> + +<p> </p> +<p> </p> +<hr class="full" /> +<p>***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK WHISPERING WIRES***</p> +<p>******* This file should be named 34046-h.txt or 34046-h.zip *******</p> +<p>This and all associated files of various formats will be found in:<br /> +<a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/3/4/0/4/34046">http://www.gutenberg.org/3/4/0/4/34046</a></p> +<p>Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed.</p> + +<p>Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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For +example an eBook of filename 10234 would be found at: + +http://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/1/0/2/3/10234 + +or filename 24689 would be found at: +http://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/2/4/6/8/24689 + +An alternative method of locating eBooks: +<a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/GUTINDEX.ALL">http://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/GUTINDEX.ALL</a> + +*** END: FULL LICENSE *** +</pre> +</body> +</html> diff --git a/34046-h/images/illus-emb.jpg b/34046-h/images/illus-emb.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..ba572d7 --- /dev/null +++ b/34046-h/images/illus-emb.jpg diff --git a/34046.txt b/34046.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..dad021f --- /dev/null +++ b/34046.txt @@ -0,0 +1,9037 @@ +The Project Gutenberg eBook, Whispering Wires, by Henry Leverage + + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + + + + +Title: Whispering Wires + + +Author: Henry Leverage + + + +Release Date: October 8, 2010 [eBook #34046] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-646-US (US-ASCII) + + +***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK WHISPERING WIRES*** + + +E-text prepared by Roger Frank and the Online Distributed Proofreading +Team (http://www.fadedpage.net) + + + +WHISPERING WIRES + +Adapted from the _Saturday Evening Post_ Story of the Same Title + +by + +HENRY LEVERAGE + + + + + + + +New York +Grosset & Dunlap +Publishers + +Copyright, 1918, +by +Moffat, Yard & Company + +First printing . . . . September, 1918 +Second printing . . . . September, 1918 +Third printing . . . . October, 1918 + + + + +DEDICATED + +TO + +ONE WHO HELPED + + + + +CONTENTS + + I "The Whispering Voice" 1 + II "The Magpie" 15 + III "The Man in Olive-Drab" 31 + IV "The Murder" 46 + V "The First Clews" 59 + VI "Harry Nichols" 74 + VII "The Spot of Black" 89 + VIII "Tangled Wires" 107 + IX "Men and Motives" 124 + X "A Woman Calls" 144 + XI "The Closing Net" 181 + XII "Suspicion Fastens" 202 + XIII "A Silent Prisoner" 222 + XIV "The Prisoner Speaks" 239 + XV "The Voice on the Wire" 260 + XVI "The End" 277 + + + + +WHISPERING WIRES + + + + +CHAPTER ONE + +"THE WHISPERING VOICE" + + +In the greatest city of the modern world, in the Metropolis of Guilt +and Guile--where Alias and Alibi ride in gum-shod limousines while Mary +Smith of the pure heart walks the pavements with broken shoes--there is +a mansion so rich and so rare that it stands alone. + +Turret and tower, green-bronze roof, Cararra-marbled portico and +iron-grilled gates brought from Hyderabad, have made this mansion the +show place and the Peri's paradise for those who parade the Avenue +called Fifth, in an unending sash of fashion. + +Out from this palace at the close of a winter's day, there flashed the +tiny pulsations of voice-induced currents of electricity which reached +the telephone-central, were plugged upon the proper underground +paper-insulated wires and entered, even as the voice was speaking, the +cloud-hung office of Detective Drew. + +Triggy Drew, as he was called, was dark, stout and forty-one years of +age to a month. He crooked his elbow, removed his cigar and pressed the +telephone-receiver to his ear. + +The voice that came over the whispering wires was as clear as a bell +within a bell. It said: + +"Montgomery Stockbridge wants you." + +Drew hung up the telephone-receiver. He replaced the cigar in his +mouth. He wheeled in his chair and pressed a buzzer. To the operative +who entered he said: + +"Delaney, watch things while I'm gone. I'm called up-town!" + +The operative reached and handed Drew his coat. He took the +swivel-chair before the desk, as his chief clapped on a hat, turned his +eyes toward the ground-glass door, and passed out with a brisk stride. + +"It's a big case," said Delaney leaning back. "Triggy is on somebody's +trail. Maybe German--maybe not!" + +Drew nodded to the waiting operatives in the outer room of the suite. +He swung into the hallway with his brown eyes glowing like a man who +walked out of realism into romance. + +The elevator plumbed eighteen stories. The corridor was clear. A taxi +stood at the curb. Into this Drew stepped, gave the address and was +gently seated as the driver released his brake, set the meter, and +dropped through first, second and into third speed. + +Past Wall Street the taxi flashed. It rounded toward the Bowery, which +showed that the driver knew his map. It struck up through the car +tracks, across to Washington Park and there took the long longitude of +Fifth Avenue as the shortest and quickest way up-town. + +Drew had no eye for the passers-by. He was repeating two words over and +over like a novice counting the same beads. Montgomery Stockbridge was +a name to conjure with in the Bagdad of Seven Million. He had made many +enemies and much money. His wealth ran well above seven figures. + +The taxi came to a gliding halt. Drew stepped out in front of a church. +He tossed the driver two one-dollar bills and some silver. He waited as +the taxi merged in the traffic. He turned and glanced keenly up and +down the Avenue. Then he hurried north for one square, paused before +the mansion of turrets and towers, and pressed a button which was set +in the doorway. + +The door opened to a crack, then wide. A butler barred the way. To him +Drew said, "Mr. Stockbridge sent for me." + +The butler bowed with old world civility. He took the detective's hat +and coat. He waited until Drew removed his gloves. He bowed for a +second time and led the way over rugs whose pile was as thick as some +Persian temple's. They came finally, after an aisle of old masters, to +the inner circle of latter-day finance and money-wizardry--the +celebrated library of Montgomery Stockbridge. + +The Munition Magnate sat there. He turned as the butler announced the +detective. He shot a gray-thatched pair of eyes up and over a mahogany +table upon which a white envelope lay. He smiled coldly. His thumb +jerked toward a leather chair into which Drew sank and leaned his +elbows upon the table. + +Stockbridge coughed dryly. He blinked and studied the detective's face +for a long minute. He glanced from the envelope up at a cone of rose +light which hung from a cluster of electric-globes. His expression, +seen in this light, was like an aged lion brought to bay. His wrinkled +skin was tawny. His hands coiled and uncoiled like claws. They moved +prehensilely, as though cobwebs were in that perfumed air of wealth and +security. They poised over the envelope as if to snatch the secret or +delusion hidden there. + +"See that letter!" declared the Munition Magnate, closing his fist and +banging the table. "See it? D'ye see it?" + +Drew widened his eyes at the outburst. He crossed his legs and nodded. + +"It's blackmail!" Stockbridge snarled. "Rank-scented blackmail of the +cheapest order." + +"A threat of some kind?" + +"Threat? Yes--a threat, in a way. It's clever, but it won't _work_ with +me!" + +Drew recrossed his legs. He touched his short-cropped mustache with the +fingers of his right hand. He coughed as in suggestion. His brows +lifted as he studied the envelope from a distance. + +Stockbridge snatched it up suddenly. He slapped it against the edge of +the polished table. He turned and found a cigar to his liking out of +many in a humidor beneath a smaller table at the right of his chair. He +bit on this cigar, struck a match, and dragged in the smoke with deep +inhalings before he turned and opened the envelope, exposing a letter +which he rapped with the knuckles of his left hand. + +"I'll beg to be excused," he said half-apologetically. "I'm not myself. +This letter, you know. I want you to ferret it out. I want you to find +out who sent it, and make him or her pay. Make them pay in full!" + +"May I see it?" + +Stockbridge hesitated. His eyes ran across the paper. His lips curled +in an ugly, thin-visaged smile which wrinkled his yellow face. "See it? +Yes!" he snapped, volplaning the sheet across the table with a vicious +jerk of his wrist. + +"Ridgewood Cemetery," said Drew lifting the letter. "Heading, Ridgewood +Cemetery," he repeated softly. "Dated yesterday," he added with a sly +glance at Stockbridge. "Signed by the superintendent, I suppose. Yes, +by the superintendent. He scrawls worse than I do. Well, it looks +official and smells--ah!" + +Stockbridge worked his brows up and down like a gorilla. He chewed on +his cigar with savage grinding of gold-filled teeth. + +"Smells graveyardy," continued Drew. "I get flowers and urns and +new-turned earth. This seems to be the bare announcement that the grave +you ordered dug in the family plot--is ready and waiting." Drew glanced +up. + +"Quite so," sneered the Magnate. + +Drew stroked his upper lip. He turned the letter over. He held it to +the rose-light and studied the water-mark. He raised his black brows +and said sepulchrally: + +"Who is dead?" + +Stockbridge stiffened. "Dead?" he exclaimed. "Why, nobody is dead! Damn +it, Drew, there's nobody dead at all!" + +The detective frowned. "Somebody in the immediate family?" he +questioned. "Somebody you are expecting to pass away soon? Some one on +their sick-bed, for instance?" + +Stockbridge snatched the cigar from his mouth and threw it to the rug. +"That letter's a stab, Drew!" he exclaimed. "It's a damn insult to me +and mine, if you want to know. I'll have the author of it, or know the +reason why. I'll spend fifty thousand to catch the miscreants. They'll +not monkey with me!" + +"The writer of this seems to be the superintendent." + +"Yes--that part's all right. He knows nothing save what you see there. +This threat concerns Loris and I. We are the only two who will ever be +buried in our family plot." + +"What does she know? Has she seen this letter?" + +"Yes!" + +"Knows nothing about it?" + +"Nothing." + +"Has no enemies?" + +"Certainly not! She's just a girl!" The Magnate's eyes softened +slightly. He glanced around for a cigar. + +Drew laid the letter on the table. "It seems to me," he said, "that you +have not explained everything. When did you get this letter, Mr. +Stockbridge? What time did it arrive?" + +"It came in the late mail last night. I showed it to Loris at supper. +Then I called up the cemetery people this morning. Got the +superintendent. He said that 'Dr. Conroy'--our family physician--'had +phoned him and ordered the grave dug.' Said, 'A death was about to +occur in the Stockbridge family.' Conroy never sent any such message!" + +"Umph!" broke in Drew. + +"Yes! He assured me of it. Was terribly put out!" + +"It seems to me," said Drew, "that the entire matter is a practical +joke of the low order. I see nothing else to it--so far. It isn't even +clever." + +"I'm not so sure," Stockbridge said huskily. "It may be _very_ clever. +It may mean that death is coming--to me or to Loris. There's men in +this city who are capable of anything!" + +The break in the Magnate's voice brought Drew to the edge of his chair. + +"Whom do you suspect?" he asked professionally. "Motive goes before +crime--you know. Sometimes a warning is sent--more often there is none. +Clever men do not telegraph a blow." + +"I suspect the whole city!" declared Stockbridge. + +Drew smiled sincerely. It was plainly evident that the Magnate was +suffering from the thrust about Loris and the graveyard. The detective +had never seen him so unsettled. + +"How about Germans?" he asked. "You've made a lot of +ammunition--haven't you?" + +"Ye--s. I've still holdings in Standard Shell, Preferred, and +Amalgamated Powder. Also, there is my interest in Flying Boat." + +"Could the Germans be after you for any reason at all?" + +The Magnate weighed the question from a score of angles. He reached and +secured a second cigar. "I don't think so," he said with a dark frown. +"I don't think they would bother with me. I'm more or less retired. +I've drawn out of a lot of things. Younger men are turning out the +ammunition now." + +"Then which of your friends might be responsible for this letter?" + +"Well put!" exclaimed Stockbridge. _"Friends_ may be right. Friends +now, or former friends who have rounded on me." + +"Name some!" + +"There's Morphy!" + +"We settled him. We should never hear from him again." + +"I'm not so sure! You don't know him like I know him. He's a vindictive +devil! He got ten to twenty years in state prison. You remember the +case. He lost his appeal to the Governor, only last week. I blocked it +through Tammany affiliations. You know what that fiend in stripes is +capable of doing. He would sell his soul to get me!" + +Drew grew serious. "Yes, I know," he said. + +"Then there is--well, there are others. Ten, at least! What man can +rise in this slippery city without pushing a few down the ladder? Wall +Street and Broad Street and New Street are full of curb-stone +blackmailers who knew me when I was struggling with my companies. They +saw me take chances they themselves feared to take. They hounded me, +then. Thank God, I got above them!" + +Drew leaned over the table. "A few names," he said. "Something +specific. Who of all of them would be capable of phoning the cemetery, +representing himself to be your family physician and ordering the grave +dug? Who might think of a thing like that?" + +"Well, there's Harry Nichols, for instance. He's an ass with a +champagne thirst and a shoestring salary. I threw him out of the house +the other day. He was calling on Loris. Think of that! He's probably +sworn to get me." + +"How old is he?" + +"About twenty-three--or four! Smokes, drinks and plays golf!" + +"Name some others," suggested Drew artfully. + +"Morphy!" + +"I got him." + +"Morphy's brother who escaped when we had Morphy indicted. I don't know +where he is. Then there's Vogel and Vogel's friends. Oh, there's a +pirate crew of them. Some were mixed up in the first Flying Boat +failure. They would all like to see me in Ridgewood Cemetery. I'll fool +them!" + +"You've given me Harry Nichols, Morphy, Morphy's brother, Vogel and +Vogel's friends. That's four and a few outsiders. Can you think of any +more?" + +"Not at present! One of them is responsible for this letter. I want you +to get busy. If you won't take the case, I'll get an agency that will. +There's plenty!" + +"I'll handle it," said Drew, "when it gets to be a case. As it is now, +Mr. Stockbridge----" + +"Buuurrruuurrr! Buuurrruuurrr! Buuurrruuurrr!" + +The Magnate started. He lowered his cigar, balanced it on the edge of +the table, and turned slowly in his chair. He leaned over a smaller +table which was littered with bronze ash-trays and inlaid match-boxes. +He lifted the receiver of the insistent telephone. He pressed this to +his ear. + +Drew watched him narrowly. The terseness of a static charge of high +voltage was in the great library. The face of the Munition Magnate grew +cold with hauteur. It changed over the seconds to venom and red anger. +His neck purpled. The diaphragm of the telephone instrument hissed its +message. His hand clutched the hard-rubber receiver with white +strength. A click followed as the connection was broken. Stockbridge +dropped the receiver upon the hook. He turned slowly and stared at Drew +with eyes that had aged over the moments. Wrinkles shot from their +corners. Sullen light gleamed in their yellow depths. + +"What happened?" questioned Drew half rising from his chair and leaning +over. "Who phoned?" + +The Magnate's chin described an upward arc. His lips grew firm. Bulges +showed at the sides of his jaw. + +"What--who was it?" asked the detective. + +Stockbridge stared at the letter upon the table. His neck changed from +purple to a pasty ochre. A green sheen, like of death, overspread his +crafty features. He was stricken with the clutch of fear. + +Drew waited and thought rapidly. "What happened?" he asked with +persuasion. "Nothing serious--I hope?" + +"Serious," said Stockbridge absently. "Serious!" he snarled. "Yes, it +was serious! It was a death threat! It was what I had expected. It +follows the letter. They--he will get me! He--he----" + +"Who?" asked the detective. + +Drew heard the table creaking as Stockbridge's muscles stiffened--as +the Magnate's hands clutched the edge of the polished surface. + +"Who?" he repeated on the alert for possible clews. + +"Who! I don't know! But they will--he will!" + +"Easy," said Drew. "Take it easy, sir. This is a modern age. We are in +the heart of civilization. Nobody is going to _get_ you! I'll see to +that!" + +"You can't see! This man knows everything. He said that I would be dead +within twelve hours. That I would be in my grave in seventy-two hours. +He mentioned the grave at Green--Ridgewood Cemetery. He gave secret +details of my life which few alone know. Early follies of mine. An +actress. A deal in War Babies and an electrical stock which was hushed +up. I was the silent partner in that. How should this man know all of +these things about me?" + +"Just what did he say?" + +"I've told you! He said enough! He threatened to kill me despite all +the precautions I would take. He said I was marked for a death which +all the police in the world couldn't solve. That I would be killed in +spite of every effort to save me. What is it--poison? Have I already +been given poison?" + +Drew reached across the table and clutched the magnate's left wrist. He +pulled out a flat watch and timed the pulse. "Normal, almost," he said +softly. "You're normal, despite the shock. Your temperature is fair. I +don't think it was a toxin he meant. That deadens a man and brings slow +coma." + +"Well, what did he mean?" The magnate had found his voice and his +old-time nerve. "What would you do in my case?" he said cunningly. + +Drew glanced at the telephone. He raised his brows and swung, +full-staring, upon Stockbridge. His finger pointed between the +money-king's eyes. It was as steady as an automatic revolver. + +"Did you recognize that voice?" he asked sharply. "Tell me the facts. I +can't go ahead unless you do. I must work from facts!" + +"No!" declared Stockbridge. "No, I did not! I never heard it before. +I----" + +"What was it like?" + +"Hollow-whispering--almost feminine in tone. I thought it was a woman +at first. It wasn't, though! It was a man or boy." + +"Have you told me everything?" + +"Yes--except this man or boy--this whispering voice, wound up by +threatening to get my daughter, Loris, as soon as he finished with me. +Said he'd clean up with her!" + +"I'll take the case!" snapped Drew. + + + + +CHAPTER TWO + +"THE MAGPIE" + + +The Munition Magnate thrust a shaking hand toward the detective. "I'm +glad!" he declared raising his voice. "You did well in the Morphy case. +That's the reason I called upon you. Now find the miscreant or +miscreants, who telephoned the cemetery superintendent, and you'll not +be forgotten." + +Drew glanced shrewdly at the 'phone. "May I use it?" he asked briskly. +"I'll try to trace that call." + +Stockbridge moved his chair away from the little table. Drew glided +across the room, pressed the ash-trays and match-boxes to one side, and +picked up the receiver. He worked the hook up and down with his broad +thumb. + +"Hello! Hello!" he repeated clicking the hook. "Hello, central! Hello!" + +He glanced at Stockbridge as he waited. He frowned as he stooped and +spoke more directly into the transmitter. "Hello! Hello!" + +"Something the matter?" asked the Magnate with quick suspicion. "Don't +they answer?" + +"Hello! Hello! I Hello, there!" Drew glared at the transmitter, then +tapped the receiver against the silver-plated cover. "Hello!" he +shouted. "Damn it, Hello!" + +He turned. "No go," he said thoughtfully. "Connection seems to be +broken. I'm talking right out into thin air. Wonder who cut your +wires?" + +Stockbridge bristled. He slid forward in his great chair and stared at +the detective. "They're cut, eh?" he asked. + +Drew set the 'phone on the table and turned. "Looks mighty like it," he +said. His eyes swung over the walls of the splendid room. They rested +upon a high, ebony stand with a belfry from which dangled a gilt spring +suspending an ornate bird cage. Out of this cage, a magpie peered with +beaded eyes. Its tail extended up through the bars like a feather from +a hat. + +"My bird," said Stockbridge. "A tame magpie I brought from Spain. It +talks." + +Drew raised his brows. He continued his search of the library. Its +wealth of books and paintings and antiques almost stunned him. "I'm +looking for another 'phone," he said, lowering his voice to a whisper. +"Have you another 'phone in this house?" + +"Yes. Two more. This is Gramercy Hill 9763. The one in Loris' room is +Gramercy Hill 9764. Another in the butler's pantry, downstairs, is +9765. Perhaps the others are disconnected." + +"We'll see. I want that call traced before it gets cold. I know a wire +chief at Gramercy Hill Exchange. He'll help if I can get him. Have your +butler show me his 'phone. Also, we better get a trouble-hunter, or +report the cut wires. Somebody will pay for this! It's an outrage and a +felony!" + +Stockbridge moved his slippered foot and pressed a button under the +larger table. He waited, then pressed again. His eyes wavered about the +room. They fastened upon the portieres which draped from the pole +across the doorway leading into the hall. His tongue moistened dry lips +as he watched for the butler. + +"I'll 'phone my office," said Drew hurriedly as steps were heard in the +hall. "I'll get up five operatives--no, six--right away. This all may +be a hoax, but I've lived forty-one years too long to overlook a threat +of this kind. Particularly when it concerns a man who has made as many +enemies as you have." + +The butler parted the portieres as Drew ceased speaking. Stockbridge +nodded and indicated that the detective wanted to go downstairs. The +butler led the way to the lower telephone. Into this, Drew spoke +hurriedly and very much to the point. He secured three numbers in rapid +succession. He snapped his orders in a manner to set the cut-glass +tinkling on the pantry shelves. He hung up the receiver, glanced +shrewdly at the servants about, then climbed the stairs like a boy of +twelve. + +"All is set!" he announced to Stockbridge as he entered the library and +crossed to the table. "All moving, now! My wire-chief had gone home. I +got the chief operator. She's going to send the first trouble-man +handy. Delaney will be up from the office with his flying squad. I left +it to him to arrange about tracing the call through a telephone +official. No use telling the chief operator too much. The official will +go right over her head and into the heart of the thing. Now,"--Drew +pulled down the lapels of his black coat and leaned over the Magnate. +"Now," he said with vigor, "now, what about your servants? I had a good +look at some of them. How about that English butler? How long have you +had him?" + +"Ten years! Brought him over, myself. Wife picked the other servants. +They're all old, tried and trusted. I'll answer for them. She died +telling me to take care of them. I don't think her equal lived in +choosing help. It was uncanny!" + +Drew stroked his cropped mustache. "Good!" he said. "That's fine! We'll +start with the supposition that they're _not_ guilty. Are any of them +of German birth?" + +"My valet is part German, but he ran away to avoid their army. He hates +the Junker party. Says 'It is responsible for the War.'" + +"How long have you had him?" + +"Nine years." + +"That should let him out. Well," Drew added with a sweeping glance +about the library, "well, these big windows--how about them?" + +The detective advanced to the front of the room as he asked the +question. "Two," he mused. "Two bay-windows of the superior order. +Curtains very heavy and rich. There's a good catch on this one," he +added springing upon the radiator-box. "And a good catch on this one. +Both catches are closed. Seem to have been closed for some time. Here's +dust. High-class housekeeper, but I've got her here." + +Drew smiled as he ran his fingers over the upper sash. He peered out +into the Avenue with its flowing tide of vehicles. He turned and said +to Stockbridge: + +"Suppose you order your butler or doorman to shut the outside blinds. +It's getting dark and cold. I want to be sure that no one can get +through this way." + +"Good," said Stockbridge reaching for the button with his toe. "Good! +We'll take every precaution. Twelve hours will show the thing one way +or the other. Twelve hours should do it." + +The butler entered bearing a silver tray. He set this on a mahogany +tea-wagon and rolled it to the Magnate's chair. Drew frowned at the +sight of a black bottle and one glass. A signal of understanding had +been sent to the perfect servant. + +Stockbridge moistened his thin lips thirstily. He whispered the +instructions concerning the blinds. The butler withdrew like a shadow +merging into a shadow. Drew shrugged his shoulders and went the round +of the library with the keen, trained scrutiny of a man-hunter and a +modern operative. He paused before a case of morocco-bound books. +"These cases?" he asked. "How about them? What's behind?" + +"Books! Books!" shrilled the magpie. + +Drew raised his brows and swung upon the bird. + +"Books! Books!" repeated the pet. "Books, books, books!" + +"Fine bird," said Drew with thought. "But what is behind the cases, Mr. +Stockbridge? I don't want to move them if the walls are all right." + +A glass clicked against the silver tray as the Magnate answered +hastily: + +"All right! They're all right. I was here when they were filled. I just +ordered so many feet of books. Six hundred feet, I think it was. I +never look at them. All that I ever read is the magazines and the +financial items in the newspapers." + +"The pictures--paintings," Drew said. + +"Pictures! Pictures!" repeated the magpie. + +"Shut up!" snarled Stockbridge. "Keep quiet, Don!" + +The bird ruffled its feathers and leaped to a top perch. It peered from +there at Drew, with its head cocked sideways. + +"How about them?" repeated the detective. + +"I had them hung by my orders," Stockbridge said. "They're all right. +Nothing but a strong wall behind. No need to bother about them." + +"Everything is important," Drew suggested with a slight reproof in his +voice. "Trifles may make for the answer to the riddle." + +"That Corot over there is no trifle. It cost me thirty-five thousand +dollars in France!" + +Drew lifted the lower edge of the painting from the wall. Dust fell. He +pressed his face against the paper and looked behind the canvas. +Letting the frame back he tried the same operation with the other +paintings of size. + +"No secret panel, or anything queer," he said finally as he dusted his +hands. "All's well with the walls. Now the floor. How about trapdoors?" + +"Impossible!" Stockbridge exclaimed. "I'm sure these rugs have been +taken out and cleaned every time I go to my country-place. A trapdoor +would be noticed!" + +"I'm trying to find out," suggested Drew glancing from the bottle to +the purple face of the Magnate. "Please answer me if you want to get +results. I've got to see that no one comes into this library for the +next twelve hours. After that period of time--we can breathe easier." + +"Go on," said Stockbridge feeling the thrust. + +"This door," Drew said. "The door to the hall. Can it be locked +securely?" + +"Yes! It can be locked and bolted from the inside. I often lock myself +in--in----" + +Stockbridge stiffened in his chair. He glanced toward the portieres. He +leaned forward and attempted to shield the view of the quarter-emptied +Bourbon-bottle and the used glass, as a girl in lavender and Irish-lace +swept into the room. + +Drew recognized Loris Stockbridge from newspaper photos. He held his +breath as she glided by him, unseeingly. He touched his mustache and +waited. Her face, framed in close-drawn hair the color of midnight sky, +softened perceptibly as she swished round the great table in the center +of the library and laid an unjeweled hand upon her father's shoulder. + +She turned with a start as she realized that Stockbridge was not alone. +Drew bowed with swift courtesy. + +"Mr. Drew," said the Magnate. "Mr. Drew, my daughter, Loris." + +Again the detective bowed. He met her level glance with a smile in his +brown eyes. She answered it and leaned over her father's shoulder. Drew +wheeled and fell to studying the titles on the books. He moved to the +magpie's cage. He extended one finger. The bird fluttered and sprang +from perch to perch. + +Drew thrust his hands into his pockets. He heard Loris speaking in +terse, throaty tones to her father. He could not well avoid catching +the tenor of their conversation. It concerned the letter from the +cemetery and the threat of death within twelve hours, which the Magnate +repeated to her with a softness in his aged voice. + +A gushing torrent of unbridled emotion poured down upon his gray head. +The girl paced the floor between the chair and the table. She fell to +her knees with swift grace. + +"Be careful, father," she sobbed. "You must be so careful. Remember +you're all that I have, now. That letter and that telephone call means +that somebody is planning to destroy you. Oh, father, be careful. What +would happen if you were taken away from me?" + +"You'd marry that cad--Nichols!" blurted Stockbridge. "I'm the one +thing that stands in his way. You'd marry him--wouldn't you?" + +The girl rose proudly. Drew, from the shadow outside the rose-light, +studied the slender figure crowned with a close-drawn turban of +blue-black hair. His eyes ranged down to her slipper heels. They lifted +again. He stroked his chin as he waited for her answer. It came +truthfully enough and with high spirit. + +"Yes, I'll marry him some day. I want your permission, but with it or +without it, father, I am going to marry him. He's a captain in the +Army. Doesn't that prove he is not all the things you said he was?" + +"Good girl," said Drew in whispered admiration. + +"It proves nothing!" exclaimed Stockbridge stiffening in his chair and +half rising. "He's a cad and an ass under all his uniform. He's too +poor to be considered for one moment. I want my daughter to marry----" + +"Whom she pleases," said Loris. "Harry may be poor, but he's not too +proud to fight!" + +"Bah! They get those uniforms so the girls will notice them. What does +he know about war?" + +"He's been at Plattsburg for three months. He's in town on furlough. +He's helping us with Red Cross work. Isn't that noble!" + +"That part's all right," said the Magnate. "I want you to keep him from +me, that's all. I believe he's half German!" + +"He's not! Harry is all-American. His mother was born of German parents +in this country. His father was Canadian. You've heard of the Nichols +who built part of the Grand Trunk Railroad. Was he German?" + +Stockbridge paled under the torrent which gushed from the girl's lips. + +"Well, all right," he said resignedly. "Don't bring him here or allow +him to call. I've too much to think about to worry over Harry Nichols. +You better go to your room and think things over." + +Loris glanced at her wrist-watch. She leaned with quick motion and +kissed her father on the forehead. She turned at the portieres and +threw back her head. + +"Good-by, Mr. Drew," she said prettily. "I hope that you have not been +annoyed." + +The detective, naturally quick at answering, found his tongue tied in +his mouth. He stammered a reply, which was too late. Loris swished +through the curtains, leaving the room empty for her passing. + +"A mighty fine girl," was Drew's whispered comment. "They don't often +come like that. She's very high class. She's got spirit. I'd hate to +snatch a delusion from that young lady--Harry Nichols, for instance." + +"Come here!" broke in Stockbridge. + +Drew crossed the rugs. He stood by the magnate's side. He watched him +pour out a half-glass of Bourbon and take the whisky neat. He frowned. +"Well?" he asked. + +"Not a word from your men or the telephone company?" asked Stockbridge, +wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. "That's queer, isn't it?" + +Drew took out his watch. He replaced it after a glance at the dial. His +eyes wandered to a little Sevres clock on a book-case. "It's time for +both," he said. "It's----" + +"There's somebody now--go see," Stockbridge whispered tersely. +"Somebody is in the hallway." + +The portieres parted and revealed the beef-red face of the English +butler. He advanced a step. + +"The trouble-man from the telephone company is 'ere, sir," he said. +"'E's 'ere! 'E's been hover the junctions in the halley, sir. 'E's +looked at the junction-box. 'E says, sir, there's no trouble there. 'E +says 'it must be in 'ere, sir.'" + +"In 'ere, sir," repeated the magpie with a loud squawking and rustle of +wings. "Junction-box! Junction-box!" it cried with its head through the +gilded bars. + +"Shut up, Don!" ordered Stockbridge. "Be a good bird," he added +sharply. "Now, Straker, you may show the trouble-hunter up." + +"Trouble-hunter! Trouble-hunter!" echoed the magpie. + +Drew, somewhat amused, thrust his hands in the pockets of his coat and +eyed the opening between the curtains. A click of tools sounded +metallically. A shambling step was in the hallway. + +"This woiy," said the butler in a superior tone. "Right this woiy, +you!" + +The portieres parted. A slouching figure, with a greasy cap drawn far +down over the eyes, entered the library with a lineman's satchel on his +hip. He swung the strap from his shoulder, glanced at Stockbridge and +then at the detective. He dropped the satchel to the floor and +scratched his head. + +"Take a look at this 'phone," said Drew. "Go over the wires. Look for +any cuts. The trouble ought not to be in here." + +Stockbridge rose and made room for the lineman, who lifted the satchel +and strode to the 'phone. He dropped to one knee by the little table. +He fished forth a testing-set from his shirt. It was bound with two +leads of cotton-insulated wire. + +"I'll test here," he suggested, clamping a set of claws into the wires +which came through the molding and entered the ringing-box. + +"Hello!" he said. "Hello, this you, Saidee? Say, Saidee, give me +Franklin Official, seventeen. Yes ... all right! Hello! This you, +Tupper? Say, Tupper, I went over the junction-box in the alley back of +the house. Everything O. K. there. I'll go over the leads in the house. +Loose connection somewhere, I guess." + +A clicking of tools followed as the lineman selected a pair of pliers. +They rattled over the binding-posts at the receiver. They tightened the +connections. He went over the transmitter, and then every inch of the +exposed wiring. He removed the cover of the ringing-box and examined +the connections. Replacing this cover, he rose with a puzzled +expression. + +"All right," he said to Stockbridge, who was standing with his back +turned. "It's all right here, sir. I don't find a thing. See--it's all +right." + +The trouble-hunter lifted the receiver from the hook. "Hello," he said +in a low voice. "Hello, Saidee. Say, Saidee, what number is this on +your board?" + +The lineman glanced around the room. His eyes widened. He whistled with +naive admiration. "Hello," he said softly. "Yes ... Gramercy Hill 9763. +That's right. O.K. Tell Franklin Official--tell Tupper that I took +forty minutes on the job. Forty minutes at time and a half. Don't +forget that. Yes ... bridle--everything, all right, Saidee. See you +later." + +The trouble-hunter reached for his satchel. He hitched it over his +shoulder. + +"Hold on!" said Drew. "What _was_ the trouble? Why couldn't we get +Central?" + +"You can search me--sir. It wasn't in this room, mister. That's a +Western-Union cinch!" + +"Where was it?" + +"I don't know." + +"How about the junction-box in the alley? Could it have been there?" + +"Well it could--come to think of it. I scraped an' cleaned th' +connections to make sure. They're all right now." + +"Did you see anybody about?" + +The lineman hitched up the satchel and scratched his ear. "Seems to me, +I did. A fellow climbed over the fence from the back yard of this house +just as I swings in from the side street. It was snowin' a bit an' I +couldn't see very well." + +"What kind of looking fellow?" snapped Drew with awakened interest. +"German?" + +"You took th' very words right out of my mouth," said the +trouble-hunter. "He looked like a German." + +"Describe him! Tall, fat or small?" + +"I wasn't near enough to notice for sure. Tall, I think. He went out +the alley and turned toward Fifth Avenue." + +"Could he have called us up from that junction-box?" + +"Sure--if he had a set of testers like this." The lineman tapped his +shirt with his left hand. "He could have talked with you, but he +couldn't ring your bell without a magneto or an alternating current of +some kind." + +"Could he have cut the wires and connected them again without Central +noticing anything out of the ordinary?" + +"He might. But who would do that, sir?" + +"That's all!" said Drew in dismissal. "Here's a dollar. Keep still +about your visit here. We may want you later." + +"Want you later," repeated the magpie. + +Drew turned toward Stockbridge as the lineman shuffled through the +portieres. "Queer," he said. "Tall fellow, eh! That's the man who cut +in and threatened you. We'll get him! I'll go out and see if Delaney +has arrived. Two hours of the twelve have passed. Ten more should see +you safely out of it." + + + + +CHAPTER THREE + +"THE MAN IN OLIVE-DRAB" + + +Triggy Drew stood on the marble steps of the Stockbridge mansion. The +butler had just helped him on with his coat. The door had closed +softly. The outer air gripped with cold that crackled. A soft snow was +falling upon the city. It blurred the view of the Avenue, as seen to +north and south. It wound the opposite buildings with a shroud of +winter. + +The detective squared his shoulders, thrust his hands in his pockets +for warmth, and hurried out between the iron-grilled gates, which stood +slightly ajar. He hesitated a moment on the sidewalk. Again he glanced +up and down the Avenue. The soft purring of a motor sounded. A taxi +churned through the snow. It came to a slow stop at the opposite curb. +The glow from an overhead arc showed that this taxi was crammed black +with men. + +"That's Delaney and his squad," said the detective turning up his +collar. "He's late." + +Drew crossed the Avenue on a long diagonal. He eyed the alert +chauffeur. He rounded the taxi and jerked open its door. The orders he +whispered to the squad of operatives were terse and to the point. + +"Keep Stockbridge's block covered," he said. "Watch all four corners. +Two of you get into the alley, back of the house, and climb the fence. +Keep your eyes on the junction-box and the telephone wires. Don't let +anybody touch them. All out, now. It's a big job with double-pay, men!" + +The cramped operatives climbed out and stood on the sidewalk. They +glanced from Drew to the towering spires of the Stockbridge mansion. +Their eyes grew hard with calculation. + +"She's big," repeated Drew. "You know who lives there? He's been +threatened twice. Somebody gave him twelve hours to live. Two of the +twelve are gone. It's up to us to see that nothing happens in the next +ten." + +Delaney touched his hat. "All right, Chief," he said. "We'll see. I'll +answer for the boys I brought. I'll get rid of this taxi." The +operative turned toward the driver. + +"Keep it around the corner on the side street," Drew ordered. "Have him +turn and head this way. We can't tell what minute we will need him." + +Delaney gave the order. He paired off the operatives and sent them +hurrying through the snow. Drew noticed that he had brought six men for +the assignment. + +"Good," he said as the last operative disappeared. "Six is better than +five. This thing is widening out. I wouldn't wonder if we needed more, +before the night passes." + +"What's coming off?" asked Delaney with an Irish grin. "Another stock +scandal like the Flying Boat one?" + +"An echo of it--perhaps," said Drew. "It's dog eat dog, I guess. +Stockbridge is no saint. Some man with a whispering--consumptive voice +has 'phoned him the news that he was going to die before daylight. I +don't think he is. Not if I can help it." + +"Who did he rob this time--the old devil!" + +"He's retired. It's a case, perhaps, of thieves falling out in high +places. Remember how Stockbridge beat Morphy to the District Attorney +and told all he knew, and went before the Grand Jury? Morphy may be +behind this threat-by-wire." + +"Morphy's behind bars, Chief!" + +"I know that. He's always dangerous, though." + +"Another old devil," said Delaney thrashing his arms. "I can see him +now, Chief, in his big automobile. A husky man with a leather coat and +cap. And always a woman by his side, Chief. A different woman, every +time!" + +"He fell a long way, Delaney. Come on. We'll forget Morphy for a while. +Stockbridge is alone. He is in danger." + +Drew clutched the operative's arm and motioned across the street. They +plunged through the snow with heads down. They entered the iron-grilled +gate. Drew touched a button set in the stone of the doorway. He +repeated the signal. + +The door opened to a crack. A chain rattled. A face blotted out the +inner light of the mansion. + +"All right," said Drew. "All right, butler. This is one of my +operatives. Let us in." + +The butler led the way through the hall of old masters, after taking +the detectives' coats and hats. He parted the curtains and announced +the operatives. Drew pressed Delaney into the library. + +Stockbridge sat in the same position between the tables. The rose-light +from the ornate lamp brought out deep lines which transversed his +yellow face. Fear gave way to a mumbling satisfaction as he stared at +the two resolute detectives who had come to guard him. He rested his +eyes upon Delaney. His brows raised in inquiry. + +"This is Delaney," said Drew. "He's the man who brought back Morphy +from Hartford. He's true blue. Delaney, this is your case as well as +mine. Your old prisoner may be involved." + +"Morphy ain't in it, Chief. He's locked up tighter than the +Sub-Treasury's strong-box. It's some one else." + +"What did you get on the telephone call? The call I had you trace +through Spencer Ott, the Chief Electrician?" + +"Nothing, as yet! I waited. That's what kept me so long." Delaney +glanced at his watch. + +"He'll 'phone later, I guess," said Drew. "Now," he added turning +toward Stockbridge. "Now, let's cover everything in this house. What +time was it, Delaney?" + +"Nine forty-eight, when I looked, Chief." + +"That's early. Suppose you allow a half hour for a search of the upper +house. Take that time and go over everything. Pay particular attention +to Mr. Stockbridge's rooms. Look at the windows. See that they are +locked. See that there are no places where a man could be hidden. +You'll permit Delaney to do this, Mr. Stockbridge?" + +The Munition Magnate nodded. He kept his eyes on Drew, who still faced +him. "Do you think it is necessary?" he asked. "I'll answer for my +servants." + +"We must suspect everybody," Drew said. "Go on, Delaney. Find the +butler and let him show you around. I've searched in here." + +Delaney started toward the portieres as Stockbridge reached down and +pressed the floor-button with his finger. + +"Just a moment," said Drew with afterthought. "You better knock on Miss +Stockbridge's door and ask permission to go through her suite. There's +just a chance that you might see something." + +"Might see something!" shrilled the magpie. + +Delaney turned with a startled half-oath. "Wot's that?" he asked, +aggressively clenching his huge fists. + +"Might be something!" chortled the magpie. + +"Go on," Drew laughed. "That's only a magpie." + +"Looks like a crow, Chief. It sure startled me. I thought we had the +villain right here." + +Drew waited. Delaney--with a last glance toward the bird-cage--followed +the butler to the upper floors of the mansion. Drew opened the letter +and studied it. He examined the postmark. He heard, as he was replacing +the paper in the envelope, the click of the glass against the bottle at +Stockbridge's side. There followed a dry chuckle of inner satisfaction. +A match was struck. Cigar smoke wreathed under the rose-light and +floated toward a high radiator which was over the book-cases. Drew went +over to these and glanced upward. The gilt-grilled ventilator, through +which the smoke passed, was narrow and set within the wallplaster. It +showed no sign of marks at its edge. It was the only opening, save the +door and the two great windows at the front, which led from or into the +library. + +He returned to the center of the library. A swishing sounded. Loris, +with eyes aflame, glided into the room. The curtains dropped behind her +with soft rustling. She glanced from Drew to her father. She stamped +her slippered foot upon the thick pile of the rug before the doorway. + +"By what right?" she said to Drew. "By whose orders have you sent that +awful man to my rooms?" + +Drew flushed beneath the olive of his skin. + +"_I_ sent him," he admitted guiltily. "I never thought you would be +offended, Miss Stockbridge." + +"I am--greatly so! Do you mistrust me?" + +"Miss Stockbridge," Drew hastened to say with soft apology. "Miss +Loris--that thought never entered my mind. It never did! I'll have Mr. +Delaney out, right away. He should not have gone in without your +permission. I told him to knock and ask you." + +"My maid let him in. I--I----" + +Drew studied her gown. It had been changed. The Irish lace and the +lavender one had been replaced by an Oxford-gray tailor-made suit which +fitted her slender, elegant form like a close glove. Her slippers were +topped with fawn-hued spats. One ring was on her finger. It was a +solitaire of price. It gleamed and flashed in the rose-light as she +raised her hand to her hair. + +"I'll have Delaney right out," repeated Drew, bowing and starting for +the doorway. + +"No!" + +Drew paused. He turned. The magnate towered over the table. His eyes +were blood-shot and glazed with resolve. + +"No!" he declared. "No, you'll not have him out! Let him do his duty! +Loris, go upstairs!" + +"But, father----" + +"Go--up--stairs!" + +The girl flushed. Scarlet ripples rose from her young breast. Her +cheeks crimsoned into two burning spots. She wheeled, gathered up her +skirt, and glided swiftly through the portieres which dropped behind +her like a curtain of a stage. + +"Go--up--stairs," quoted the magpie greatly excited. + +Drew retained the vision of Loris long after her footsteps had ceased +to sound in the hallway. He grew thoughtful as he waited. There were +details to the case which already caused him concern. It was evident +that the girl was tremendously high-spirited and willful. Her obedience +to her father's demand had only been after a struggle with her +turbulent nature. She had given in to him, but friction was there which +might cause trouble at a future hour. + +Delaney parted the portieres, finally. He strode into the library with +a flushed face. He lifted one brow as he jerked his head upward in a +mute signal to Drew. + +"I guess it's all O. K.," he blurted swinging toward Stockbridge and +eyeing the bottle beside the telephone. "O. K. upstairs. I searched +most everything--posted a valet at the master's suite and took a look +into Miss Stockbridge's rooms. They seem all right. I guess they're all +right," he added with candor, which Drew understood referred to the +girl and her outburst in her boudoir. + +"Good," Drew said closing his lips. "That's good. Now, Mr. +Stockbridge," he added, "there will be eight of us on the outside of +this house. You have your trusted servants inside. There's three +telephones in good order, thanks to the trouble-man. There's the entire +New York Police and Detective Departments to back us up. There should +be no trouble." + +The Magnate blinked beneath the cone of rose-light. He wet his dry +lips. He rubbed his scaly hands. "Any orders to me?" he asked +determinedly. "What shall I do?" + +"You lock this library door when Delaney and I go out. Lock it and bolt +it securely. Don't take a particle of food. Don't drink any water. Try +to get along to-night without sampling anything." + +Stockbridge reached for the bottle of Bourbon. He held it up to the +light. It was half full. "All right," said he. "I might finish part of +this--that's all." + +Drew glanced at Delaney. "That'll be all right," he said turning. "That +bottle's been tested. You might let this officer try a little of it. +Nothing like being sure, you know." + +Delaney was willing. The drink he poured, after the butler brought a +clean glass, would have cost him considerable money in war time. He +upended it neat. He smiled as one hand rested upon his chest. "Fine!" +he said with sincerity. "There's nothin' th' matter with that!" + +Drew turned toward the portieres, where, between, the butler waited. +"We'll go now," he said. "Remember--lock and bolt this door. Instruct +your man to stay outside and not to leave it under any circumstances. +When you go up to your bedroom, have him go with you. Then lock the +upstairs door and let your valet sleep across the threshold. You can +have a mattress moved for that purpose. I'll come in--first thing in +the morning. Good night, sir!" + +"Good night," repeated Stockbridge rising from his chair and leaning +his hands upon the polished surface of the table. "Good night to both +of you!" + +Drew glanced back as the butler pressed in the curtains and started +closing the hardwood door. The Magnate still stood erect under the rich +glow from the overhead cone. His eyes were slit-lidded and defiant. He +glared about the room like an aged lion in a jungle-glade. He started +around the table. + +The door closed. Drew waited in the hallway. He heard the lock snap. +The bolt shot home. Stockbridge was alone in a sealed room. + +"Watch this door!" ordered Drew clutching the butler's purple sleeve. +"Watch it like a cat. Stay right near it under any and all +circumstances. Don't go away from it. It may mean life or death to your +master." + +"I'll stoiy right 'ere, sir." + +"See that you do," cautioned the Detective. "See that you do." + +Delaney found the hats and coats in the foyer. These they donned, +opened the outer door, and stepped into the night with jaws squared and +hands thrust deep in their pockets. + +They crossed the snow-mantled Avenue upon a long diagonal which brought +them to the up-town corner and the waiting taxi, whose engine was +softly purring beneath its hooded bonnet. + +The driver was asleep. He woke as Drew laid a hand on his arm. + +"Seen anything?" asked the Detective. + +"Nothin', boss, but snow. Nothin' at all," he yawned. + +Delaney glanced about. He opened the taxi door on the street side and +lunged inward with a sigh of relief. Drew followed and pulled the door +shut. + +"Where's the bunch?" he asked. "Just how did you post them?" + +"Flood's with the fixed-post cop on the Avenue. He's down a block. +Flynn and Cassady are in the alley--in the yard, I mean. They're +watching the junction-box and the wires. Joe and O'Toole went east. +Harrigan is planted across the street. That's him between the two +buildings. See him?" + +Drew rubbed the rear glass of the taxi. He pressed his nose against +this. A blurred form, almost obliterated by falling snow, showed where +the operative was guarding the mansion. + +Delaney, who was watching out through another window, suddenly clutched +Drew by the arm. "Look!" he exclaimed. "Look, Chief! Over toward the +big house!" + +The Detective drew back from his study of Harrigan. He turned on the +seat and followed Delaney's pointing finger. He clamped his jaw shut +with a click of strong teeth. + +"Somebody's coming out of Stockbridge's," said the operative. + +"Quek!" signaled Drew. "Watch, closely," he added in a whisper. + +A girl came through the doorway and opened the iron-grilled gates. She +paused and glanced north and south through the curtain of down-falling +snow. She turned with resolution and hurried along the east side of the +Avenue. She was at the corner opposite the taxi, when Drew reached and +opened the door with sly fingers. + +"Tail her," he ordered. "Right after her, Delaney. I'd know that little +lady in a million." + +"Who is she, Chief?" + +"Loris Stockbridge!" + +"Sure?" + +"Yes! Right after her! There--she turned east. See her white spats? See +her furs? Some queen to be out a night like this. Don't let her get too +far ahead of you. That's right, Delaney!" + +The operative sprang to the curb. He rounded the hood of the taxi. He +slouched along the pavement to the corner, waited for the fraction of a +minute until a limousine passed, then hurried over the Avenue. He +disappeared into the canyon whose walls were towering apartments and +whose end was marked by a row of soft arcs across which, snow falling +from housetops, sparkled in the night like diamonds beyond price. + +The Avenue churned with returning theater-parties and night-hawk cabs. +The roar of the city came to the waiting Detective's ears like a giant +turning in his first sleep. The sifting snow sanded against the windows +of the taxi. The purring motor missed sparking now and then. It shook +the cab as it resumed its revolving with a sputter and a cough in the +muffler. The driver huddled deeper in his sheep-skin coat collar. He +snored in synchronism with the engine. + +Drew rubbed the glass before him and studied the aspect with +close-lidded intentness. He marked the shut gates of the Mansion down +the Avenue. He saw that the lights from the inner globes had been +extinguished. He counted the staring windows. His eyes lowered to the +soft rose-glow which streamed out through the shut blinds of the +library. Snow was on the slats and sills. + +A swift crunch of heavy shoes at the side of the taxi--the turning of +the door-lock--the burly form in black that climbed in, announced +Delaney. + +"All right, Chief!" he said somewhat out of breath. "All right--move +over. Here she comes back!" + +Drew rubbed a frosted pane with his elbow. A blurred form--close to the +sheltering wall of the side street--revealed itself into Loris +Stockbridge. She turned the corner. She glanced back over her sabled +shoulder. She pressed her gloved hands deep within her muff and almost +ran for the iron-grilled gates of the mansion. + +"She connected with a blonde lad in olive-drab uniform!" said Delaney. +"He gave her something that looked to me like a revolver. Wot d'ye make +out-a that, Chief?" + + + + +CHAPTER FOUR + +"THE MURDER" + + +Triggy Drew had no good answer for Delaney's question concerning the +revolver. The matter was important in view of the threat aimed toward +Stockbridge. Why Loris should obtain a gun from a rendezvous in a +drug-store was more than the Detective could fathom. He turned to +Delaney. + +"Explain yourself!" he snapped, gripping the operative by the sleeve. +"Make yourself clear! We have no time to waste in this matter!" + +Delaney gulped and whispered. "It's this way. I follows the girl until +she turns around the corner where there is an all-night drug-store. She +was in a telephone-booth when I came up and looked through the window. +She was trying to get a number. While she's trying, a taxi rushes up +and out jumps a lad in a long benny. He pays the driver with a bill and +hurries past me and into the drug-store. I gets a good look at him. +He's about twenty-three years old, blonde hair and tall----" + +"Tall?" + +"He was five feet eleven, Chief. I'd say that to be safe. The uniform +he wore under the benny was olive-drab with bars on his shoulder. He +took the overcoat off--afterwards." + +"How many bars?" + +"Two, Chief." + +"That's good!" exclaimed Drew with sudden vigor. "Good!" + +"The girl," went on Delaney, "was 'phoning for him. She dropped the +receiver when she heard him come in. She had the party she +wanted--right there. Good deduction--that is!" + +The Detective snorted. "Go on," he said with a faint frown. + +"Sure it was! Well, I moves over and starts puttin' a penny in the +slot-machine outside the drug-store. The machine didn't work very well +on account of the snow. I'm a long time gettin' my piece of +chewin'-gum. I sees them talking in the drug-store. His coat is off +'cause it's warm inside. He had an officer's uniform on." + +"One bar or two?" + +"Two bars on his shoulder, Chief." + +"Captain, then. Go on." + +"He's a tall lad with thick lips and wide-blue eyes. He's straight as a +pike-staff and good lookin'--for a blonde." + +"Looks German?" + +"Not so I could notice! Seemed to be a bit of a swell. Had gloves and a +high-class wrist watch. I hate them things." + +Drew smiled. "Hurry," he said. "Don't take too long. What happened? +What about the smoke-wagon?" + +"I'm comin' to it, Chief. They moves over to the drug-case. They chins +some more. Then he blows her to a soda--a cherry sundae." + +Drew rubbed the glass at his side and started out. He swept the mansion +with swift-running eyes. He turned. + +"They were sweet--them two," went on Delaney with thought. "I deducts +they'd known each other a long while." + +"Quit your deducting. Get to facts!" + +"Well, Chief, he ups and gives the drug-store the once over with sharp +looks. Then he handed her a little, flat box which she pops into her +muff--quick as any shop-hister. It was as quick as that!" + +"How do you know it was a revolver?" + +"By what followed, Chief." + +"What followed?" + +"Her hand creeps into the muff. It works around while the clerk is +mixin' the sundae. When the clerk's back is turned, out comes the hilt +of a nice, little gat with ivory trimmin's. It's one of them lovely +watch-charm affairs--all polished up without a knock-out punch." + +"A twenty-two?" + +"About that. It's the caliber them actresses carry in their stockings. +It might kill, though, at short range." + +"Go on, Delaney. Tell me what happened then?" + +"I gets my chewin'-gum, Chief. I backs to the curb. They finish their +sundae. I'm across the street when the lad goose-steps out of the +drug-store--alone. O'Toole was talking with the fixed-post cop and a +Central Office man half-way down the block. They gets my office when I +pulls out my handkerchief. The C. O. dick covers the corner. O'Toole +falls in behind the lad in the fur benny as he passes him, with collar +turned up and leggins working at a double-time through the snow." + +"That's good! O'Toole will put him to bed." + +"Sure, Chief. Leave it to O'Toole. He never lost a tail yet. He'll +follow that lad to France--unless you call him off." + +Drew polished the glass and strained his eyes in the direction of +Stockbridge's mansion. The Avenue had quieted over the hour after +midnight. A few belated pedestrians, muffled to the brows, glanced at +the waiting taxi with curiosity. They did not stop, however. + +Delaney drew out his watch and studied its dial by aid of the light +which streamed from a corner arc. He replaced the watch. + +"Twelve-forty-five," he announced. "Wish I'd brought a pint along. I +would have, if the dame hadn't come out of the drug-store so quick." + +"Did she buy anything--or do anything, after the officer left her?" + +"No! Just waited a second, then came sailin' out without a smile. Had +her hands crammed in her muff. That's where the revolver was. Bet it +was loaded." + +"More deduction," said Drew. "Don't jump at conclusions, Delaney. Get +facts and work from them. Get----" + +The Detective's voice trailed into silence. He reached swiftly and +wiped his hand over the frosted pane. He pressed his nose against the +glass until it became white with cold. He jerked back his head. + +"Quek!" he signaled from deep down in his throat. "Quek, Delaney! Open +the door. Somebody is coming out of the house!" + +Delaney twisted the handle. A breath of stinging air swept into the +taxi's heated space. Snow followed and drifted across the detectives' +knees. Both men strained in one position. Their eyes burned as they +waited with grim-set lips. + +A light shone from the lower entrance of the mansion. Its oblong +brought out in bold-relief the details of the iron-grilled gates. +Across this fine snow sifted. A man emerged. He closed the door. He +opened the gates and staggered toward the Avenue's curb. He stood, +bare-headed in the night. His chin swung north and south with helpless +motion. He fixed his eyes upon the waiting taxi, with a start of +recognition. He came over the surface of the Avenue with faltering, +bewildered steps. + +"The butler!" snapped Drew. "That's Stockbridge's butler! What's +happened?" + +"God only knows!" exclaimed Delaney. + +Drew climbed over the operative and sprang to the curb. He charged +around the rear of the taxi and brought up with a jerk before the +startled servant. + +"What is it?" he asked sharply. + +The butler stammered an incoherent answer. His eyes wavered from the +taxi to the mansion--then back again. They gripped to a dead-lock with +the detective's own. + +"What happened?" exclaimed Drew. + +"I don't know, sir. I don't know----" + +"Keep cool! Answer me!" The Detective clutched the butler's shoulder +with a vise-grip. + +"Answer me," he repeated. "What happened? What is the matter--over +there?" + +"I don't----" + +"None of that! Answer! Answer!" + +"The telephone company, sir. The telephone people rang me ... they rang +me hup hon the downstairs 'phone, sir. They said ... she said ... the +chief-loidy said for me to 'ang the receiver hup hon the Gramercy 'ill +'ook, sir. The 9763 one, sir." + +"Which one is that--the library?" + +"It his, sir!" + +"Go on! Go on! Go on!" + +"I goes back where I 'ad left the second-man, sir, by the door, sir, as +you'd ordered, sir. I knocks 'ard on the door." + +"Yes! Yes!" said Drew, feeling Delaney's hot breath over his shoulder. +"Yes! Go on!" + +"I knocks, sir. I pounds 'ard. I 'ammers and 'ammers hon the wood, sir. +'E don't answer--'e don't." + +Drew's face grew stern. "Well?" he asked still holding the butler's +eyes. "Well--what then?" + +"I knocks some 'arder. Then the second-man, 'e knocks. 'E 'its the door +with 'is 'eel, sir!" + +"Come on!" said Drew, turning and clasping Delaney's sleeve. "Come +on--something _is_ wrong!" + +The detective swept the Avenue with a sharp glance as he hurried across +the wheel-churned ice and snow. He signaled to Harrigan by drawing a +handkerchief. That operative detached himself from the shadow between +the two houses and moved toward the corner. He stood there on guard as +Drew hurried through the iron-grilled gates and thrust his knee against +the door. It opened. Delaney and the butler crowded in. They mounted +the inner stairs on tiptoes. Drew's hand went behind him in warning. He +turned at the top of the landing. The second-man was standing before +the library door with folded arms and a watchdog expression on his +cockney face. He remained in that position as Drew glided to his side. + +"Hear anything?" asked the detective. + +"Never a word, sir. Hit's blym quiet hin there. Hi think 'e's 'ad +something 'appen, sir. 'E never acted like that--before, sir. Sometimes +'e sleeps, but 'e always wakes hup when the walley comes after 'im, +sir." + +"'E does," echoed the butler with chattering teeth. + +"Are you sure you tried to unlock this door?" queried Drew, twisting +the knob. "Have you tried the outer lock? You might have shot the bolt +in your excitement." + +"The key to the houter lock, sir, is hinside!" + +"It is!" snapped Drew, pressing against the panel as he listened close +up to the chamfering. "It is, eh? That's funny." + +"'E put hit there, sir. The master did, sir!" + +Drew did not dwell further on this. He stared at Delaney, with unseeing +eyes. He bent and listened for a second time. He stiffened suddenly. He +jerked back. + +"Listen," he whispered tersely. "Everybody listen. What's that noise +inside? Hear it? Hear it, Delaney?" + +The operative dropped to his knees and pressed his ear to a faint line +of light below the door. He rose, dusting his knees. He swore audibly. + +"What is it?" asked Drew. + +"Sounds like the crow, Chief." + +"Stockbridge's magpie?" + +"Something like that." + +The Detective laid his ear flat against the key-hole. His face hardened +as he waited. He lifted his head and pointed with a steady finger. +"Listen!" he commanded. "There--listen. That's no magpie!" + +_A low whine like the howl of a wild thing rose to a reed note of +moribund terror. It died; then resumed its shrieking. It leaped the +octaves from no note to a blare of a soul in agony. Suddenly it struck +down the tone scale with descending steps of mocking laughter._ + +"Look out!" shouted Drew, bending his knees and gliding back to the +wall of the hallway. "Look out!" he repeated. + +"What are you goin' to do?" asked Delaney huskily. + +"Do? I'm going to break the door down! Look out!" + +The detective braced himself against the wall. He lunged forward and +crashed against the dark panel near the lock and bolt, with the energy +of a college fullback. He backed away and repeated the smashing blow. + +"Hold on, Chief," Delaney said. "That's no use. The door is two inches +thick. I had a good look at it. Wait!" + +Drew rubbed his right shoulder as Delaney turned toward the white-faced +butler. + +"You get an ax!" he ordered. "Beat it, and get a big ax, quick!" + +"The axes are in the furnace room, sir." + +"Get one! Bring it right up, you. Hurry now!" + +The operative turned toward Drew. "The only way, Chief," he explained. +"I've been in too many of Big Bill Devery's raids not to know how to +break down a strong door. I'm the man who took Honest John Kelsey's +house apart for him. It was built like a British tank." + +The puffing butler appeared with a fire ax. He handed it to Delaney, +who eyed the edge with concern. + +"Not sharp," he said, "but it'll do, at a pinch. Look out--everybody!" + +Delaney waved the servants away. He moistened his broad palms. He swung +the ax and crashed its weight into the panel nearest the lock. He +followed this blow with another. He panted as he rained swinging +slashes at the dark wood. It splintered. An opening was made. This +opening was enlarged by short-arm jabs until Drew laid a hand on +Delaney's shoulder and called a halt. "Let me see," he said bending +down. + +He straightened. He enlarged the chopped place with his fingers. He +ripped off the splinters until there was room for a palm to be +inserted. Delaney, dropping the ax upon the hall-rug, thrust through +his arm to the elbow. He bent his knee as he strained. His face screwed +into a knot. + +"Is the key there?" asked Drew. + +"Ye--s. I turned it. All the way, Chief. Here's the bolt. Both were +locked tight. Both locked, on the inside of the library." + +"Remember that!" snapped Drew, squaring his shoulders. "Everybody +remember that. It may be important!" + +Drew pressed Delaney aside. He seized the gold knob and turned it +slowly. He waited for a moment. Nothing sounded save the loud breathing +of the butler and the other servants who were crowded in the hall. + +The detective jerked open the splintered door. He hesitated and +listened. He pressed aside the portieres with his left hand as his +right fingers coiled over the ugly hilt of a police regulation .44. He +advanced into the library, foot by foot. His fingers still coiled the +gun's butt. He stood rigid as he reached the fringe of the splendid rug +which was under the great table. His sweeping, close-lidded eyes took +in the details of the room. He saw the magpie in its cage. The bird's +feathers were ruffled. Its head darted in and out the bars with great +excitement. + +Drew frowned as he noticed a wreath of pale-blue smoke curling under +the dome of the rose-light. He sniffed the air with a shrewd intake. A +powder explosion of some kind had left a trace. The air, so close and +warm, was filled with acrid menace. + +The detective removed his hand from the revolver's butt and waved it +behind him as a signal to Delaney and the servants to stay where they +were. He took one step forward. The white writing paper and envelope +from the cemetery company were upon the table. The stump of a +half-smoked cigar draped over this table's edge like a gun on a +parapet. It was cold and without ash. + +The smaller of the two tables was overturned. The whisky bottle and +glass lay at the edge of the rug nearest the wall. The telephone +transmitter and receiver were upon the hardwood floor, where they had +fallen with the butts of two Havana cigars and the ash trays and match +boxes. + +Stockbridge was crumpled into a twisted knot against the rich +wainscoting. His head was half under his left shoulder. His iron-gray +hair was singed black over the left ear. + +Drew leaned with one hand on the corner of the table and peered +downward. He called the magnate's name. He repeated it. He turned +toward the doorway. His hand raised. His finger pressed against his +lips. + +"Stockbridge is dead," he told Delaney, who glided to his side. "He is +dead. He was shot to death in this sealed room. I wonder who did it?" + +"Ah, Sing!" shrieked the magpie. "Ah, Sing! Ah, Sing!" + + + + +CHAPTER FIVE + +"THE FIRST CLEWS" + + +The magpie's words, repeated over and over as Drew and Delaney stood in +the room of death, struck both men as a possible clew. It was more than +likely that the murderer or the murdered man had shouted something, the +moment the shot was fired. This exclamation might have been, "Ah, +Sing!" The bird had repeated something it had memorized, or retained in +its shallow brain. + +"Ah, Sing!" suggested Drew, keenly on the alert. "Ah, Sing, eh? Never +forget that! We may need it--later." + +"Sounds like a Chinaman," said the operative. "Stockbridge was shot by +a Chink!" + +"Get busy! Go over the room and look for a possible hiding place. You, +butler, stand across that doorway! Don't move from there!" Drew wheeled +and stared at the white faces of the servants which were framed in the +somber curtains of the opening to the hall. + +The detective swung back. He rounded the large table with slow steps. +He bent down. One knee touched the rug. He reached and grasped the +magnate's stiff arm. He worked it like a hinge. He felt of the muscles. +They were rigid. + +Rising, Drew again tested the air of the library. He glanced at +Delaney, who was opening the book-case doors. + +"What do you smell?" he asked sharply. + +The operative turned and sniffed with widening nostrils. + +"It's powder!" he said. "Gunpowder, Chief." + +"Sure?" + +"It's kind-a peculiar--at that." + +"Explain yourself--be clear!" + +Delaney scratched his head. "I'd say, Chief, it was smokeless powder. +It don't smell like the ordinary kind." + +"I saw smoke when I came in!" + +"That smokeless stuff smokes. It ain't altogether what they call it. +Remember the shootin'-gallery at Headquarters? There's smoke there when +the police are practicing with them steel-jacketed bullets." + +"You're right," said Drew. "Keep on looking about. I'm getting on. +Stockbridge was shot at very close range behind and under the left ear. +The weapon used was a small-caliber revolver. The bullet is undoubtedly +lodged in the lower brain. Powder stains are in his hair. The opening +is clotted shut. He fell forward. In falling he knocked over the little +table with its load of ash-trays, match-boxes, telephone, cigar butts +and the whisky bottle and the glass. He's been dead some time." + +"I 'e'rd no shot!" cried the butler from the doorway. + +Drew wheeled. "You wouldn't," he said sharply. "Delaney," he added, +"say, Delaney, get out your note book and pencil. I want to put down +everything we can think of before I send for the coroner. We'll take a +complete record. This thing is diabolical. You see nothing?" + +"Nothing," echoed Delaney as he slammed a book-case door shut, dusted +his fingers and reached in his pocket. "There's nobody planted in this +room--that's a fact, Chief. That's what gets me. How was the murder +done?" + +"Speculation is useless--now! Get ready for notes." + +"I'm ready, Chief." + +The detective strode across the library rugs and snapped on the wall +switch by jabbing at a mother-of-pearl button. Each time he jabbed, +more lights came on. The room flooded with soft glowing from concealed +globes. This glow brought out the full details of the palatial +interior. Drew chewed at his mustache thoughtfully. He measured the +walls with his eyes. He glided swiftly toward the windows. He thrust +aside the heavy curtains of one and glanced upward. + +"Closed and locked," he said to Delaney. "Put that down. There's snow +on the sill which has drifted through the outer slats. Put that down. +No sign of footprints. Put that down. Now, the upper part!" + +He climbed up on the ornate radiator box. His fingers went over the +catch. "Locked here!" he said, glancing down. "Locked and the same as +it was. Make a note of that!" + +He sprang down and examined the other window. He went over the sill and +the catch with absorbed intentness. His teeth bit against his upper +lip. He shook his head as he turned. + +"No chance for a bullet to have been fired through these windows!" he +declared positively. "No chance at all. This end of the library is +sealed as far as we are concerned. Now, we'll consider the only other +opening--the door!" + +"Double locks, Delaney," he called over his shoulder as he crossed the +room and pressed the butler back into the hall. "Double locks of the +superior order. Gold knobs and key-holes. The holes are not in line. +The chamfering is clean, except where you struck it once or twice with +the ax. No sign of outside tampering or jimmy work. I'd say we've +covered this door. Any suggestions?" + +Delaney tried both the inner lock and the bolt which was actuated with +a gold butterfly-wing of heavy construction. He studied the flat key. +It was gold-plated. He dropped to his knees and went over the entire +lower chamfering with his broad finger. + +He said, "No suggestions, Chief. This was locked twice, until we broke +a hole through with an ax. I don't see----" + +"Make a note of everything!" ordered Drew with a sharp glance at the +waiting servants. "Make a full record of what we have found--including +your exact interpretation of the magpie's words. What were they?" + +"Ah, Sing!" + +"I think the same. Let's look the bird over. Perhaps it will repeat." + +The two detectives strode to the bird-cage. "I'm going to send for +Fosdick and the coroner," said Drew hastily. "We've got to hurry. What +do you make of this bird? Could it have had anything to do with the +murder?" + +The magpie protested against this accusation. Its feathers ruffled. Its +claws clamped over the perch. Its tail extended upward and seemed to +dart with indignation. + +"Ah, Sid!" exclaimed Drew close up to the gilded bars. "Ah, Sid. Ah, +Sid!" he repeated as the bird sprang to the bottom of the cage and set +this jumping up and down at the end of the spring. + +"No go," said Delaney. "This black parrot don't like our looks." + +Drew fingered the cage. He tested the spring. He stooped and glanced +underneath. He tapped the belfry. It was of inlaid wood. It rang solid. +"No use," he said. "This is all, all right. Let's get to the other +matters before the clews get cold. Look everywhere for a possible +trapdoor or a secret panel. Test the walls. Move the book-cases. Turn +the pictures. Lift up the rugs. Then put everything back like you found +it. Fosdick will be on the job with both feet and the Homicide Squad, +before we know it. We haven't much time." Drew glanced at his watch as +Delaney started by moving out one of the book-cases. + +The detective ignored the body which lay upon the floor near the little +table. He was holding his investigation down to outside facts, and +bringing them to bear upon the crux of the matter. In this way, he +believed, he would secure better results. He did not want to be blinded +by an impossibility at the beginning. His first glance at Stockbridge +sufficed to assure him that the lethal instrument which had felled the +magnate was not in evidence. The bright light from a score of globes +would reveal any such object as a revolver or rifle. No one of the +servants had seen anything. They still were peering into the room like +men and women who had lost all they owned. Stockbridge, despite his +temper and sins, had been a good master to those who served him without +questioning. + +Drew glared at his watch for a second time, in preoccupation. He strode +to the library door and beckoned a hooked finger toward the butler who +towered over the other servants. + +"You!" he exclaimed. "You didn't obey orders. You didn't stay where you +were told to stay! Why did you leave this door at all?" + +"S' 'elp me, sir, I didn't, Mr. Drew. If I did it wasn't farther than +the foyer or the downstairs steps. I took very careful pains to call +the second-man, sir, when I went after you." + +Drew's eyes smoldered with inner fire. "I told you," he repeated, "I +told you to stay by this door and not leave it--even for a minute. You +went after the second-man, by your own admission. You went to the foyer +hall. You went to the staircase leading down to the lower part of the +house. In other words, you didn't watch the door, and you lost your +master through your own foolishness!" + +"But, sir, nobody could 'ave gotten through the door. Hit was locked +and bolted on the hinside, sir! I 'e'rd Mr. Stockbridge do that when +you left 'im! I did, sir!" + +"We may have been mistaken when we thought we heard that! Perhaps he +just fumbled with the locks, and left it unlocked." Drew eyed the +servant's red face with a keen-lidded glance. He waited. + +"That cawn't be right, sir," said the butler, after thought and a wild +glance about. "'Ow can that be right? I tried the door when the +telephone loidy called me hup! I tried hit twice. James tried hit! 'E +fixes hall the locks in the 'ouse, sir. 'E says it was most excellently +secured, sir." + +"How about that?" asked Drew, turning to the second-man. "What of that, +James?" + +"'E's right. I'm a little of everythin' about the 'ouse. I tends the +door and I watches the lights and locks, sir. I was born in Brixton, +sir, where the old man kept a lock-shop, sir. That's twenty years, and +more ago, sir. Beggin' your pardon, sir." + +Drew swung upon the butler. The second-man was the living picture of +truth. His dereliction, if any, might consist in sly tapping of the +wine-cellar. His nose attested to this habit, in a brilliant rosette. + +"You're partly to blame!" Drew told the butler. "There's nobody in this +room who could have committed the murder. There was nobody here when we +left Mr. Stockbridge. There is no way for anybody to get in, save +through this door. The same applies in getting out--escaping. If you +were awake and always here, and if you were honest," he added, "I could +presume that the master was slain by--well, let us say, unnatural +causes. Such things do not exist. This is a material age. Nothing as +much as a pin-head or point was ever moved save through a natural +cause. No bullet could be fired into a man's brain without a hand which +planned or pulled the trigger." + +The butler stared at Drew with blank expression. He gulped. His eyes +dropped. "I'm thinking," he said, "that the whole blym occurrence his +unnatural. I never left that door until they told me the telephone +company's loidy wanted me on the wire. It was then I left it." + +"Ah!" said Drew. "We're getting there. Then, if you are speaking truth, +and I won't help you if you are not, we have reached a point in the +case which will bear considerable thought. It is evident that +Stockbridge was murdered by a pistol shot, at or about the time the +table and contents were spilled over. In other words, the shot which +bowled him over brought down with it the telephone transmitter and +receiver. That is the thing which fixes, within minutes--perhaps +seconds--the time of the murder. The telephone girl will have a record +which will help us considerable. Many criminals have been caught--and +convicted by the time element. There is no alibi against truth! A man +can't be in two places at the same time!" + +Drew turned toward the door. He hesitated and wheeled. + +"You heard nothing fall in this room?" he asked sharply. + +"I did not, sir." + +"No shot?" + +"I cawn't say that I did, sir." + +"No telephone bell ringing? Ringing at any time after I left the +house?" + +"Not downstairs, sir." + +"You did!" + +"'Ow, sir?" + +"Didn't you tell me the telephone company rang up and wanted you to put +the receiver on the hook in the library?" + +"I didn't 'ear it ring. James brought the word, sir." + +"Then, what happened upstairs?" + +"'Ow do you know, sir? 'Ow'd you know it rang up there!" + +"By elimination! It rang then, in Loris' room? You said 'nothing +downstairs' in such a way I presume it rang upstairs." + +The butler stroked his chin. It was blue and close-shaved. The purple +of his cheeks and neck had deepened. He glanced about the hallway. His +eyes wandered toward the grand stairway which, coiled upward to the +second story. "I'm 'iding nothing, sir," he said. "Miss Loris often is +called up at night. She's very popular, sir. I 'e'rd 'er telephone +ringing once or twice while I was standing by this door, waiting for +the master to come out--which 'e never did." + +Drew hesitated. He plucked out his watch and glanced at the dial. He +turned swiftly. "Stay right there," he said as he parted the portieres +and faced Delaney who wore the puzzled expression of a man baffled and +entirely at sea. + +"What did you find?" he snapped to the operative. + +"Not a thing, Chief." Delaney mopped his brow with his sleeve. "Nothing +at all!" he added. "Everything regular. Modern--very modern house! +Thick, new, fireproof, soundproof, million-dollar building. No +trapdoors or panels. No loose boards. No hole in the ceiling. No +nothing to hang a ghost on. The gunman who shot Stockbridge went right +up in blue smoke, Chief. I quit!" + +Drew glided around the table and kneeled by the magnate's body. His +swift, light-fingered touch went through the trousers and vest. The +pockets he turned inside out. The watch attracted his attention. Its +dial had been cracked by the fall. A splinter of glass pressed against +the minute hand. He rose with a low cry. He pressed the repeater and +listened to the time chimes. He counted the strokes. He had a test in a +million. Had the watch been tampered with by the murderer, the chimes +would have proved a lie. It was possible to set the hands to any +position. It would be difficult to change both the hands and the +repeater. + +"Delaney!" he said with his dark eyes glowing, "we've got the exact +time of the murder. As I told the butler--it is very important. Both, +chimes and hands, show that Stockbridge was shot at four minutes and +eighteen seconds past midnight--this morning! This is a fine watch. It +cost several thousand dollars. Robbery was not the motive. An ordinary +crook, and they're all ordinary--with few exceptions--would have taken +this timepiece." + +"That's all right," said Delaney with a quick frown. "That's fine, +Chief, but--but how did that exceptional--crook get into this room? How +did he get out? That's what I want to know!" + +Drew combed his fingers through his black hair. He described a complete +circle about the library, with his eyes taking in everything, before he +faced Delaney. + +"I don't know!" he said frankly. "I don't want to think of it, either. +We'll turn the case over to other men for the time. Let them do some +thinking. I believe we have secured everything we want." + +The detective dropped his glance to the telephone receiver upon the +floor at Stockbridge's elbow. He stooped, grasped the silk-insulated +cord, and fished it up. + +"I'll try to get Central," he said. "This has been off a long while. +She may have sent the trouble-man again." + +Drew worked the hook of the 'phone up and down. He was answered after a +short wait. The girl's surprised voice at hearing life at the end of a +dead set of wires was drowned in the detective's request to get him, +"Spring 3100--quickly!" + +"Hello! Hello!" said Drew as he got the connection. "Hello! Is this +Spring 3100? It is? Who's talking? ... Jones? This you, Jones? ... Say, +Jones, plug me in on the Fifth Deputy Commissioner's private house +wire!... Sir? ... I don't care! ... This is Drew talking.... Drew! ... +D--r--e--w! ... That's right ... Drew, of Drew's Agency!" + +The Detective turned. He eyed Delaney who was searching the floor about +the millionaire's upturned shoes. He tapped the receiver against the +transmitter's silver-plated edge. His eyes lifted. His lips hardened as +the diaphragm of the receiver vibrated harshly. + +"Hello!" he answered tersely. "Hello! This you, Commissioner? Is this +Fosdick? ... This is Drew talking. Yes! ... Drew.... Yes! I say, +Fosdick, there's been a murder committed at Stockbridge's.... You +know--the munitions magnate! ... The millionaire! ... Morphy's old +partner." + +Drew waited a moment. He dropped his eyes upon the body below him. + +"Yes!" he continued into the transmitter. "Yes, Fosdick. I hear better, +now. Yes--Stockbridge is dead! ... He's stone dead! He was shot down in +cold blood! ... Yes! ... Shot in the brain.... Yes! Send your best +operatives.... Yes! ... Send a fingerprint man and photographer. You'll +need 'em! ... Yes! ... Yes! ... Shot with a small-bore revolver, I +guess! ... Wound behind ear looks like it! What? ... No! ... Room was +bolted.... He was inside.... Butler on guard.... Windows closed and +locked! ... No! ... No! ... No! ... It wasn't suicide. He was +threatened twice, this time!... By letter and telephone call.... +What? ... What? ... No! ... He didn't shoot himself! ... There's no gun. +It's on the left side--close up! ... Hair is singed ... flesh is powder +spotted.... Burned? ... Yes.... You'll be right up?... Yes! ... I'll be +waiting! ... Come! ... come----" + +Drew lowered the receiver and clicked it upon the hook of the telephone +which stood on the hardwood floor. He slowly turned toward the open +doorway of the library. The servants had drawn back and out of sight. +Delaney leaned forward with both hands on his bent knees. A girl's +voice had sounded in the mansion. It came closer. The portieres parted +with a silken sweep. Drew braced himself against the larger table. His +hand went back to his hip. It dropped to his side. He stared across the +flood of light with line-drawn eyelids. + +Loris Stockbridge, gowned in lace chiffon and cloaked with ermine and +sable, glided across the rugs and stood framed beneath the soft, +rose-light of the central dome. Her dusk-black eyes burned and blazed +like flame through tinder smoke as she confronted the detective. + +Clasped in the fingers of her jewelless right hand was a tiny, +ivory-handled revolver. + +"What are all these people doing here?" she asked hysterically. + + + + +CHAPTER SIX + +"HARRY NICHOLS" + + +Detective Triggy Drew flushed slightly beneath his olive skin. He +bowed, with his keen eyes fixed upon the little, ivory-handled revolver +clutched so tightly in Loris Stockbridge's right hand. He bowed for a +second time. His eyes lifted and his brows arched as he said +distinctly: + +"Miss Stockbridge, something very serious has happened to your father. +It happened in this library. It happened this morning. Won't you please +go back upstairs to your rooms until I call for you. At present I am in +charge of matters." + +"Matters? What do you mean?" + +The girl swayed slightly. She glanced down at the revolver as if she +were unaware that it was in her hand. Drew advanced a step in her +direction. He feared a woman and a gun more than anything else in the +world. Both were liable to form a dangerous combination. + +"Something happened," he repeated. "I'm very sorry for you, Miss +Stockbridge." + +"Happened!" she exclaimed. "Happened to him? You don't mean that +letter--that telephone call--do you?" + +Loris' splendid, dusky eyes, within the depths of which high lights +shone, wandered over the polished table. They fastened upon the +envelope from the cemetery company. They fixed where the letter lay +with one corner beneath the center piece. They lifted in thought. They +swung toward the waiting detective who had placed himself between her +and the body of her father. She divined this movement with quick +intuition. She stepped to one side and bent downward with a graceful +movement of her hips. She gasped and pointed a left hand finger, which +wavered and went up to her hair as her palm pressed against the side of +her head. She started sobbing--short, throaty sobs of poignant +distress. + +"Please don't," whispered Drew holding out a guarding arm. "Please +don't, Miss Stockbridge. Your father is beyond this earth. You should +not have come down here." + +"Dead?" + +The word came from the depths of a soul. "Dead?" she repeated with her +taper fingers spreading across her face. + +"Yes, Miss," said Drew with a catch in his voice. "Yes, he is quite +dead. He was slain in this room by a revolver shot which struck behind +and under his left ear. No one was in the library when he locked +himself in, save himself. No one was here when we broke the door down. +And, save his servants and you, no one was in this house. He was----" + +"Murdered!" Loris' voice had lifted to one wild shriek of final +conviction and grief. She swayed. Her knees bent beneath her skirt and +bulged outwardly. She sank into a slow faint at the detective's feet. +She pillowed her head upon the rug. A silence followed. + +Drew stooped, after a glance at the servants in the doorway, thrust his +body as a barrier, and reached along Loris' white arm until his hand +closed over the barrel of the little revolver. He untwisted her cold +fingers, and palmed the weapon under a shielding cuff. He rose, saying +to Delaney, who had hurried forward: + +"I'll take charge of this." + +"Sure, Chief. Plant it. She didn't have it." + +"She had it all right, but--we'll suspend judgment. You and the butler +carry her upstairs. Go easy. Her bedroom is on the third floor, I +think. That's the reason she didn't come down sooner. Perhaps, well, I +say, she didn't hear us breaking down the door. We are her agents in +this matter, now. Remember that, and say nothing to anybody. I'll do +the talking." + +Drew dropped his hand into his side pocket. It came out without the +revolver but with a handkerchief between his fingers. He mopped his +brow gracefully, then replaced the handkerchief. The motion was a +natural one. + +He followed Delaney and the butler with their soft burden as far as the +first steps of the stairway. He turned and strode back to the doorway +leading into the library. He faced about in this. He eyed the servants, +who lowered their heads beneath his accusing scrutiny. Focusing his +gaze to a searching squint he tried to single out a culprit from their +midst. There seemed to be none. Each face was terror-lined and drawn. +Each seemed to want to avoid his direct glance. None of all of them +faced him with boldness or assurance. It was as he expected things to +be. There was no evidence shown in the case that the servants of the +Stockbridge regime had ever threatened the master. They were old, tried +and trusted. They had the faults of their kind. These faults only +served to strengthen Drew's opinion that the murderer of the magnate +had struck from the outside, without benefit of inside information. The +letter and the telephone call were foreign. A note, pinned upon the +millionaire's pillow, would have been more effective. Nothing had been +tried like that. This proved to Drew that he could eliminate the +servants, for the time being. + +"Which one of you is the valet?" he asked with final resolve. + +"I am, sir!" + +Drew ran his eyes over an aged man in white vest and tight-fitting +clothes which were studded here and there with gold-plated buttons. The +fit of the stockings--the neatness of the low patent-leather shoes--the +smartness and aloofness of the individual, caused the detective to +smile slightly. The man was better dressed than his master. + +"Your native country is Germany?" said Drew. + +"It was, sir." + +"No, it is yet. You can't change that part of it. When did you come to +the United States?" + +"Fourteen--fifteen years ago, sir. The master brought me from England +where I was employed by the Right Honorable Arthur Sandhurst, sir." + +"You are now a naturalized American?" + +"Going on thirteen years, sir." + +"Come down to my office about noon to-morrow. I want to speak to you +then. I haven't time now. Be sure you bring that magpie with you." Drew +turned and jerked his thumb toward the front of the library. "Do you +understand?" + +"I do, sir!" + +"That's all!" exclaimed the detective. "One of you may stand by the +door until Mr. Delaney returns. The rest may go downstairs. Remember, +no talking to anybody but accredited police officers, who will soon be +here." + +"I'll stand guard!" announced the second-man with a pompous voice. +"Nobody'll get by me, sir. I'll 'ave them know I'm right 'ere, sir." + +Drew backed through the curtains as the second-man was speaking. He +dropped them behind him and started another search, which was done in +solitude and in silence. He went over everything in the library with +the trained eyes of an operative who had learned his profession in many +schools. He left deduction and surmise for a later hour. He was after +cold facts which might lead to an answer to the riddle. He held, with +some slight scorn, the theory of the armchair detective and the puzzle +worked out by retrospection. His experience had been, that only through +hard work could he expect to find his answer. He had been credited with +visiting six hundred laundries in search of a certain mark. He had a +note book filled with his failures to find the man he was after. The +men he had found caused him no concern whatsoever. They had gone to +prison and closed their accounts with him. + +He applied hard work over the minutes to the case at hand. He went over +the body of the aged millionaire. He took scrapings of the blood stains +on the floor. He scratched up some few atoms of dried whisky. He +examined the bottle. He searched each square inch under and about the +body. He went through Stockbridge's pockets and beneath his vest. He +tried everything in the way of getting facts which might bear on the +case. A tape measure furnished certain distances which were recorded +upon the back of an envelope. His data was complete, insofar as he had +time to go. He desired to spend at least twelve hours in the library. +This could not be. The case would be taken from his hands within +minutes. Already there was a stir in the front part of the house. The +bell had been ringing for some time. Delaney and the butler had +hastened forward to answer it. + +"The Central Office bunch!" announced the operative, parting the +curtains and staring in at Drew. "Here they are, Chief!" + +The detective stepped briskly out of the room and glided through the +foyer hall to the front door. Here Delaney joined him, as steps were +heard coming up from the servants' quarters as well as outside. It was +as if a raid were in progress. + +"Brass band methods!" said Drew. "You get out, Delaney, and go to our +taxi. Stay there! I want to speak to Fosdick." + +The door opened. A burly form blotted out the light from the Avenue and +stamped in, shaking the snow from his overcoat. It was Fosdick--Chief +of Detectives. + +"Hello," he said cuttingly. "Hello, Drew! What's this you've been +giving me over the 'phone?" + +The detective drew Fosdick aside and allowed five Central Office men to +stream into the hallway. + +"Go and see," he suggested into the detective's ear. "Go and see. I've +left everything just as I found it. The body is still there. The +servants have been kept in the house. Question them. I'm off, now. +'Phone me not later than eight this morning. I'll be at my office. I'm +acting in a private capacity. I'm protecting Loris Stockbridge--the +sole heir!" + +"Protecting!" exclaimed Fosdick. "What d'ye mean?" + +Drew dropped his hand to his pocket and crammed down the little +ivory-handled revolver. "Well," he smiled broadly. "You know what I +mean. She's alone in this world--save for her friends. The old man +called me in the case. I'm still in the case--remember that!" + +Fosdick gulped hard. "All right," he said, turning and peeling off his +coat. "I'll soon get to the bottom of this! Case looks easy to me. It's +suicide! That's all it ever could be!" + +Drew found his hat and coat where the butler had hung them. He went out +through the front door without answering Fosdick. He crossed the Avenue +on a diagonal which brought him to the waiting taxi where Delaney stood +muffled to the chin. The two men climbed upon the running-board. The +driver started up with a jerk, from his frozen position in the snow. +They rounded the block and stopped in front of the drug-store where +Loris had met the officer. + +The Central Office man who had taken O'Toole's place had little to +report. O'Toole had vanished toward the south. When last seen he was +close on the heels of the man in olive-drab. + +"Come on, Delaney," said Drew at this information. "We'll walk over to +Fifth Avenue and then downtown. The driver can pick up our men in the +alley. I want to clear my head of this muddle. A walk will do it!" + +Delaney fell in behind his chief. They turned the corner. They struck +through a side street and westward. They saw ahead of them the white +expanse of untrodden snow, and beyond this the faint blue barricade of +the Palisades. + +The hour was after three. The crisp underfooting brought wine to their +cheeks. The grip of winter air cleared both men's heads like a draught +of ether. They stepped out. Their shoulders went back. Their thoughts +passed from the case at the mansion to other things. The night had been +filled with a thousand disappointments. Greatest of these was the +stabbing memory that they both had been picked by the multimillionaire +to protect him and save him from his enemies. They had failed in this +trust. Their patron lay dead, and somewhere a whispering voice chuckled +over a victory. + +"Fifth Avenue!" announced Drew as they reached the corner. "Now, +downtown, Delaney," he added cheerily. "Old Kris Kringle has nothing on +us to-night. I believe we're the only ones out." + +The operative caught his chief's humor, and glanced into his face with +a smile. "Whew!" he breathed. "Whew!" he repeated from the depths of +his lungs. "I'm glad, Triggy, to get from that damn house and that damn +magpie and that----" + +"So am I!" said Drew, thrusting out his hand and linking his elbow into +the cove of Delaney's arm. "So am I. Fine night for the poor firm of +Drew and Company." + +Delaney glanced around and over his left shoulder. He blinked with +frosty lids as he saw the towering facades of Stockbridge's mansion; +its turrets and towers spiraled in the winter sky. He drew in his lips +and compressed them. He puffed them out as he turned. + +"I'm deducting," he said, "that there's more at the bottom of this +thing than we think. Put it down for me that the Germans are mixed up +in it." + +Drew walked on for a block before he answered. He gripped the +operative's arm by closing his own as he said: + +"Quit deducting! It's fatal! Get your facts! Get all of them. The +answer will come then, without an effort. It will be the right answer +or none at all." + +"Just the same, Chief----" + +"The trouble with you," broke in Drew severely, "the trouble is, that +you are forcing a conclusion to meet your own suspicions. The Germans, +with the exception of a small clique, are behaving very well in this +country at the present time. In other words, the most of them are good +Americans and sane." + +"That walley-sham?" + +"He is not even under consideration! Did you notice him?" + +"Sure, Chief!" + +"Anything strike you as peculiar?" + +"N--o." + +"There were tears in his eyes--the only ones shed in that house for +Stockbridge--outside of the daughter." + +Delaney gulped. "I didn't see them," he said frankly. + +"No! Well, I did--and when he wasn't expecting me to see them. A woman +is never wholly lost who can blush, or a man who can shed tears." + +"Sounds like good deduction," admitted the operative. "But then, Chief, +there are a lot of fine actors in this world. I think there has been +some in this case." + +"This case, Delaney," Drew said, "is like many others which appear at +first impossible of solving. All things can be solved by first +principles. Give me all the facts and I'll give you the answer to any +riddle. The answer will come! Don't try to write your plot until you +have words to form your story. Don't make the mistake of forcing an +answer to father a wish. In other words, Delaney, best of friends, we +haven't all the facts we are going to get in this case and therefore it +is idle to attempt to deduce who shot Stockbridge!" + +"Or how he was shot, Chief?" + +"It's almost the same thing. Both answers will come with hard work and +plenty of it. We must keep along the main stem. Truth is a tree with +many branches. It rises from the roots named cause, and reaches the top +called effect. It springs from motive up to crime in one straight stem. +We must trim away the branches and the false-work, and then we can see +the trunk." + +"There's one I'd like to trim right now," said Delaney, pausing in his +snow-caked stride. + +"Which one?" asked Drew. + +"That noise in the library like a cat getting its tail twisted." + +"I can explain that!" + +"It's been driving me to drink, Chief." + +"The telephone company, Delaney, have a device they call a howler. They +cut this device in on the wire when a receiver is left off the hook. It +is simply a high-frequency current generated for the purpose of +vibrating the receiver's diaphragm until somebody hears the noise and +puts the receiver back on the hook." + +"It's a howler, all right, Chief!" + +"Oftentimes a book or magazine gets under a receiver and lifts it up an +inch or more. This attracts the attention of the central operator who +thinks somebody is trying to get a number. When the situation is clear +to her that the receiver is off the hook, or that the circuit is closed +without anybody being at the receiver end, she notifies the +wire-captain or chief-operator. It was either one or the other who put +the howler on after Stockbridge was shot and the 'phone had fallen to +the floor. Is that satisfactory? Does that explain the noise we heard +in the library before we broke down the door?" + +"I see now, Chief. I thought all along it was spirits like the rest of +the job. Outside of spirits, what is the answer to the things that +happened in that house? I know it. I deduct it, Chief. The old man was +expecting somebody all of the time. He let this somebody into the +library when the butler wasn't looking. Maybe it was a woman, for all +we know. Maybe a German spy. Maybe anybody. This somebody got in an +argument with him over spoils on some deal, and shot him dead. That's +my idea, Chief!" + +"You've missed your profession, Delaney. You've disgraced the firm! How +did the library door get locked on the inside? How did that happen? Did +Stockbridge, shot through the brain, rise and do it? It was mighty well +locked--you remember!" + +"I never thought of that," admitted the operative. "Then it looks, +Chief, as if it was a case of suicide." + +"Fosdick said the same thing without having many facts. How could a +right-handed man shoot himself behind the left ear? How could he do a +thing like that and then get rid of the weapon without leaving a trace +of it? How--oh, well, get facts and you won't ask such questions!" + +"Then it was done by an outsider?" blurted Delaney, staring through the +wind-blown snow which came off the housetops. "It was done by the +fellow who 'phoned and wrote that letter, or had the letter written? I +don't see how he could do it!" + +Drew smiled at Delaney's candor. "Neither do I," he said simply. "But +we've crossed Forty-second Street and we're on the trail by everyday, +up-to-date methods which never fail if they are continued long enough +and men work hard enough. We'll start with Harry Nichols--the man in +olive-drab! I've his address!" + + + + +CHAPTER SEVEN + +"THE SPOT OF BLACK" + + +Delaney stepped behind his chief and followed in single file as the +detective swung from the Avenue at Thirty-ninth Street and turned +toward the east on the up-town side of the thoroughfare. + +The snow had ceased falling from out the leaden sky. A roar came to +them of the awakening city which was stirring in its last sleep. A tug +whistled hoarsely somewhere on the East River. Its blare and signal +echoed down the towering canyon. An answering rattle sounded from the +Elevated. A milk wagon churned by. A deep-seagoing hansom-cab, of the +vintage of ten years before, struggled along Madison Avenue as the two +detectives paused on the corner and sought a pathway through the snow +to the opposite side. + +"Some night," said the operative, pulling down his derby hat and facing +Drew. "A hell of a night to be out. Good thing we walked, though. My +head is clearing." + +"It needed clearing," said the detective. "Some of your deductions were +impossible. Whom do you suppose we're going to meet here?" + +"How should I know, Chief?" + +"Guess!" + +"Harry Nichols." + +"Who else?" + +"Search me, Chief." + +"Who's that over across the street in the shelter of the stoop? See! He +sees us! You ought to know who that is!" + +"He looks familiar," admitted Delaney. + +"It's O'Toole!" + +"That's right, Chief. It is! He tailed the lad in the fur benny from +the drug-store and came here. The lad in the drug-store was Harry +Nichols. The thing works out all right." + +"Get over to the other side of the street and tell O'Toole that he can +go home and get some sleep. Tell him to be at the office not later than +eight o'clock--this morning. Get what information you can from him. +This brownstone house with the sign out is our address. I'll wait on +the stoop." + +Delaney was over in three minutes. "All right," he said cheerfully. +"O'Toole says that Nichols left the drug-store and walked south. Trail +led to Fred's Old English Chop House where Nichols drank a split of +mineral water and had a chop with a potato. He 'phoned twice before +leaving. O'Toole don't know where to. The booth was soundproof and all +the lad did was to drop coins. He left a piece of paper in the booth. +O'Toole got it. Here it is, Chief." + +Drew slanted a torn portion of envelope and studied its surface. He +deciphered a scrawling handwriting into the words, "Loris, Loris, +Gramercy Hill, Attorney Denman of Cedar Street, will consult with him +in morning.... Drew's Detective Agency ... look out." + +"Umph!" said Drew, pocketing the scrap of paper with a thoughtful +frown. "That last may be a warning. Again it could be a mere notation. +What else did O'Toole find, Delaney?" + +"That's all, except that he put the boy to bed here at about one +o'clock. There's a 'phone in Nichols' apartment. O'Toole sneaked up the +stairs and heard it ringing. He had to come down for fear of queering +things. He said that's all, chief." + +The detective turned and entered the storm-door. He struck a match and, +shielding it with his hands, searched the names over the mailboxes. A +neat card, set in well-polished bronze, indicated, "Harry E. Nichols, +Apartment Three." + +"He keeps this place all of the time," said Drew, jabbing at the +button. "He's down on furlough or Government business. Nice place, +this," he added as the inner door-lock clicked and he thrust his foot +forward. "Looks like about two hundred a month. This is exclusively +bachelor!" + +"Them bachelor apartments," said Delaney with candor as he glided into +the hallway. "Them places like this ain't what they seem. There's some +big parties pulled off in them. I remembers----" + +"Sisst!" warned Drew, clutching the operative's arm. "Easy," he +whispered. "Come on. Somebody is waiting upstairs for us. See his head +in the light by the banister. Same chap, ain't it?" + +"Can't see, Chief. Might be!" + +"Nice house," commented Drew as his feet sank in a deep-blue hall +carpet. "Good ornaments and fixtures throughout the place. Nice house! +Just about what I'd expected. Here we are. I'll do the talking." + +A blond pompadour, under which was a pair of wide gray eyes that +blinked at them, greeted the two detectives as they turned the last +landing. A thick-lipped mouth, in which was considerable strength and +determination, opened and revealed a double row of strong, young teeth +that would have delighted an Army recruiting sergeant. + +"Well, what do you gentlemen want at this hour of the morning?" + +Drew squared his shoulders and pressed Delaney back a foot or more. + +"Harry Nichols?" he asked brusquely. + +"Yes, I'm Harry Nichols." + +"Miss Stockbridge's friend?" + +The gray eyes widened perceptibly. The lids dropped in heavy +calculation. "Who are you?" the young man asked point-blankly. "I don't +believe I ever had the pleasure of meeting either of you gentlemen." +Nichols glanced into Delaney's leaning face which was just over his +chief's shoulder. + +"No, you haven't," said Drew softening his tone. "We've never met, but +we may see considerable of each other. Here's my card!" + +Nichols took the card, tilted it to the light from the open door, then +dropped it into the right-hand side pocket of his lounging robe beneath +which blue pajamas showed. + +"Come in!" he said without committing himself. "Come in, and take off +your hats. I've only two rooms and a bath, here." + +Drew stepped upon heavy rugs and crossed the chamber to a chair. He +turned this, removed his hat, and sat down with his legs thrust +outward. His eyes roamed the place in slow calculation. Dark, old +masters, which were probably good in their day, stared down at him. A +little globe, petticoated in soft silk, gave a yellow light to the +walls and floor. It brought out Nichols' features in sharp, actinic +shadows. Drew continued his searching glance. A bed, with tossed +coverlet and sheets, loomed from an inner room. A table, upon which was +an officer's cap and gloves, stood between two doors that were closed. +One of these doors, Drew concluded, was the bathroom entrance, the +other might have been a closet. His eyes fastened finally upon a +telephone upon a dark-wood stand. He lifted his chin. + +"Montgomery Stockbridge is dead!" he snapped, darting at Harry Nichols +the keen scrutiny of a man salvoing a surprise. + +Nichols glanced at the 'phone. "I know that!" he said with rising +color. "I'm aware of that fact, Mr. Drew." + +"When did you first learn of it?" + +"See here! I have your card. I know who you are. I was almost expecting +you, or another detective. But,"--Nichols' voice raised to a determined +key--"but, sir, I am not talking to anybody about what you just told +me. How do I know who you represent--the police or the law or the----" + +"You have talked with Miss Stockbridge. She told you in the drug-store +that I was in the house. She has told you that I was called in by her +father. She undoubtedly 'phoned you, after she recovered from her +faint. You have the details of the dastardly murder--if ever there was +one! I represent her. I represent her friends. I have no other interest +in this case!" + +Harry Nichols drew out the card and studied it. He glanced at Delaney. +"Who is this man?" he asked. + +"My right bower. He's with me--and you and Miss Loris. We're together +in this. The police now have the case. What I want is to protect you +and her from the police. What will they do when they learn from the +servants--which they will--that Miss Stockbridge had _this_ gun in her +hand when she entered the library?" + +Drew extended his palm. In the hollow of it lay the little +ivory-handled revolver which he had taken from Loris. + +"What are they going to do when they learn about this?" he asked with +shrewd reasoning. "Particularly, Mr. Nichols, when the caliber of this +revolver is probably the same caliber of the bullet which entered, and +is still in, Mr. Stockbridge's brain." + +The gray eyes narrowed. The lips compressed until they were white. They +seemed drawn with pain. A faint hiss of surprise sounded in the room. +Harry Nichols turned and strode to an ornate mantel-piece upon which +was a single cabinet photo. He lifted it impulsively. He stared at the +picture of Loris Stockbridge as if in it lay inspiration, and resolve. +He set the photo down and wheeled upon Drew. His eyes blazed. + +"If you have no connection in this case, save as an adviser," he said +clearly and from his heart, "why are you trying to trap me or her? Are +all detectives alike? Would they rather see a man in jail than free?" + +Drew closed his fingers over the little revolver. He glanced upward at +Delaney's towering bulk which was near the doorway leading to the outer +hall. This door was the only way out of the apartment. The detective +gave no signal to the operative. His fingers uncoiled and revealed a +thumb pressing upon the silver-plated barrel from which the leaden +noses of six bullets showed as he turned it. + +"You are wrong," he said with simple naivete. "You wrong me in this +matter. The affair at Stockbridge's will sooner or later bring you in +contact with the Police Department's Detective Bureau. Fosdick, the +district attorney, the coroner, may want to interview you. The +servants, the newspapers, idle tongues will connect your name with that +of Loris Stockbridge. This connection, taking in the fact that she had +a revolver of the same caliber as was used to slay her father, may +cause trouble. I want----" + +"How do you know it's the same revolver--the same caliber?" + +There was a stubborn defense in the young man's tones which somewhat +pleased the detective. It promised loyalty. + +"It may not be the same revolver," Drew said softly. "It may be that +the murder was not committed with a revolver. A rifle, held close to a +man's brain, would make the same kind of mark and burns. I do know +this, however, that the opening in Mr. Stockbridge's head is the same +size as my lead pencil--which I have measured and found to be under a +quarter-inch. It would seem then that twenty-two caliber might fit the +wound. I know of no other caliber very close to it." + +"An army rifle," suggested Delaney from the doorway. + +"It is larger," said Nichols with a quick frown. "The modified +Lee-Enfields, which we are now using, have a greater bore than the +British or German rifles. They are about .30 caliber." + +"Whatever the case," Drew said, "we must get to our first question. I'm +trying to find the truth and protect Miss Stockbridge from the police +in case she is suspected. Whose revolver is this? Who does it belong +to? How came she to have it so soon after meeting you in the corner +drug-store? Did she request it? Perhaps you will clear these points and +allow me to go ahead." + +"Before I answer your questions, Mr. Drew, before I say anything at +all, I would rather have a talk with Miss Loris. You see, we are too +good friends to act apart. I'll answer for her. She is innocent! She is +too good, too pure to have anything to do with it. She never shot the +old--Mr. Stockbridge." + +"He threw you out of the house on one occasion." + +Harry Nichols clenched his fists. "I'll do the same to you!" he +exclaimed. "This is my apartment. What right have you got coming here +and accusing Loris? I don't care who you are!" + +"Good!" said the detective, rising and stepping forward. "You said just +what I wanted you to say. And you said it like a man who can wear an +American uniform. Shake hands!" + +Harry Nichols did not exactly brighten under the professional flattery. +He held out his fingers, however. Drew clasped his hand after +transferring the revolver to his left palm. He twirled it as he stepped +backward. "Clean," he said. "It don't seem to have been used for some +time. But then, who knows? A gun can be wiped and polished,--even in +the barrel,--in a very few minutes." + +Drew glanced at Nichols with a silent question in his eyes. Delaney had +already sized Nichols up as a very clever young man. He was not far +wrong, as he learned when the detective's spoken question was shot +through determined lips. + +"Nichols," said Drew, "did you lend Miss Stockbridge this revolver? Is +it yours? I shall have to turn it over to the police sooner or later. +They will trace it by the number." + +"Is it fully loaded?" + +Drew turned the barrel with his broad thumb. He clicked the mechanism. +He broke it and held it out. + +"Yes," he said. "Yes, it's fully loaded. This is still a merry whirl +for six!" + +"Are you sure?" + +"Positive, Nichols!" + +The soldier's face cleared like a lake from a storm. He beamed upon +Drew. He smiled for a second time. He pointed toward the chair which +the detective had quitted. "Sit down," he said, "and make yourself at +home. This is a temperance dugout, but I've got some real good soft +stuff--grape juice or club soda. Which will you have?" + +"I'll take a cigar," said Delaney. + +Drew allowed a smile to creep over his lips. He waited as Harry Nichols +dipped into a kitchenette, then came back with three glasses of soda +and a huge black Havana. + +"Smoke up," he said good-naturedly to Delaney. "Light up and take a +chair. It's daybreak, isn't it?" + +"Yes, time we're going," said Drew, setting his empty glass upon the +offered tray. "We'll go in a minute. Now, as I told you and as you can +see, this revolver is fully loaded. It looks clean. I suppose you lent +it to Miss Stockbridge without any empty cartridges. These are the +ordinary lead kind which can be secured at any hardware store. You've +got some here, perhaps." + +"None here. They're all up at Plattsburg. We do some target shooting at +times. These little revolvers don't make much noise. You can use them +most anywhere." + +"That's satisfactory," said Drew, watching the glow of Delaney's cigar. +"That's all right. Now, when she 'phoned for the gun or you suggested +that she better have one with her, what did she say about the cemetery +letter or the threat over the wire? Did she fear anything else? Was +that her sole reason for having a revolver with her?" + +"You cannot expect me to answer for Miss Stockbridge, Mr. Drew. She is +available. You can talk to her. You represent her. I shall not say +anything concerning her. She is sacred. The revolver was not +discharged. It is the same as when I gave it to her in the drug-store. +Therefore, I'll trouble you for it. It's mine. I admit that." + +Drew rose from the chair. His left hand went out. His fingers clasped +Harry Nichols' shoulder with a fatherly pressure. + +"I'm going now," he said. "I'll leave the gun with you. If the police +want it, give it to them. Perhaps they will never hear of it. I doubt +if more than one or two servants saw it in Miss Loris' hand when she +came into the library. They may not tell Fosdick. He'll try to +rough-shod over them. He may arrest the entire household--including +Loris. That's his way. It's effective, but it's not my way. Now is +there anything that you want to say to me which will clear your mind of +this affair?" + +Nichols glanced from Drew's clean-cut face. His eyes rested upon the +telephone. "I'm going to call her up presently," he said. "I'll talk +with her. I'll tell her that you were here--that you left the little +revolver--that you stand ready to swear it was clean and fully loaded. +Then, when I hear what she has to say about everything, I shall call +you up. Is that satisfactory, Mr. Drew?" + +The detective turned the revolver in his palm and pressed it forward. +"Take it," said he, "and keep it under cover. I'm off with Mr. Delaney. +Thanks for the club soda." + +"And the cigar," added the big operative as he opened the door. + +Drew hesitated on the landing. He turned and went back. Nichols stood +by the banisters. The soft light from inside clear-cut the officer's +figure like a statue. + +"You can do me a favor," said the detective in a whisper. "A damn nice +little favor." + +"What is it?" + +"Have you an extra photo of the girl-in-the-case. One that's laying +around somewhere. I don't mean the one on the mantel." + +"What do you want it for?" + +"For myself. I admire that young lady." + +Harry Nichols disappeared through the doorway. He returned within a +minute with a cabinet-size photo upon the front of which was written, +"From Loris, January '18," in the vertical chirography much practiced +by social buds. + +"Thanks," said Drew unbuttoning his overcoat and thrusting the photo +within his breast. "I shall keep and cherish this, as one of my most +sacred possessions. Congratulations, young man!" + +The detective's words rang sincere. Nichols flushed. He stammered an +answer as Drew hurried down the carpeted steps and joined Delaney at +the storm-door. + +"Chief," said the operative as they reached the sidewalk and turned +toward Madison Avenue. "Chief, why didn't you pump that lad about +Stockbridge. You didn't ask him a thing about the old man." + +"Unethical to a client," reproved Drew linking arm with the operative. +"Come on! We must hurry! I've an idea--which is a very strange thing +for a New York detective to have--that Harry Nichols, if he stays in +town on furlough, will represent Loris in all matters. I don't know +where she could find a better counselor. He's a clam! He told us +nothing!" + +"Wise boy, Chief! Only fools and women talk to detectives." + +"Umph!" said Drew at this sally. "Umph! Well, come on. It's quit +snowing. It's daybreak over there in the east and I think the clouds +will clear before it gets much later. You----" + +"Say, Chief!" exclaimed Delaney clutching the detective's shoulder and +wheeling him around. "Say, stand right there a minute. Right in that +light. What's that on your chin? Right under the tip of your left ear. +Turn around a little more!" + +Drew raised his left hand and rubbed it across his face. He pinched the +lobe of his ear between his thumb and index finger. He whistled with +frosty amazement as he eyed his nail and thumb. + +"What to blazes!" he said. "What's that?" + +"Turn around! Right under this arc light. Say, Chief, how did you get +that spot of black on your neck? You've smeared it all over your +collar." + +"I don't know. What's it look like?" + +"Soot!" + +"Soot?" + +"Sure, Chief. Lampblack or soot!" + +Drew arched his dark brows as he rubbed his finger-tips together. He +held them up to the stronger light. He turned and glanced back through +the silent walls of the street down which they had walked. He took one +step toward the east. + +"Hold on!" said Delaney. "Where are you going?" + +"Going back!" + +"Why, Chief!" + +"Smell that stuff! Smell it!" Drew thrust his fingers under Delaney's +wrinkled nose. "Smell it, good and strong!" he snapped bitterly. "What +is it?" + +"By God, Chief, it's powder, I smell! Gunpowder, it is!" + +"Umph! I must have gotten it from that gat!" + +"You couldn't, Chief. That gun was polished up like a whistle. Besides, +how would the spot come to be under your left ear?" + +Drew furrowed his brow. He swung in the snow with new decision. "Come +on!" he said. "We'll think this over! I didn't see any soot on that +gat. I don't know where I got it either. Could it have been there for +some time?" + +"Sure, Chief. I just happened to notice it. Light's bright." Delaney +nodded toward the arc. + +"Did you get a good look at my face in Stockbridge's?" + +"Can't say that I did, Chief. I was too busy with that howler thing and +that magpie and that murder, to see anything. You might of got it there +without me noticing it. It wasn't there in the taxicab. I'll swear to +that." + +Drew passed his fingers across his nostrils like a man sampling +perfume. He repeated the motion. He scraped some of the powder from his +nails with a pocket knife and dropped the sample into the crease of an +envelope which he carefully folded and crammed into his pocket. + +"I'll have that analyzed," he said, as they turned toward Fifth Avenue. +"Another trifle in a chain of circumstance. Think it over, Delaney. It +resembles and smells like powder which has been burnt. You hurry along +home. Be at the office no later than nine. I'll keep on down Fifth +Avenue to the Flatiron Building. I want to walk and clear my head. I'll +get some coffee, pie and rolls, at an all-night restaurant. I'll take +time for a shave, shine and shampoo. Perhaps I'll jump into a Turkish +bath to finish up and get ready for work." + +"You're not going to bed at all?" + +"Not until I find out who murdered Stockbridge!" + +"Or how he was murdered?" said Delaney, with a puzzled frown as he +turned to go. + +"If I get the murderer, I'll find out how he did it!" snapped Drew, +with a parting glance. + + + + +CHAPTER EIGHT + +"TANGLED WIRES" + + +It was five minutes before nine when Delaney reached the ornate +entrance to the skyscraper wherein were the offices of Drew's Agency. + +He wandered into the express elevator, yawned a "eighteen, out" signal +to the elevator pilot and stepped from the cage with the general air of +a man who had spent a hard night without getting anywhere in +particular. + +Stopping in the operatives' room for a few minutes, he picked up scraps +of news concerning the case at Stockbridge's. There was a report, +moreover, that an extra was expected by ten o'clock. The air of +desertion about the suite told Delaney plainer than words that most of +the operatives were upon the case. The entire corps, with few +exceptions, had been working hard while he slept. The telephone-girl +and the assistant-manager, Harrigan, wound up each of his questions by +a nod or a jerk of the thumb toward the inner office where Drew was +sitting like a spider in a web which was being spun about the case at +hand. + +Delaney yawned, braced himself with a drink of ice water drawn from an +inverted-bottle, and stepped toward Drew's door. He knocked with tired +knuckles. He pressed forward as he heard a hearty: "Come in!" + +The operative eyed his Chief with sovereign amazement. Drew looked as +fresh as a daisy. There was a pink tinge upon his olive cheeks. These +cheeks had been close shaven. Oil glistened from the detective's black +hair. His mustache was trimmed and level with his upper lip. His eyes, +as he swung and fastened a clear glance upon Delaney, were almost too +bright. They were like the hectic fires of an inner furnace. + +Delaney searched about the room. He lifted one foot and then the other +with a tired motion. He leaned against a filing-case like a heavy dray +horse which had come to a final stop. He yawned behind his big, red +hand. + +"How d'ye do it, Chief?" he asked with a second yawn. "I'm dead on my +feet. All the sleep I got was about thirty minutes. I haven't woke up +yet. I met myself going to work this morning." + +Drew laughed quickly and motioned toward a leather chair. "Sit down!" +he suggested. "Sit right down, Delaney. Take it easy for a few minutes. +You seem tired." + +"It beats me how you can do it!" declared the operative, sprawling +across the chair and crossing his weary legs. + +"One or two hours' sleep is never any good. Better keep awake. You +remind me of the last rose of Sharon!" + +"I feel like a house-man in an all-night poker game. What's the use! +I'm going over to some bank and get a job as a night watchman, if this +keeps up. I can sleep my head off, there." + +Drew swung in his chair and eyed the papers on his desk. He swiveled as +Delaney inquired: + +"What's the news in the Stockbridge case? I've been asking Marie and +Harrigan. They don't seem to know anything except that everybody is +out--already." Delaney extended his huge mouth to a cavernous yawn. He +fished up his great, silver watch. "What's the news, Chief? Any +assignments for me?" + +"News? There's very little news, Delaney. No good news, yet! I've been +busy as a Chinaman on a contract, though. I can't let that matter get +cold. It's now or never in this case!" + +"What does our friend Fosdick say?" + +"He's all at sea! I've talked with him twice." Drew glanced at the +'phone. "He says the murder was a second Rue Morgue. He can't see any +light at all!" + +"He's come around to our deduction?" + +"There's no deduction in it!" + +"He says it's murder?" + +"Cold, curdling, cunning, crafty murder, Delaney. The coroner said it +would have been impossible for a man to shoot himself in the manner +Stockbridge was shot. They're right--both of them--and we're right. +I'll stake my badge on it! Particularly in view of the two threats. +Why, I was there when he was called up and given twelve hours on this +earth." + +Delaney glanced out the window. "Snowing again," he said, "I wonder if +there are any footprints in that back yard or alley. Wouldn't that be a +clue, Chief?" + +"To what?" + +"Well, you told me that the trouble-man said a tall lad climbed the +fence near the junction-box and beat it for Fifth Avenue. Maybe that +lad left footprints behind." + +"They're snowed over now!" + +"But if he made them, couldn't we find them underneath?" + +Drew's eyes narrowed. He leaned in his chair with a searching glance at +Delaney. "How long did you sleep?" he asked sharply. + +"About thirty minutes, Chief. Mary and the kids woke me up and I +couldn't get settled again. I did some thinking." + +"You must 'ave! That idea about the footprints is a mighty good one. +There was first a thaw, then a freeze, then a snow fall which preserved +everything. If we wait till spring there might be a set of prints +underneath the other sets. Two of our operatives were there. The +trouble-man was there. He scraped the connections. If we find a fourth +set of prints, that's our man!" + +"The tall lad?" + +"Yes, Delaney. We can build a box about the fence and start a thaw of +our own. I'll think it over!" + +"I'll go up and do it, Chief. I can make plaster-casts of all the +prints. There's a French system I heard of once. I can find out from +Farot over at Headquarters." + +"Keep it under cover for a while," decided Drew, sitting down and +drawing a sheath of papers to the edge of the desk. "Keep it quiet," he +added. "I'll think it over." + +Delaney rubbed his chin. He watched Drew rapidly thumb over the data. +"Say, Chief," he yawned. "I see another light." + +"What?" shot Drew over his shoulder. "S--o? Wait a moment before you +give it to me--you reminded me of something. Where was the spot of +powder on my face? The rubber in the Turkish bath said it was right +here." The detective turned and touched his forefinger below the lobe +of his left ear. "Right there," he added. + +"That's where it was, Chief. Just where you got your finger. It was on +the cord. Seems to me that it was circular in shape. Like a half-moon." + +Drew raised his black brows in reflective thought. He opened a small +drawer with a sudden dart of his arm. He poised a mirror so that the +light from the window brought out his left ear and neck. He dropped the +mirror to the desk. "Delaney," he said, "that's exactly the spot where +Stockbridge was shot!" + +The operative felt a cold chill dart up and down his tired spine. He +came to life with an oath, and a slap of his huge palm upon his knee. + +"Chief, you're right!" he exclaimed, leaning forward. "You're right! +That spot of black was just where the old man was hit. Now, what d'ye +make of that?" + +Drew drummed his fingers on the edge of the polished desk. He tapped +his toes on the floor. He coughed and picked up the mirror for a second +and longer glance at his face and neck. He tossed the mirror to the +desk and swiveled slowly. + +"What do I think of it?" he repeated, with flashing eyes. "I think +there are features to this case I don't like!" + +"Could it have been an accident, Chief? You might of got a bit of soot +from the gun and then scratched your neck. Maybe that Harry Nichols put +one over on us. The gun might have been fired, reloaded, and we never +noticed it. Looks bad for Nichols and the girl." + +Drew closed his eyelids tightly. His brow furrowed in deep thought. +"No," he said finally. "I don't think the soot or powder came from the +pearl-handled revolver. I don't think so! It would seem to me, Delaney, +that intuition is stronger than evidence. That girl and that boy rang +true. That valet is above suspicion. The servants are to be trusted. +Stockbridge trusted them and he was noted for his shrewdness in picking +men. The only mistake he ever made was Morphy. That individual was out +to do the old man. He was a biter, bitten! I think we'll eliminate, for +the time, Loris, Harry, the servants and German influences in the +matter at hand. What was your idea?" Drew rubbed his neck beneath his +ear, as he turned to his papers. + +"I've forgotten it, Chief. That spot drove it all out. No, wait--say! +I've been thinking--this morning laying there and listening to the kids +getting ready for school--that the powder we smelled in the library +wasn't ordinary powder. I know a firecracker, or a regular Chinese +smell when I get near one. That wasn't the kind I got. It was like +something else. It was powder--all right--but----" + +Drew lifted a sheet of paper. "I covered that," he said. "Analysis made +by Higgens, this morning, shows traces of smokeless-powder in +Stockbridge's hair and about the bullet hole. There's a difference. +Now, I'm going further than that. I'm going to have those scrapings I +got from my neck looked at. If they are the same as the powder that was +used to slay Stockbridge, we are getting on." + +"There's lots of smokeless, Chief." + +"That's the trouble--that's what we are right up against. Let's leave +the footprints and the powder for a few minutes. Both are important. +They'll wait. See here!" + +Drew raised a sheath of papers from his desk, turned with the chair, +and started thumbing over the data he had accumulated. + +"See here," he repeated absently. "First branch of the tree of Truth in +this case is a stubborn one. It requires considerable work on our part +to get to the end of it. I've sent out six operatives to scout the +telephone calls and get me some light on them. I've kept some notes on +what they have 'phoned in to me. The telephone company, the wire-chief +at Gramercy Hill, and an official I know, have been enlisted in getting +to the bottom of these calls. They have made progress. But, Delaney, of +all the devilish inventions of man, a telephone is the most subtle. +It's a wonder to me we have found anything. It's the crook's one best +tool. With it he can play safe, and we can't catch him!" + +"What have you found, Chief?" + +Drew held up a paper. "The first call, Delaney," he said, "was the one +to the cemetery company's superintendent, notifying him to excavate a +grave in the Stockbridges' family plot. Subtle suggestion, that, in the +light of what followed." + +"It was," said Delaney. + +"This call has received all of the attention it deserved. It's the +first of the series, and was perhaps made before the crook had time to +cover himself completely. It has been traced to a slot booth in the +Pennsylvania Railroad Station in the Woman's Waiting Room." + +"Woman's?" + +"Yes, Delaney. That is no criterion that a woman did the calling-up. +The girl there in charge of the pay-booths states that more men than +women use the 'phones in that part of the station." + +"Just our luck!" + +"The toll collected on this call must have been thirty-five cents, +including the war-tax. The superintendent says that the voice over the +wire was thin and tired. He says he thought it was Dr. Conroy. He never +gave the matter second consideration. Conroy, however, has a voice like +a bull. We checked that up." + +"Does the superintendent know Conroy?" + +"No! Except by name!" + +"Then, Chief, I don't see any use trying that lead. It begins and ends +in air." + +"It most certainly does! We'll cross it out. The next call for our +investigation----" + +"Which was?" asked Delaney, waking up. + +"Which was the one notifying Stockbridge that he had about reached his +span of life on this earth. I was there in that library when the call +came in. Again, from the millionaire's description, this time, we have +the thin, whispering voice on the wire. The man was probably the same. +He mentioned the cemetery letter which would establish that fact." + +"I'm following you, Chief. Go on!" + +Drew picked out a second sheet of paper from his pile. "We went after +this call at the time, or soon after the time it was sent in," he said, +tapping the sheet with his fingers. "I called the office here and had +Harrigan get in touch with George Westlake, third vice-president of the +telephone company. Westlake got busy." + +Delaney eyed his unpolished shoes with a sage wink. + +"Westlake turned things over," continued the detective. "He made a most +thorough investigation. We have his word that there is no record of +this call! The wire-chief at Gramercy Hill Exchange declares that it +never went through the switchboard. That the connection had been made +on the outside." + +"From the air?" + +"Looks that way. They tried everything and questioned everybody. No one +talked with Stockbridge through the switchboard at Gramercy Hill, at or +near that hour. Therefore, we must conclude, that, insomuch as I know +somebody _did_ talk with him at that hour, the connection was made, +either in the junction-box in the alley or behind the switchboard at +Gramercy Hill Exchange." + +"How about underground, Chief?" + +"Impossible! That is--almost impossible. The cables are in conduit and +sheathed with lead. It would be a poor place to tap in on a line. I'm +going to presume that the man who tapped in knew his business. The +junction-box in the alley is under suspicion. I think it was done +there, in this manner." Drew paused and picked up a third sheet of +hurriedly-written notes. + +"A junction-box," he said, "is merely a small switchboard where the +conduit ends and the house connections begin. It would have been easy +for an expert to disconnect the two leads which led into Stockbridge's +library, ring up with a low tension magneto, and then cut in with a +testing set and a battery current and do the talking. That is what the +trouble-man told us might have been done. He found no signs of +tampering. He saw a tall man escaping down the alley. It would seem, +Delaney, that this tall man is the one we're after. Perhaps, as you +said, he left footprints. But footprints, like fingerprints, are not +much use until you get the man who made them." + +"What d'ye deduct in this second call--Chief?" + +"That we've run squarely up against a blind wall. We'll drop it for a +time and go to the third call." + +"When was that?" + +"Stockbridge was murdered at four minutes and eighteen seconds past +twelve, by his own watch, Delaney. It was a very good watch! Now +allowing for a movement of the hands on account of the fall, how are we +to account for a telephone call sent into Gramercy Hill 9763--the +library 'phone--at exactly five minutes past twelve from a +slot-telephone booth at the east end of the Grand Central Railroad +Station on Forty-second Street?" + +"How did you get that, Chief?" + +Drew chuckled and wheeled in his chair. "I got it," he said, "by simple +arithmetic plus the vice-president's pull. Here's how it was found, +Delaney. Easy as two and two. You remember the howler?" + +"I'll never forget it, Chief! Not as long as I live!" + +"The howler established considerable in this case. The chief operator +remembers putting it on. She remembers the time. She looked back, after +being jogged by George Westlake, and found that some one had called up +Stockbridge a few minutes after twelve. It was probably this call to +the old man that caused him to be near enough to the telephone to knock +it over when he was shot. The operator did not hear the shot, but she +remembers a thin, piping voice asking for Gramercy Hill 9763." + +"The same guy, every time!" declared the operative, mopping his brow +with his sleeve. "I'd like to have that fellow for five minutes, +Chief!" + +"We'll get him! We've got the time established twice. Stockbridge's +watch fixes the murder at twelve-four-eighteen. The telephone call at +five minutes past twelve, and the howler put on soon afterward, checks +up. The old man was alive during the telephone call from the Grand +Central, and dead when the howler was put on for the first time. Do you +see that?" + +Delaney frowned. "I see it and I don't," he said. "I'm all balled up, +Chief. What with the magpie and the howler and a man shot in a locked +room and the spot of soot on your neck--I'm all twisted into a knot. I +think I'll go out and get a drink!" + +"No, Delaney, don't," said Drew. "You'll need your head in this case. +We're squarely up against class of the highest order. Since Sheeney +Mike and the gas-tube over the transom in Chinatown, I don't know of a +more baffling set of clews. All these calls--which seem so important in +the case--lead to a whispering voice of low pitch and timber. Perhaps +the police records will show such a man who is at large--very much at +large." + +Delaney furrowed his brows and screwed his face into a painful knot. +"I'm trying to go back, Chief, to the Morphy case and them crooked +witnesses he had. They all had loud voices--like wolves!" + +"Yes--I remember them. But then, Delaney, a man can change his voice. +That whole pack will bear watching." + +"You've eliminated some things that were worrying, Chief. But there's +some I don't see yet. It's impossible for a man to get shot like that +old millionaire was. We went over that room and that house. We frisked +good and plenty. There was nothing suspicious. The walls were thick. +The floor was hardwood. The ceiling was some kind of patent plaster, +that's like stone. I got two looks at the door, and you tried the +windows. Now what's the answer, chief? I'll say you are never going to +clear this case up. I don't think you can. It's going to be one of them +unsolved mysteries. If you do figure something out it ain't going to be +proved to my satisfaction. The thing couldn't be done the way it was +done!" + +"That's definite," smiled Drew, tapping the desk with the tips of his +well-polished finger nails. "You're talking in a circle. I'll solve the +case, or I won't sleep!" + +"It's impossible!" + +Drew sorted his papers and bent over them. He turned the swivel chair +by a pressure of his knee. His eyes narrowed as he studied Delaney's +lugubrious face which was sadly in need of a shave. + +"Impossible," he repeated softly. "There's no such word, Delaney. It's +a fool's excuse. Now I don't want you to be a fool. Don't make the +mistake of allowing a seeming impossibility to dull your efforts. +There's always a way around everything which looks high and impassable. +They used to go round the Horn. Now they cut through the Isthmus. They +used to think men were supernatural. Now they know that nothing works +without a law. I admit that I don't know how Stockbridge came to his +end. I don't want to dwell upon it, either. But this we do know, by +these papers, that he was well-hated, threatened and marked for death +by an individual or clique of individuals. That is all we know, and all +we ever need to know, in order to proceed on the basis that a material +agency struck out his life with a material substance--such as lead +propelled by smokeless powder." + +"Whew!" exclaimed Delaney, rising. + +"As for the library wherein he was slain," continued Drew. "As for it, +we must revert to simple geometry. Matter occupies space. A material +act was committed by a material body which got past all our precautions +and struck the magnate down. What is there in this world, which is at +one and the same time, material and yet capable of penetrating through +a door or wall without a trace? Give me that answer, and we'll get +results. What is it?" + +"Damned if I know! I'm all balled up! You talk like a college +professor. You mean something that is and something that isn't. Good +morning!" + +Delaney reached for the door knob with a gesture of disdain. Drew +wheeled and stared at him. "Wait a minute," he said softly. + +The operative turned and dropped his hands to his side. + +"You remember the magpie?" asked Drew. + +Delaney nodded. + +"Well, sit down and wait. It'll be here within five minutes. The valet +'phoned he was bringing it in a taxi. That was just before you came in." + +"Taxi!" snorted the big operative, stretching himself on the leather +chair. "Them valets have got it soft. Last night was the first ride +I've had in one for months, and----" + +Delaney's voice trailed to an end. He turned in the chair and saw +Harrigan's red face and auburn hair come slowly through the aperture +made by opening the door. + +"Well?" snapped Drew. + +"There's a funny lookin' guy out here, chief," said the +assistant-manager. "He wants to see you in person. He's got +knee-britches and a bunch of brass-buttons on his monkey-jacket. Says +he's a valet." + +"Has he got anything with him?" asked Drew. + +"He has, Chief! He's got a gilded cage with the damnedest looking bird +in it I ever saw. It ain't a parrot and it ain't a crow. It's a +blue-jay or something like that!" + +"Show him in!" Drew said. "Show him in. You can wait, Delaney!" + + + + +CHAPTER NINE + +"MEN AND MOTIVES" + + +The two detectives leaned back in their respective chairs and eyed each +other. Both swung and stared out of the window at the swirling snow +which salted across the window in an unending curtain of white. Both +returned to the locked stare so common to men who have worked together +in danger and know each other's merits. + +Delaney's eyes dropped first. He studied the rug beneath Drew's +polished shoes. He coughed behind his hand, and turned with a shrug of +his shoulders. He fastened upon the closed door a glance of expectancy +which brought a smile to the chief's lips. + +"Things are picking up," said Drew, with a short laugh. "Your +friend--the bird--has arrived." + +"My friend?" blurted the big operative. "It's no friend of mine! I'd +wring its neck, gladly." + +"It may be the key to the whole thing. Smarter men than the ones we are +fighting have fallen through less. You remember Eddy, The Brute, who +left his umbrella after him in the Homesdale Murder Mystery. Funny, +wasn't it? Took three months to plan the murder and left his rain-stick +behind. His initials were on it." + +"They can't get away----" started Delaney. + +"Here's your bird!" announced Drew, as a knock sounded on the door. +"Move over and let that valet stand there. I want the light in his eyes +when we're talking to him. Always get the light in the other fellow's +eye. Sisst!" + +The door opened to a crack--then wide. The valet came in with an +important strut. He turned and deposited a cage at Delaney's big feet. +The operative moved back with a grunt of disgust. He eyed the cage and +contents with a homicidal expression. His eyes raised and fastened upon +the valet. He hooked his broad thumbs in the arm-holes of his vest and +took a deep breath. + +"I hope you're satisfied," he said to Drew, who was smiling. "I hope +this black sparrow don't start anything. I'll finish it, sure." + +"What's your name?" asked the chief, turning and consulting a paper. + +"Otto Braun," said the valet. "Otto Braun, sir." + +"Born in Cologne ... year, sixty-three ... worked as valet and major +domo for British families ... came to America with Mr. Stockbridge, and +have been with him since?" + +"That's correct, sir," the valet said, with a start of amazement. + +"Are you married?" + +"Twice--sir." + +"Wife living?" + +"Both, sir. I'm paying a small alimony to both." + +Delaney grunted. His foot went out toward the magpie which had finished +hopping about the perches of the cage, and was listening with head +cocked sideways. + +"You--you have charge of this bird?" asked Drew, turning fully around +and facing the valet with heavy-lidded intentness. + +"I'm its keeper, sir!" + +Delaney coughed explosively. He leaned down to cover his confusion. He +jabbed a thumb at the bird. + +"It's savage," he rumbled. "It pecked at me!" + +"Easy," warned Drew, with a quick frown. "Easy, Delaney. I want to get +to the facts of this case. We're wasting time." + +"Go ahead, Chief." + +"I've had you come down here," said Drew, turning to the valet, "in +order to find out about that magpie. You had charge of it when Mr. +Stockbridge was alive?" + +"Yes, sir. I fed it and kept it clean, for the--master." The valet +sniffled slightly. Drew watched him with keen eyes. + +"Did it repeat much of Mr. Stockbridge's conversation?" he asked. + +"Repeat, sir?" + +"What I'm trying to get at is, whether or not the bird was in the habit +of repeating words that seemed to strike its fancy. Did it act like a +parrot?" + +"It's very much like a parrot, sir. Sometimes it was sulky and wouldn't +say anything for days. Other times, sir, we had trouble keeping it +quiet." + +Drew turned in his chair and fingered a paper. "I looked up everything +I can find in my library here, in regard to magpies," he said. "Is +there any difference between an ordinary magpie and a Spanish one?" he +added, turning. + +"I don't think so, sir. They can all be taught to talk--the same as a +parrot, sir." + +"Then if this bird should repeat a word, or two words, over and over +again it would be plausible to assume that some one had used the word +or two words. I want to make myself clear," Drew added with engaging +candor. "What I'm getting at is important in view of the fact that this +magpie used two words after we broke down the door to the library and +found Mr. Stockbridge murdered." + +Delaney leaned forward. + +"The words this bird used were 'Ah Sing,' as near as we can arrive at +them. Did you ever hear it repeat that couplet?" + +"I can't say that I have, sir." + +The detective lifted his brows and stared at the cage. "Repeat that," +he said to Delaney. "Repeat what we heard in the library." + +"Ah, Sing! Ah, Sing! Ah, Sing!" boomed the operative. + +The magpie ruffled its feathers and darted about the cage like a +sparrow in a barrel. "Keep it up," said Drew. + +"Ah, Sin! Ah, Sing! Ah, Singing!" roared Delaney. + +"That'll do! You've frightened it. Let it alone for a while. We'll keep +it here, Otto. I'll send it back in a few days. How's Miss Stockbridge +bearing the strain, up at the house?" + +"She hasn't left her room, sir. Mr. Nichols called. The Red Cross +people called. There's been lots of callers, sir, but she hasn't +appeared, sir. It's early, though." + +Drew glanced at his watch. "That's all," he said. "You may go." + +The door closed softly as the valet bowed, replaced his hat and passed +out without glancing back. + +"A good servant," said Drew, rising and kneeling down beside the cage. +"Now, Delaney," he added tersely. "Now, old sleepy head, we have the +key to the case locked here. I don't doubt but that you unconsciously +struck the right clew when you bawled your little hymn. You said, 'Ah, +Singing.' Now couldn't that be Ossining?" + +"By God, Chief, it could!" + +"Or, more likely, Ah! Sing Sing!" + +"Who said that?" + +"The bird!" + +"But who taught the bird?" + +"Nobody taught it! It might have been the last thing said by +Stockbridge--just before he was shot." + +"And the bird repeated it--to us?" + +"Certainly! A parrot or a magpie is a living phonograph. They reproduce +a sound, at times, without any idea of knowing what they are saying. +This bird may have been so frightened by the shot which was fired in +the library, that it recalled the words used by Stockbridge before the +shot was fired. These words, in my opinion, tell us that the +millionaire was 'phoning to some individual, probably the +whispering-voiced man. This individual and Ah, Sing! or Ah, Sing Sing! +or Ah, Singing! or Ossining! are closely allied. Now who of +Stockbridge's enemies does that fit?" + +Drew rose to his feet and dusted his knees. "Is that clear?" he asked. + +"Clear as mud, Chief! I don't get it yet!" + +"You will," said the detective, dropping down in his chair and reaching +for his papers. "See these," he added, swiveling and darting a quick +glance at the bird-cage. "These, Delaney, are a list of the old man's +known enemies. I have compiled this list from the secretary's +statements, my own newspaper reading, the facts we gained at Morphy's +trial, and from what Stockbridge told me in the library before he was +slain." Drew counted the list with a steady finger. "There's seven," he +said. + +"Is that all! I thought there was more 'an that!" + +"No! Seven is the number! He was well hated as you will see. First and +foremost we have Mortimer Morphy, who is serving from ten to twenty +years in state prison, with other indictments hanging over his +iron-gray head. He's the captain of them all. He lacks soul, conscience +and heart. 'The Wolf of the Ticker' they used to call him. I had the +warden on the wire this morning. He's ready to aid justice to the +limit. He says that Morphy, or rather Convict 87313, I think they call +them inmates up there, is well and working. He's in charge of the books +in the front office." + +"He'd never keep any books for me!" declared Delaney. + +Drew nodded. "Me, either," he said. "I have heard too much about his +past to trust his future. Stockbridge always feared him." + +"Does he fit what the black crow said?" + +"He does, most certainly! Sing Sing and Morphy are linked together in +every way. Morphy must have been mentioned on the wire and Stockbridge +shouted, 'What, in Sing Sing?' or words to the same meaning." + +"Go on," said Delaney, glancing at the magpie with round eyes. + +"Then comes Vogel, who was at state's prison, but whom they transferred +to the hospital at Glendale, where he is said to be dying of +tuberculosis." + +"I remember him. A little runt with a big nose. That might be the +whispering voice, Chief, if he's got T. B." + +"Hardly! I also had Glendale on the 'phone, or Harrigan did. They say +Vogel is right there and is going to stay there, if fifty guards will +keep him." + +"Next, Chief?" + +"The next is Vogel's partner, Ross. You remember him? A good-natured, +fat fellow with a bald head. He was always smiling. He's making little +rocks out of big ones in a convict camp near Lake George. He was at +Sing Sing, or Ossining, for a time. Most of the New York prisoners are +taken there first. It's a sort of clearing house for the other prisons +of the state." + +"Would he fit in with what this bird said, Chief?" + +"He might!" + +"Go on, I'm getting interested." + +"Then," said Drew, "we have the two brokers who handled Morphy's Blue +Sky, preferred; Flying Boat, and other swindles. They are at Sing +Sing." + +"What's their names, Chief? I've forgotten." + +"Greene and Goldberg! One confessed and one turned state's evidence. +They got off with from two to four years. A nice bunch of squealers!" + +"They'll be out pretty soon, Chief!" + +"Yes--but they're harmless. I don't think they had anything to do with +the murder of Stockbridge. The other fellow might." + +"Who's that, Chief?" + +"Finklestein--the banker. The one who went before the Grand Jury and +claimed exemption. He's somewhere on the outside. I think Flynn is +covering him. I sent him over to Jersey, where Finklestein has a place +near Morristown. We'll hear of him later." + +Delaney shifted his big feet and started counting on his fingers. He +widened his eyes. "There's one more," he said, as Drew leaned back. + +"Yes, there's one more. I kept him for the last. He's out of sight, +reach and hearing. You know who I mean?" + +"That guy who invented wireless boat, or flying boat, or them +movie-picture things in seventeen colors. I know who you mean. He beat +it, slick as any porch-climber. What's his name, Chief?" + +"Morphy's brother, Cuthbert Morphy! He's an electrical-engineer and the +inventor of all their shady promotions. He's the real brains of the +mob. You never saw him?" + +"No--did you?" + +"Can't say that I have!" declared Drew with a snap. "I call him one of +my failures. I've made enough. Remember how Flood and Cassady searched +for him after the others were arrested? He's cost us thousands of +dollars--without result. I charged it to Stockbridge." + +"Which way did he go, Chief?" + +"He beat it for Argentine. From there he went across South America to +Antofagasta. From there he disappeared like a rocket in No Man's Land. +No trace was found. For all we know, he might be right here in little +old New York--the best hiding place in the known world. I hate to think +of the places a man could plant in this town!" + +"Sure! But they always come around the old corner. Remember Dutch Gus, +the boxman. Five years, Chief, in every town on the map, and then he +was picked up at Forty-second Street and Broadway. Maybe your friend, +Cutbert, will show up some day?" + +"Cuthbert!" corrected Drew. "He's no friend of mine, Delaney. The +trouble is, we haven't got a single photograph of him. That shows he +was figuring on crime all his life. A man who don't get his picture +taken, is generally a man to watch." + +"He's slick, Chief. What does he look like?" + +Drew pressed a buzzer-button. "Look like?" he said, turning toward the +door. "Oh, he is a little fellow, quick-tempered and probably handy +with a gat. He's dangerous. I think Cuthbert Morphy is a good lead if +we can find him." + +"I never did like that first name!" Delaney blurted as Harrigan opened +the door to a crack. + +"What have you found out about Harry Nichols?" asked Drew, as the +assistant-manager stepped in softly. + +"Got Plattsburg, Chief," said Harrigan briefly. "Harry is O. K. up +there. Captain's commission. Three months intensive training. Going to +France soon. On fourteen-days' furlough in New York. Was floor manager +for Harris, Post and Browning. Quit good job to go in the Army. Harris, +of the brokerage firm, says Harry can come back and hang up his hat any +time. That's about all!" + +"Umph!" said Drew. "That's fine, in a way. He couldn't have a better +record. Now we'll lay him aside. What did Frick learn at Ossining?" + +"Frick 'phoned once. I was going to connect you with him but that +fellow with the bird-cage came in. Frick says the warden is O. K. and +will lend every aid. He saw Morphy in the Auditor's Department. Looks +worried, he says. Getting old! The visitor's list shows that he's had +an average of three visits a month. No sign of his brother. There's a +fellow calls, though, who might be Cuthbert Morphy. Answers general +description. They'll pinch him next time he comes. We never thought of +looking for him there!" + +"No! We were going to _send_ him there! It's like a crook, though, to +play with fire. What else did Frick say?" + +"Nothing more, Chief. He's looking around. He says he'll report as soon +as there is anything. He says----" + +"Buurr! Burrr! Burrrr!" + +Drew turned and snatched up the telephone receiver. He pressed the +diaphragm to his ear. "All right," he said tersely. "Connect me. Yes!" + +Delaney breathed deeply and watched his chief's face. + +"Hello! Hello!" whispered Drew. "Yes," he added guardedly. "Yes, +Commissioner.... What? You say that ... that the autopsy on +Stockbridge's body--head--shows what? Repeat it! I can't quite hear +what you are saying. Louder, Commissioner! That's better. Yes--all +right now, Fosdick. It shows.... It shows that the typo cupronickel +bullet found in--in, ... repeat that.... In Stockbridge's brain was not +scored or ... or what? ... Marked? ... Wait! I don't get your +meaning.... It was lodged in the soft tissues of the.... Yes! ... I +see! Go on.... There were no rifling marks on it.... What?" + +Drew turned and motioned toward the open door. Harrigan closed it +softly as the detective resumed his position at the 'phone. "Yes," he +said tersely. "Yes, Fosdick. That's important. I should say it was +important! ... New wrinkle, what? ... Why, I'd think at a quick jump +that the bullet which killed the old man wasn't fired from a regulation +revolver.... Yes, it couldn't of! ... It must have been fired from a +smooth-bore rifle or pistol!... What? ... Yes.... It seems that way to +me.... Are you dead sure?" + +Drew waited. He tapped the desk with a pencil. He reached with his +right hand and pulled a sheet of paper to him. "Go on," he said slowly. +"Yes, go on, Commissioner. Oh, I've been busy! Yes. You have! Well.... +I wouldn't of. No, I don't think that's the right lead at all. They're +all right. All right.... Go to it! ... Good-by, Fosdick." + +The detective flipped the receiver on the hook and slowly swung the +chair. His eyes darted first at Harrigan and then rested upon Delaney's +broad face. + +"That damn fool!" he exclaimed. "He's pinched the whole bunch of +servants. He's looking for the valet. The butler is under lock and key. +All that's left up there is the housekeeper and some housemaids and +Miss Loris. He better not touch her! Brass Band Fosdick! He's a mile +off the case!" + +"What about that bullet, Chief?" asked Delaney. + +"Oh! That's new! It's different and important. The coroner's inquest +shows--the autopsy, I mean--that the bullet found in the millionaire's +brain was a cupronickel affair of twenty-two caliber projected by +smokeless powder from a smooth-bore weapon held not more than three +inches from the old man's head." + +"Whew!" whistled Delaney. "That's going some, Chief," he added, rising. +"But what does it mean? I ain't got that at-tall!" + +"Nor I!" snapped Drew. "We're only getting deeper and deeper into +facts. After a while we'll have enough of them to solve the case. The +smooth bullet is important. It suggests many things--a home-made gun, +for instance." + +"Might have been an old Civil War gun, Chief." + +"I don't believe there was anything like that in Stockbridge's house. +You might inquire when you go up. He was very modern with his Flying +Boat stock and his improved munitions for the Allies. He has no old +collection of arms." + +Delaney stared at Harrigan. Drew swung to his desk and tapped the +blotter for a moment. "We'll get busy," he said briskly, as he swung +back again and faced the two operatives. "I've almost got my man. That +bird there," Drew pointed toward the magpie, "is our one best bet and +lead. I may be wrong, but I'll wager a good cigar there's a convict or +ex-convict at the back of this case. How else can we explain 'Ossining' +or 'Ah, Sing' repeated through the magpie to us. It's not an impossible +clue. It might happen. Let's move with both feet!" + +Delaney rose lankily and stood by the door. He braced his shoulders, +then shelved them forward as he reached a finger toward the bird-cage. +"Pretty Poll!" he said. + +The magpie darted about the cage like a shaft of blue light. It came to +rest with its tail feathers thrust through the bars. It peered with +beaded eyes at Drew who had snatched up a bundle of papers and was +sorting them. + +"Get busy, Delaney, on this assignment!" he said sharply. "Waste no +time. Run up to Stockbridge's and get me plaster-paris casts of all the +footprints you can find around that junction box. It's stopped +snowing," he added, glancing out the window. + +"All right, Chief." + +"Wait a minute. Stop somewhere on your way up-town and find out the +exact temperature changes last night. What I want you to get is a +record of every quarter-hour, so as to show when the early, packed snow +in Stockbridge's yard froze solid. The under crust!" + +"I got that in my head, Chief! That's my idea, exactly. If a tall lad +tapped in on the junction box early in the night his footprints will be +frozen close to the ground. The whole surface is level now, but there +ought to be ice-posts sticking up when I get done thawing." + +"That's right! You'll probably find the trouble-hunter's and one other +set of prints. The other set is our man's!" + +"What size feet did the trouble-hunter have?" + +"Small--about six!" + +"All right, Chief, I'm off." + +"Walt a minute." Drew studied a sheet of paper. "After you get the +temperature data, Delaney," he said. "After you get that and the +plaster casts of the footprints, go into the house and stay there. +Watch Miss Loris. Don't talk to Fosdick's men. Tell her to be careful. +Tell her that she is in grave danger. Remember that the same man who +threatened Stockbridge over the wire, also said he was going to get +her. Remember that, Delaney!" + +"Good-by!" + +"Get a shave!" shot Drew out through the closing doorway. + +"I'll do that little thing," came echoing back with a hearty chuckle. + +"Now, Harrigan," Drew said, shuffling the slips of paper like a deck of +cards. "Now, we're closing in on our man or men. See if you can find +Frick at the prison. 'Phone from the booth!" + +Harrigan was back within three minutes. He leaned over Drew. + +"Frick was with the warden," he whispered tersely. "He was easy to get. +He says that Morphy has been trying to telephone----" + +"What?" + +"Tryin' to telephone, Chief----" + +"What has he got to do with the telephone? What right has an inmate of +a prison got to phone? Unless--unless the warden thought the case was +justified--like in sickness or important business." + +"Maybe the warden allowed him, Chief. I didn't ask Frick!" + +"Get out there and ask him! Quick!" + +Drew waited with every muscle taut. He drummed the table with impatient +fingers. He thumbed the sheath of papers he had collected on the +Stockbridge case. He wheeled in his chair and stared out through the +frosted window with unseeing eyes. The vision came to him of a pompous +old man in prison gray, strutting about the front office with silk +socks and a Havana cigar. Drew had no sympathy with a certain kind of +convict. The misguided safeblower or house prowler might be excused for +a great many things. The pickpocket was a professional, who took his +chances as they ran. The gentleman bank-wrecker, with his overextended +tale of woe and his bid for the world's sympathies, was the one the +detective detested with all his soul. Such men, he believed, were +beyond the pale. They knew better. Morphy, for instance, had not only +gotten away with much of widow's and orphan's money, but he had wrecked +a score of homes and dragged down many with him at the final assizes. + +"So he uses the phone!" Drew repeated like an indictment. "Well! Well! +Well!" + +Harrigan stepped in through the door. Drew turned away from the window +and stared at the assistant-manager. "What did you find?" he snapped. + +"I found enough, Chief! Frick says that Morphy is the whole thing up +there. They call him the 'Assistant-Warden,' in jest. The Welfare +League won't have anything to do with him. They got him down for a +squealing 'rat.'" + +"You can't fool the Gray Brotherhood," said Drew. "Their rooms are too +close together. What about this telephoning? Who was it to?" + +"A telephone booth in the Subway Station at Times Square!" + +"Good God!" + +"Frick says it was! He tried to listen but Morphy came out and looked +around twice." + +The detective rose from his chair and grasped Harrigan's narrow +shoulders with fingers of steel. + +"Get out there!" he ordered through line-drawn lips. "Get out there and +phone from the soundproof booth. Ask my friend--the vice-president of +the telephone company--to find out for us whether Morphy or anybody +else in the prison telephoned at four minutes past twelve this morning. +Get that?" + +"That was when Stockbridge was shot, wasn't it, Chief?" + +"It was!" exclaimed Triggy Drew. + + + + +CHAPTER TEN + +"A WOMAN CALLS" + + +The business of a modern detective agency is managed in much the same +manner as a corporation or a large firm of corporation lawyers. Its +tentacles, or operatives, are spread over the globe. Its news and +assignments come in via wire. Its telephone and telegraph bills amount +to thousands of dollars every year. In no other way can satisfactory +results be secured. + +Drew had started his agency on a shoestring and ran it into a +"tannery," in the parlance of the street. He had made many mistakes. He +had once, to his knowledge, sent the wrong man to prison. This mistake +had been so costly, he never spoke of it. It was soon after the +conviction of the innocent man, that Drew gave up circumstantial +evidence and got down to hard work, wherein the evidence accumulated +was tempered with some degree of fact and common sense. + +The first Stockbridge case had been in connection with an absconder. +This man, Drew brought back in person from Adelaide. The work so +pleased the millionaire that when Morphy broke under the financial +strain and robbed everybody, right and left, Drew was called in to +bring the promoter to the bar of justice. It was a long fight, fraught +with danger and disappointment. The courts dragged. War broke over the +civilized world. Morphy fought fiercely--like a cornered hyena. He was +sent away, after dragging down his confederates. He had sworn at the +time of conviction that he would get Stockbridge if it took to the +longest day of his life. Drew remembered this oath and promise as he +waited for Harrigan to appear from the booth. + +He turned to the magpie and the cage. He studied both with keen eyes +which had been trained in the school of hard facts piled upon each +other until they pointed a way. Stockbridge had owned the pet for many +years. It was the one domestic trait in his make-up, save Loris. It +would be a strange thing, Drew concluded, swinging toward the window, +if Morphy and Morphy's confederates were to fall through a remembered +couplet dropped by the magpie. It was in the order of events, however. +It was the bright, particular finger which pointed toward the prisoner +at Sing Sing. Nothing would be more logical than for the bird to +remember the millionaire's last words--or dying words. They would be +shrieked aloud and unforgetable. + +"More snow," said Drew to himself. "This is a white day if ever there +was one. I wonder if Delaney got to the house in time?" + +He turned as a "Buurrrr! Burrrr!" sounded at the ringing-box below the +desk. + +"Hello!" he said sharply into the transmitter. "Hello! Who's this?" + +He waited as some out-of-town connection was made. A thin voice broke +in from the silence. The voice rose in timber. "Oh, Hello!" exclaimed +the detective, recognizing Flynn, one of his operatives. "Hello, +Flynn," he said. "What's the weather like out at Morristown? Yes! ... +Yes! ... Oh, is that so.... What? ... Too bad! ... Well, you better +come in.... Take the first train and jump on the job.... He's in +Florida, eh? ... Well, that lets him out.... Good-by, Flynn!" + +Drew reached for a pencil and scratched a name off his list before he +hung up the receiver. "That leaves six," he said, running his eyes down +the names of the suspects. "Six to go. We'll round them up--or out. It +looks bad for one or two of them!" + +He dropped the pencil to the desk with a flip of his fingers. He +replaced the telephone receiver on the hook. He twirled the chair and +leaned forward with his hands on his knees. + +"Nice bird, you," he said, addressing the magpie. "We're alone, you and +I. Why don't you tell me what you know--what you heard in that library, +when the millionaire talked over the phone and then received the +cupronickel bullet in the base of his brain? He said, 'Ah, Sing!' eh? +He said it, or we are jumping at conclusions. Have Delaney and I +erred--as once or twice before?" + +The bird strutted about the cage. It pecked at a hard, white fish-bone, +thrust between two bars. It dipped its bill into the water-holder, then +held high its head as it gulped. It switched its tail and hopped onto +the first perch. There it sat, with coiled claws, as Drew leaned +closer. + +"Ah, Sing!" he repeated confidentially. "Ah, Singing! Ossining! Sing +Sing! Let me hear you do your prettiest, birdie. Don!" + +The magpie lowered its head and peered outwardly. It lifted a wing with +ruffled dignity. Drew narrowed his eyes. "You were there," he +whispered. "You were in that sealed room--that double-locked and +triple-watched library. How did the murderer shoot down the old man? +How could he do it, Don? I think I know _why_ it was done. I'm fairly +sure who is directing matters. What I want to know is, what devilish +ingenuity of the criminal tribe projected that bullet into the old +man's brain? Answer that, Don!" + +The bird was as stately as a raven. It seemed to Drew that he heard an +echoed "Nevermore." He sat upright and took his hands from his knees. +"Answer that, Don?" he repeated. + +"Gone batty, Chief?" asked Harrigan, thrusting his shoulders through +the open door. + +Drew glanced up. He passed his hand over his forehead in a sweeping +motion as if brushing cobwebs from his brain. "Guess I am," he +admitted, with a sparkling glance at the paper held in the assistant's +hand. "Well!" he snapped, recovering himself. "Well, what luck? I see +that you got something!" + +"Yep! I got him, all right. He's hanging around the front office of the +prison seeing what he can find out. He says," Harrigan consulted the +paper. "He says, Morphy has been worried all morning. That he acts like +a man in a daze. Always----" + +"I don't want that, now! Didn't I send you out to call up the +vice-president of the telephone company? The same man who helped us +early this morning. Westlake!" + +"I was getting to him, Chief! He was busy when I called, so I thought +I'd get Frick again. That's all Frick had to say, except a----" + +"Well?" + +"Except he'll stay there until he receives instructions from you to the +contrary. Says he'll report if anything turns up." + +"Go on with Westlake!" The detective's voice hardened. + +"Well, I got him, finally. Had to wait till he cleaned out the callers +in his office. He's in charge of maintenance and equipment. He says +that their records show----" + +"Show what?" Harrigan had scowled at his own writing. "It took some +time to get this, Chief. Oh, I see. Well, the records of the +Westchester Company shows three long-distance calls from the prison +between six o'clock last night and this morning. The first one was at +seven-ten P. M. to a slot booth at the east end of the New York Central +Railroad Station." + +"Good!" snapped Drew. "Good! Go on! We're getting there!" + +"This call was for seventeen minutes. It was charged to the prison." + +"What was the booth number?" + +Harrigan consulted his sheet. "I didn't get that," he said, scratching +his head. "Westlake didn't give it to me." + +"Go on--we'll get it! Go on! What was the next call?" + +"The second call, Chief, was to the State Capitol Building at Albany. +It was for three minutes. No more! I guess that was the warden talking +to the Pardon Clerk, or something like that. We'll forget it, eh?" + +"Chop it out!" + +"The third and last call, Chief," said Harrigan with haste, "was to the +same telephone-booth at the Grand Central Station. Ah, here's the +number! That's why Westlake didn't give it to me on the first call to +the booth. Number, Gramercy Hill 9845, Chief. That's over near the east +end of the building--on the lower level." + +"A quiet place!" mused Drew. + +"Yes! Well, Chief, here is the time. The call was for twenty-two +minutes, extending from a quarter to twelve--midnight--to seven minutes +after twelve. It was charged to the Auditing Department of the prison." + +Drew rose from his chair. "That covers the hour in which Stockbridge +was murdered!" he declared, reaching for the roll-top of his desk +"That's nice work on your part." + +Harrigan flushed slightly. He leaned over and laid the paper upon the +desk. Drew took it, folded it with two fingers forming the creases, +then crammed it into his breast pocket The roll-top came down with a +bang. Harrigan lifted an overcoat from a tree, helped Drew on with it, +and found the detective's hat. + +"When will you be back, Chief?" he inquired. + +"Hard to say! Get me some French-gray powder. A little will do. I'm +going to see if I can get any fingerprints in that booth. They might +help!" + +"Will you be back by night!" Harrigan asked, leading the way through +the door. + +"Don't know! Get that powder! Tell Delaney, if he calls up, that I'm +hot after my man. Tell him to stick up where he is, till he hears from +me. Tell Flynn, when he comes in from Morristown, that he can relieve +O'Toole who is trailing Harry Nichols. I don't think there is much in +that. I'm covering every one--that's all." + +Harrigan opened the drawer of a cabinet and fingered about till he +found a small, round box of gray powder used for preserving +fingerprints. He turned with this and saw that Drew had crammed into +his side coat-pocket, a flat camera which the telephone girl brought to +him. "Got flash lights?" asked Harrigan. + +"Yes. There's some in the back of this camera." Drew slapped his +overcoat. "I got everything, I guess. Remember about Delaney and +Flynn." + +The detective moved toward the door which led to the hallway where the +elevators were. He turned as Harrigan laid a hand on his shoulder. +"What's that sticking out of your other pocket, Chief?" asked the +assistant-manager. "A paper, ain't it?" + +Drew flushed beneath his olive skin. He pressed the object down with +soft fingers. He turned and said simply: + +"That's a picture of the girl in the case. Forgot I had it. Good-by!" + +The door slammed as he strode over the white tiling and jabbed at an +elevator button with his right thumb. + +Swirled in wind-blown snow from the office buildings and wrapped to the +chin with the collar of his overcoat, Drew plunged, with head downward, +for the nearest subway station. + +He caught an up-town express, and, after three grinding station-stops, +he reached the Grand Central Station wherein was the telephone-booth to +which the calls had been sent from the prison. + +He made swift work of the matter at hand. Time was pressing. The +booths, to the number of three in that portion of the station, were +fortunately empty. + +Going over the slot-box and the tiny shelf in the center booth, which +bore the number "Gramercy Hill 9845" on the transmitter, Drew pulled +the door shut and dusted all the nickel work and the polished surface +of the receiver, with French-gray powder of superior make. + +He took three exposures by aid of small flashes. He opened the door and +allowed the smoke to escape. Pocketing the camera, after winding on a +fresh film, he entered the booth for a second time and inspected its +lower paneling for possible clews. + +An oath, close-bitten and expressive, escaped his lips as he discovered +a small hole drilled through the woodwork. He stooped and peered +through this opening. It led to the next booth. It had been made with a +long auger of quarter-inch diameter. Shavings lay upon the floor of the +booth. + +He emerged and investigated the second booth. The hole came through, +underneath the slot-box. It had been drilled in order to make a +connection between the two telephones. He found splinters and sawdust +at his feet. He backed out and stood perplexed. There was no way of +finding out just what sort of connection had been made between the two +booths. All evidence of wires had been taken down. Only an expert could +give an answer to the new riddle. Drew recalled Westlake as he rushed +to the subway-platform. + +He found the vice-president busy, with a score of men waiting in the +outer room of the telephone company's office. The secretary-in-charge +hurried in with his card and his urgent request for three minutes' +important matter which could not well wait. + +Drew, however, was forced to wait seven minutes by his watch. He chafed +at the delay. He crossed his legs at least once each leaden minute. He +feared that the trail was getting cold. Twice he rose, as if to go. +Each time the secretary had indicated patience by an arching of her +brows and a jerk of her thumb toward the ground-glass door. + +"Send in Drew!" boomed as the door opened and let out the caller. Drew +strode in with his notes in his hand. + +"Just a minute, Westlake," he said, dropping into a chair and leaning +over the desk behind which sat a good-natured official of the superior +order. "A minute! I'm in a jam! What d'ye make of this?" + +Drew related his discovery in the booths of the Grand Central. He went +right to the point. He explained the auger-hole, the shavings, and the +fact that it was the same set of booths to which the call had been sent +from the prison, over the time Stockbridge had been slain. + +Westlake listened with dawning light. He leaned back as Drew finished +talking. He smiled. He thrust his thumbs under his vest. "You're a +hardworking man, Drew," he said, "but you didn't get it all. Do you +remember the third call that I gave you this morning?--the one when the +chief-operator at Gramercy Hill put the howler on? It was from the same +booths you just mentioned!" + +"What?" + +"It certainly was. There's no use looking at the record. The number was +9844 Gramercy Hill. In other words we have the evidence to show that a +thin, whispering voice called up Stockbridge from one booth in the +Grand Central at the same time the prison was connected to the adjacent +booth." + +"For the love of Mike!" said Drew. + +"Yes--your case grows interesting, Chief. You've got a lot of tangled +leads and all that, but a little more work should untangle them. A +telephone engineer ought to make a crackerjack detective. He's trained +to unsnarl the worst snarls in the world. You ought to see some of our +wiring diagrams. It takes study to trace them out. You're learning!" + +"I don't know if I am, Westlake. I think that Morphy, up at the prison, +has been 'phoning New York. I believe he has a confederate in this +town. This confederate, we will say, received his instructions about +midnight last night. He bored a hole through the booths and called up +Stockbridge. But what was it all for?" + +"That I can't answer!" + +Drew rose from the chair and crammed his notes in his inner, overcoat +pocket. "What the devil did they do that for?" he asked with flashing +eyes. "Morphy calls up Gramercy Hill 9843 at, or about, midnight. +Gramercy Hill 9844 calls up Stockbridge. Stockbridge was killed by a +bullet in the neck as he's talking over the 'phone. Was the call to +warn him? Was it to threaten him? Was it to occupy his attention so +that the murderer could get in the room and fire the shot?" + +"Did you find out how he got into the room?" asked Westlake, leaning +forward. + +"I have not! The whole thing gets weird. I can't sleep! I'm not going +to sleep till I get some light on this!" + +"You look healthy," said Westlake, as he pressed the buzzer for the +next caller. + +Drew emerged from the elevator and hurried to the street with short, +quick strides. He crossed the snow and pressed open the door to a cigar +store. He fished out a nickel and called up his office. + +To Harrigan who answered, he said tersely, "Get Flynn up to the Grand +Central! Get him to the east-end telephone-booth, on the lower level. +Tell him I'll be there. He's back from Morristown, isn't he? He phoned, +eh? Get him to me! I need him!" + +Drew hung up with a swift flip of the receiver. He hurried to the +subway station and caught a local up-town. He had time to flash a +fourth and fifth set of photos before Flynn came puffing across the +lower level. + +"See here!" snapped Drew, drawing the operative into the middle booth. +"Bend down there where that hole is, and tell me what you see on the +varnish." + +"It's fingerprints, Chief. Two, three of them. Looks like somebody +pressed hard when they drilled that hole. The outer print is a good one +of a thumb. Left thumb, I should say." + +"That's right! I'm going to find out who made that impression, within +one hour. You stay here and grab anybody who tries to talk with the +prison. Frick is up there!" + +"How about O'Toole, who's watching Nichols?" asked Flynn. + +"Leave him stay on that assignment. I need you here. Stick now! Watch +everybody who talks over these three phones. Arrest anybody who +receives or sends a call to the prison. There's plenty of Central +Office men handy for a pinch. Fosdick will back them up!" + +Drew rushed for the subway. He realized that he had wasted valuable +time by not taking the complete set of fingerprint photos on his first +inspection of the booths. It was a detail he had overlooked. But then, +he could afford to make mistakes. The men or man he was after, dared +not make any. This was a thing he had often recalled in dealing with +super-criminals. + +Fosdick's rooms at Detective Headquarters, on Center Street, were +luckily deserted as he rushed down through the hallway. The +Commissioner widened his eyes as Drew handed over the camera, with a +request that the films be developed and prints made within twenty +minutes. + +"Can't be done that soon," said the detective. "Give us fifty minutes." + +"I'll make it twenty-five!" shot Drew. "I got lots to tell you, but +it'll keep. Get those prints and we'll land our man. The last two films +have perfect samples of finger-work. Our man slipped there! He signed +his own death warrant!" + +The Commissioner pressed a button. To the young man who came, he +explained the necessity of rushing the developing and printing of the +films. He turned as the messenger hurried out with the camera. + +"What about that bullet?" he asked. + +"Just as I said, Commissioner. It was fired from a smooth-bore pistol +or gun. What do you think?" + +"Oh, maybe not! Sometimes there isn't much rifling on an old revolver. +Those little twenty-two affairs are made out of cast-iron." + +"But the cupronickel bullet shows smokeless powder and high-class +criminal activity. I doubt if one of those little rods would take a +modern steel-jacketed bullet. They're used in automatics." + +"But automatics have good rifling. That bullet was as smooth as before +it was shot. Here it is!" + +Fosdick opened a drawer and pulled out a later-day projectile of the +lesser-caliber. + +"This is smooth!" he repeated with heat. "It was cut from the old +millionaire's brain. It ain't scratched. It never took the rifling it +was intended for. My theory is, that it was fired from a gun of larger +caliber. That is to say, it didn't fit the bore. A thirty-thirty rifle +might be used to hold a twenty-two caliber bullet. It would not take +the rifling of this." + +Drew shook his head. "That's hardly possible," he declared. "It's too +vague and doesn't suit me. We're going to find that the deeper we get +in this thing, the simpler will be the explanation. I remember any +number of cases which have been solved in this city where the mystery +was so wrapped up in speculation and the improbable that our minds +failed to grasp the simple thing which was the solution." + +"Then you think the lack of rifling on the bullet might be the opening +wedge to catching the man who shot Stockbridge?" + +"It could well be, Fosdick. The lack of a thing sometimes is just as +important as the visible clue. Do you remember the Rajah case at +Gramercy Park?" + +Fosdick leaned back in his chair and stared up at the ceiling. "Seems +to me that I do," he said, thrusting out his lower lip. "There was a +big jewel missing. Sort of an Idol's Eye case--wasn't it?" + +"Exactly! A white diamond was missing at a dinner. Lights went out as +they were passing the stone around the table. Lights came on again and +the diamond was gone. Everybody accused. A strange print was found on +the sideboard. Servants knew nothing about it. The print didn't +correspond to any which we took there. Seemed impossible and all that. +Well, the very fact that the print didn't correspond was the means of +finding the stone and the culprit. You remember it?" + +"Vaguely." + +"Simple! A Lascar who waited on the table slipped off his shoes, crept +into the room, secured the diamond and climbed to the sideboard where +he hid it on top of a picture. The thumbprint which we puzzled our +heads over was a toe-print! We got the fellow!" + +"I recall it now," said Fosdick. "I think one of our men thought out +the matter." + +"He didn't!" declared the detective. "We worked it out! The city +department had given up the case. This may be the same. I'll venture to +say that as soon as you get a good operative some private agency +secures his services. Now, Commissioner, confess up. What manner of gun +could fire a bullet, such as a cupronickel one, without leaving +markings?" + +"Smooth bore. An old flint-lock--for instance." + +"We'll grant that! They're clumsy, however. The shot which killed the +millionaire was fired at very close range through a smooth tube of a +greater caliber than the diameter of the bullet found in his head. If +it were fired through a gun which was rifled, then there was a collar +or collars on the bullet, which we didn't find. The same thing was +discovered by examination of the shells which the Germans fired at +Paris. There was no rifling on those long-range projectiles. The bands +dropped off after the shell left the gun." + +"Then this bullet was fired at long range?" Fosdick was openly +incredulous. + +"No! Again we have the impossibility or seeming impossibility. I +examined that library, both before and after the murder. No shot could +have been fired from the outside so that a bullet would reach the old +man. If that were the case there would have been an opening in the +walls or at the windows or the ventilators. Besides, we have the powder +burns on the millionaire's head. We are squarely confronted with a +paradox. Riddle me that paradox and we will go a long ways toward +finding the man who murdered Stockbridge." + +Fosdick frowned. "I can't see it at all," he confessed. "I still hold +to the theory that we should third degree all of the servants. I've got +some of them. If they don't squeal, I'll get the others!" + +Drew glanced at his watch. "Personally," he said, "I'm of the opinion +that you will not get anything out of them. I think it was a mistake to +arrest them. It would have been far better to trail the butler and the +doorman and see if they connected with anybody." + +"I'm doing this!" exclaimed Fosdick with asperity. "I've got charge of +this case, Drew. I got charge and I don't want any meddling. I've my +own methods." + +"All right," said the detective. "All right! I want a check-up on the +finger prints and then I'll be going. I had to come to you for this. +You have such an interesting collection." + +"Here's your answer!" said the commissioner, rising and striding around +the desk. "Take this bullet and look it over. Put it in your pocket. +And----" + +Drew turned swiftly. The messenger stood in the doorway. He came +forward as Fosdick nodded. He passed over the hastily developed prints +which Drew had taken. The commissioner glanced at them, frowned, held +them to the light, then said: + +"We'll try these on the Man Who Can't Be Beat! He's the best in the +world. He'll know in three minutes who made these prints if the fellow +is on our records." + +The fingerprint expert nodded to Drew as they entered a huge room which +was lined with mahogany cabinets in the manner of a filing system in a +mail-order house. Fosdick passed the five photos into this man's hand. +He smiled as the expert adjusted his glasses, pulled out a pocket +magnifying-glass, and leaned close up to the prints. + +"We're infallible!" exclaimed the Commissioner with superiority. "Watch +Pope get your man. He'll hound him out in no time. Eh, Pope?" + +The expert was not of a sanguine disposition in the minute which ensued +as he ran over the prints, studied them, held them to the light then +laid them down on a table and shook his head. + +"We have no record of this fellow," he said coldly. "It looks like a +man's print. Here's the thumb and here is the middle finger of the +right hand, I think. Hard to tell, sometimes. I'd say, as a pretty sure +thing, that we have no duplicates in our collection. Shall I look?" + +"Yes! Look!" said Fosdick. + +Drew felt that the case was slipping from him as Pope fluttered from +cabinet to cabinet, pulled out drawers, replaced them and tried still +others. + +"No go?" he asked as the expert shot back the last cross-index cabinet +and turned with shaking head. "No go? Try again." + +"Absolutely no record of the maker of these prints," said Pope, holding +out the photos. "He hasn't registered with us yet. Whoever made these +prints has never been arrested in the United States for a felony." + +"How about a misdemeanor?" asked Drew. + +"No! They're all in this cabinet. Even if he was picked up on suspicion +or for auto speeding or beating his wife,--if he has one,--he would be +here. I'm sorry, inspector." + +Drew pulled down the lapels of his black coat and turned toward +Fosdick. + +"Have you got a print of Finklestein?" he asked. "You remember the +fellow who was arrested in the Morphy case. He was afterwards released +for lack of evidence or else he claimed exemption. I've forgotten how +he got off. He's supposed to be in Florida or somewhere in the South. I +had a man out to Morristown who reports along those lines. I wish you'd +compare these prints with Finklestein's." + +"Go ahead," said the commissioner. "Go as far as you like. I don't +think that there is anything in these prints. You got the wrong +ones--that's all." + +"What's Finkle--Finklestein's initials?" asked the expert. + +"J. B.," said Drew quickly. "Julius B.!" + +A quick search through an alphabet-index, a consultation of two +drawers, out of which the expert pulled some tiny squares of cardboard, +and then a slow shaking of his head, brought Drew back to where he had +started from before taking the prints in the booth. + +"No record could be more different," Pope said. "Finklestein has a big +hand and very broad fingers. The fellow who made these prints has a +little hand with thin fingers. The whorls and loops are entirely +dissimilar. He comes under classification 2-4-X. Finklestein is in +cabinet 2-9-0. They couldn't be further away." + +Drew started out through the doorway with Fosdick following him. They +stood on the landing leading to the downstairs steps, where the +detective was about to leave the commissioner with a curt good-by. His +hand was out when he drew it back, dropped it to his side and wheeled +with sudden intuition. + +"Good Lord!" he exclaimed. "Are you and I detectives or children? Come +back to the fingerprint room. Hurry now. I want to see Pope. I forgot +something!" + +The expert rose as they entered. "Well?" he asked with arching brows +and a slight frown on his face. "Well, what is it?" + +Drew pointed a finger as steady as a rifle. He bared his eyes into +Pope's own. "Were you up to Stockbridge's house?" he asked swiftly. + +"Yes! Why?" + +"Did you take prints and photos of everything in the library? I +understand that this was done after I turned the case over to +Commissioner Fosdick." + +"It was done!" rasped Fosdick. "Of course it was done. It's always done +when a case looks like a homicide!" + +"This case looked worse than that!" said Drew. "It was slaughter!" + +The commissioner turned to the fingerprint man. "Where are the prints +and photos you took up at the house?" he asked. + +"Still in the developing room." + +"Do you think they are developed?" + +"I'll soon know, sir," he answered, pressing a button. + +The messenger entered who had attended to Drew's prints which the +detective took in the telephone-booth. + +"Get down to the developing room," ordered Pope. "Get me all the prints +and positives of Exhibit 12 of the Stockbridge case. Bring what is +already developed. Tell them to rush the others." + +The three men waited in silence for the return of the messenger. Drew +paced the floor thoughtfully. He clasped and unclasped his hands behind +his back. He had almost slipped in an important matter. It was a chance +he was taking, but a vital one in the case. The fingerprints taken by +the expert in the library might and might not jibe with those taken in +the slot-booth. If they were the same, or any one was the same, the +case would offer a new line for investigation. + +A sliding footstep at the door announced the messenger. He held a +sheath of curling papers in his hand. Pope reached and snatched the +photos. He ran over them with widening eyes. He sorted them into two +piles upon the table. + +"Five prints!" he announced, glancing at Drew with a sly smile. "Five +of these prints are the same as your set. In other words, the man who +made the impressions in the telephone-booth was also in the library at +or about the time of the murder!" + +"Impossible!" snorted Fosdick. + +"Ah!" said Drew. "Photos don't lie. Now we're getting there! That's the +first light I've seen in some time. It clears the case of the +supernatural. It puts it where it belongs--in the material world of +flesh and blood and hate and revenge." + +"It does that!" corroborated the expert, siding with Drew. "Now," he +added good-naturedly, "I'll help out some more. I've got a book of +notations made in the library. I spent two hours there this morning. I +flashed every print I could see. There's some of the butler on the +bottle and the tray. There's a number on the polished table. There are +at least six on the door knob, to say nothing of the smashed panel. I +suppose yours is among them, inspector?" + +Drew held out his right hand. "Look and see," he suggested with a short +laugh. "I've never been printed in my life." + +"That won't be necessary. These three prints which correspond with the +ones you took in the booth, settle the matter. There's no record of +this fellow in our cabinet. But--he was in that library!" + +"Where did he leave his prints?" asked Drew. + +Pope consulted a page of his note book. He thumbed over another page, +thrust his finger between the sheet and turned to the photos. "What's +the number on the back of that one?" he asked, nodding toward the +topmost photograph. + +"Ten," said Drew, turning it over and studying a penciled number. + +"Ten," repeated the expert. "That is a print which was flashed on the +corner of the little table which was overturned when Stockbridge fell +to the floor after being shot." + +"And the same man made it who made my prints in the booth?" + +"The same!" declared the expert dryly. + +"I don't see where you two are getting," said Fosdick. "How could a man +get into that library, shoot the old millionaire, get out again and go +over to a slot-booth?" + +"He might have been in the slot-booth first," suggested Drew with slow +smiling. "From the booth he went to the house and killed Stockbridge." + +"The fact is established," exclaimed Pope, "that the man you are after +was in the library and in the booth. That's all you can say. There's no +way to determine the exact hour these two sets of prints were made." + +Drew lifted a second print. "No. sixteen," he said, turning to the +expert. "Where was that made?" + +Pope consulted his book. He glanced up at Fosdick, who was ill at ease +over the development in the case. "That," he said, swinging his eyes +till they met Drew's, "that was made on the hardwood floor directly +under Stockbridge's body. We found the print, with others of the little +finger and middle finger when the coroner moved the corpse!" + +The detective stared at Pope. "You mean," he said shrewdly, "that the +man who made the prints in the booth and on the little table, also was +down on his knees arranging Stockbridge's body, or doing something like +that?" + +"He made a distinct impression on the floor despite the fact that the +body was moved over it. The polish and the varnish helped to hold this +impression. I venture to say that it is there yet." + +"Good!" said Drew. "I may have a look at it. I never went after prints +in my investigation. I left that to men who knew their business--like +yourself." + +Pope smiled. He glanced at his book for a third time. "What's the +number of that last print?" he asked. + +"Forty-four!" + +"Taken from the edge of the heavy door which was broken down by +Delaney, I guess. Looks like his work." + +"I had a hand in that," admitted Drew. + +"This print was close to the knob. There's none like it on the knob +itself." + +"Umph!" declared Fosdick. + +Drew glanced at the commissioner. He smiled as he laid his hand on +Fosdick's shoulder. "I've got you to thank," he said, "for letting me +use the brains and facilities of the police department. I think it +clears the case in a remarkable manner." + +"How?" asked the commissioner. + +"Well for one thing," Drew said, lifting the third photo. "For one +thing, we know that our man passed through the doorway before or after +the murder. He was in the library. He was in that booth which is a half +mile or more away from the mansion." + +"I'll grant you that, but what does it prove?" + +Drew laid the photo on the table and turned toward the doorway. "It +proves," he said, "that Stockbridge was murdered by a man who was never +arrested in New York." + +"That's a large order!" chuckled the commissioner. "There are a few +good citizens and a number of bad ones we haven't got--yet!" + +"I'm satisfied," said the detective, pulling his hat down over his +head. "I'm going to look for a man who is too clever for his own good. +He's stayed out of your clutches. He's forgotten more about telephones +than most men know. He's as slippery as an eel and as clever as the +very devil. In one thing only did he err, so far in this chase." + +"What's that?" asked the commissioner. + +"He didn't wear gloves on the job. That's where we may trip him up." + +"They all forget something," said Fosdick, as Drew hurried out through +the door with a bow toward the staring fingerprint man. + +The detective hurried down the steps,--passed the sergeant at the +entrance, and turned up his coat collar as he plunged from the building +and lowered his head beneath the down driving snow. The entire matter +was as he had told Delaney. He would have to find who made the prints! + +Deep, drifted snow barred his progress as he struck down through a +towering canyon and walked eastward. He had no coherent idea save the +one that he wanted the grip of the open places in his lungs and the +feel of freedom from stifling rooms and skeptical men. + +The case had resolved itself into a battle of wits wherein the culprit +who had murdered Stockbridge, by unknown means, had all the advantages. +He was unknown. He had the largest city in the world to hide himself +in. He could strike at any time and in any quarter. Also, the detective +realized, with a chilly oath, the murderer might already be fleeing the +city for the south or west. It would be a natural thing for him to do. + +Drew had one undisputed qualification for a detective. He was a worker. +He lacked the Latin sense of deduction, or the cleverness of a great +operative who secured his men through quick brain work and shrewdness. + +Hard work, and more work and still more work had won for him the little +position he held in the city. He did not overrate his own powers. He +had failed too often to hold himself too highly. Chance was a big +factor in the criminal game. The members of the criminal tribe worked +through luck and sheer audacity. Many escaped from the net and moved in +the underworld until they made their final mistake which was probably +so glaring it couldn't be overlooked. + +Despite the fact that the finger prints were not of record, Drew held +to the swirling conviction that the man he was after was of the +criminal horde. There was much to lead him to this belief. The +cleverness in connecting up the two telephone booths--the warning +through the mail to Stockbridge--the manner in which the murder had +been covered up in a score of details, all pointed to a criminal mind +of the cunningest order. It savored of practice in crime and study of +natural conditions. Its bizarre features placed it out from other +crimes and raised it to a class of its own. + +The snow which impeded the detective's steps, in some manner cleared +his brain. He began to review the series of events. He boxed the case +with returning shrewdness. He went over the points like a sailor +repeating the compass-chart. He even saw a light. + +This light was a star that guided him around a corner and then along +the long reach of a white-mantled street where children shrilled and +played. Snow-balls flew past his head. Sleighs and muffled taxis +churned by. Women in furs and heavy cloaks glanced up at his olive face +from which peered sanguine eyes bent upon a known destination. + +He paused at the foot of a flight of steps leading to a library. In +this building he knew there would be on file certain data concerning +three links of the chain which he was trying to forge about the +criminal or criminals who had slain Stockbridge. + +He entered the storm-door, shook the snow from his coat, and removed +his hat with a swinging bow as he drew erect in front of a prim lady at +a desk. + +"I want all the books you have on modern telephony," he said with a +winning smile. "I'm sure that you have one or two." + +The prim lady who knew a gentleman when she saw one, raised her brows +and rapidly thumbed over a filing-card system. + +"One or two," she repeated. "Why, we have over twenty. Now just what +branch of Telephony do you want? There are a number of divisions in the +subject. We have Smith on Central Office practice. We have Steinward on +Induced Currents in Relation to Magnetism. We have Oswerlander on +Switchboards and Carbon Transmitters. We have Burke on Circuits and +Batteries. We have----" + +"Hold on, please," said Drew, catching his breath. "I better try +something easy. One of those Juvenile books with simple diagrams and +switchboards or junction-boxes." + +Drew carried the book to an alcove which was deserted. He took off his +coat, hung it on the back of a chair, upended his hat and sat down with +a tired smile. Soon he was busy in the mystery of electricity in +relation to the telephone. He conned over the pages. He browsed along +like a novice trying to understand trigonometry. He frowned over such +terms as micro-ampere and micro-volt. He grew dizzy following wiring +diagrams which were far worse than any clue he had ever attempted. + +"A telephone engineer," he said half aloud. "A man who could trace out +this stuff ought to make a mighty fine detective. I never saw such a +snarl. Now what does hysteresis and laminations mean? What's the idea +of having an alternating current of low voltage on the same line with a +talking current of three volts? I don't see how they can get two +currents on one set of wires. Maybe they don't." + +He tossed the book to the table in front of him and rose with a frown. +This frown changed to a wrinkled furrow of half amusement as he hurried +back to the little prim lady. + +"Too deep for me," he said, referring to the book she had given him. +"That may be a beginner's treatise, but I'm in the kindergarten class +in electricity. What's a micro-volt?" + +"I'll look it up, sir," she said. + +"Never mind. I wouldn't know, after you did. Suppose you get me a book +on magpies." + +The librarian fingered her files. "Try Birds of England," she +suggested, coming from behind her desk and gliding like a pale shadow +over to a book-case. "Try this. It's complete. You'll find magpies and +starlings and piemags and any number of plates of six colors in this +splendid volume." + +"The one that interested me was black as a crow," he said, as he turned +toward his alcove. "Perhaps there are white magpies as well as white +crows. I never saw one, though. My bird's a deep one." + +The little librarian stared after Drew's vanishing form with a slight +pucker between her eyes. For a man of his solid respectability, the +series of actions were strange indeed. She sat down and wondered if he +was a moving picture editor trying to connect black magpies and +telephones. + +Drew appeared in two minutes. He leaned over the desk and startled the +lady with a request for anything pertaining to guns and projectiles. +These she had in plenty. A great many war books had been purchased +during the period which followed America's declaration. + +The detective erected a breastwork with the books she brought. He +conned them with understanding until he came to ballistics and +trajectory. He stopped there. He rose. His brain was crammed with fact +upon fact. He had the formulae of smokeless powder and the analysis of +cupronickel bullets. He had absorbed muzzle velocity and angle of fire. +He fairly bubbled over with good humor as he thrust his hands into his +overcoat, caught up his hat and started out the door after glancing +back and bowing to the librarian who smiled a good-by. + +The street was dark save for the glow of the overhead arcs. He thrust +out his arm and tested the snow fall. It was not as heavy as when he +had entered the library. He went down the steps, turned toward the +north and plowed along the sidewalk. + +Suddenly the thought came to him to glance at his watch. He had +forgotten time and place over the hours in the pursuit of knowledge +which might and might not be applied to the case at hand. It was almost +six o'clock. + +"Lord," he said in surprise. "I'm going crazy. Two hours in a trance. +Now for work. I wonder what the operatives will have to report? They +ought to have something. I wonder," he added, peering under the fine +drizzle of snow, "I wonder where the nearest telephone is located? +Another block, I guess." + +His brain gathered up the skeins of the case as he hurried along. +Fingerprints, plaster-casts, smooth bullets, locked rooms and a +raven-black magpie, trooped into their proper formation. He dwelt +longest on the telephone information he had gathered in the library. +The case seemed bound up in whispering wires and broken connections +which might be spliced together with patience and hard work. + +The whole matter, from the call of the millionaire, down to the clew +discovered in comparing the finger prints at Detective Headquarters, +was a city-spread network of telephone connections which had to be +traced back to an elusive individual who flitted like a shadow or a +whirling dervish across the detective's vision. + +He reached the drug-store, paused outside, glanced up and down the +white-robed street, then pressed the door open and stamped inside. He +found a nickel. Dropping this in the slot and closing the booth, he +asked Central for his office phone. + +The connection was made with Harrigan on the other end. "What's new in +the Stockbridge case?" asked Drew in a whisper. + +He listened. He grew rigid as the faithful operative summed up the +entire series of reports. There were six of them. The last was from +Delaney. + +"Hang up!" the detective almost shouted in his eagerness. "Hang up, +Harrigan, and let me get him." + +Finding a quarter instead of a nickel, Drew dropped it in the large +slot and jiggled the receiver's hook until Central answered. + +"Get me Gramercy Hill 9764!" he exclaimed. "Quick! 9764 Gramercy Hill!" + +"That's her number," he said aloud. "Loris Stockbridge's number. It +must be her number. I haven't forgotten that, have I?" + +The time consumed in getting the connection seemed endless. Drew lifted +one damp sole from the floor of the booth and then the other. The +receiver's diaphragm clicked finally. "Hello!" he snapped. "Hello, +who's this?" + +He waited a full second. "This Delaney?" he asked. "Who?" he added. +"Oh! you're the maid! Well get me Miss Stockbridge or Mr. Delaney. Yes, +Delaney. D-e-l-a-n-e-y!" + +"This Delaney? ... No! ... Who?... Nichols? ... Harry Nichols? Hello, +Nichols! ... Is Delaney there?" + +The big operative's voice sounded with a rasp on the wire. "What's the +news?" asked Drew. "What's that you've been telling Harrigan? Something +about a coffin? A coffin? What--a casket? A hardwood casket. I'll be +right up! I'm coming!" + +The detective's olive face was the color of burnt pottery as he flipped +the receiver on the hook, thrust his knee against the door and charged +out of the booth and into the drug-store. He wheeled, turned his coat +collar up, drew down his hat and dashed outside as an astonished clerk +leaned over the prescription counter and stared after him. + +The message that Delaney had sent over the snow-crusted wires, and +along the underground conduits, was laden with menace. It drove Drew +westward through the drifts like a man who had a whip held over him. He +crossed two avenues before he sighted a taxi. He charged after this, +sprang to the running board, and shouted into the driver's muffled ear. + +"Drive like sin--full speed and more--up Fifth Avenue! I'll tell you +when to stop! The devils are not going to kill that little lady if I +can help it," he added, as he opened the door and climbed inside the +taxi. + + + + +CHAPTER ELEVEN + +"THE CLOSING NET" + + +Night was falling upon the greatest city in the world. After night +would come the myriads of electric lights in the huge Broadway +signs--the surface cars creeping through the snow-fall like glow +worms--the muffled pedestrians and the chain-tired taxis, with their +well-groomed patrons, hastening to ballrooms, cabarets and theaters +more luxurious than any dreamed of by Lucullus. + +Into the tide of this forming stream of wealth, Drew's taxi turned and +ground northward through the drifts. The detective had given no +definite address. He wanted the air of the Avenue for at least two +blocks, before he reached the Stockbridge mansion. He signaled as a +familiar corner came in view. He turned his overcoat collar up to his +chin and stepped out, as the driver brought the taxi to a slow stop at +the curb. + +"Stay around the corner!" he ordered. "Stay, till I send word. Here's a +dollar for supper. Get that and wait!" + +The driver touched his cap and reached for the bill. Drew swung +northward, threw back his head, and plowed along the snow-laden +sidewalk. Delaney's statement over the telephone had stirred every drop +of red blood in his body. Loris was in danger! This nerved him on. He +clenched his gloved fists as he reached the first side street. He +crossed the wheel-churned snow, with his lips gripped in a hard white +line. His eyes raised in heavy-lidded scrutiny of the towering turrets +and spires of the mansion. Lights shone from its windows as if in +defiance to the powers of darkness which encompassed the dwelling. + +A snow-crusted form stepped out from a basement shelter. Drew raised +his arm as a barrier when a figure of a man lurched in his direction. + +"Hello, O'Toole!" he blurted, recognizing the operative. "What are +_you_ doing here?" + +O'Toole jerked a mittened finger in the direction of the mansion. "Our +lad's in there," he said, thrashing his arms and flipping his finger +for a second time. "Harry Nichols!" he explained. + +"S--o! The whole case seems to be gathering again. Every clue leads +this way now. What did you learn to-day?" + +O'Toole yawned. "I got on the job early," he said with frosty breath. +"I waited. The lad came down. He got in a taxi and I'm right after him. +First he went to the Quartermaster's Offices at the Battery. Then he +went to Governor's Island. From there I trailed him to the Red Cross +Headquarters. He 'phoned Gramercy Hill 9764, at least three times." + +"To the girl in the case?" + +"Yep, Chief! He's gone on her. He tended to some funeral matters +connected with Stockbridge, bought some flowers--three dozen lilies of +the valley--then came on up here. I've been waiting a long time." + +"Seen anybody about?" + +"Delaney and some Central Office men--that's all! Shall I stay here?" + +"Not here! Jump back in the alley and watch the junction-box. I think +Delaney has been there. You'll find the snow melted in spots. Plant +somewhere, and keep your eyes open. Grab anybody you see tampering with +the wires to the house. I'm looking for trouble to-night. They +threatened Loris with a letter this afternoon." + +Drew did not stop to explain. He hurried on ahead of O'Toole, turned at +the iron-grilled gate, passed through and pressed the button. + +A Central Office man with a gold-badge showing, jerked the door open +and glanced out. He blinked sagely as he recognized the detective. + +"All right!" said Drew. "Let me in!" + +The door swung wider. Drew lunged through and turned. "What's new?" he +asked, pointing a thumb over his shoulder. "Are those servants still +under arrest?" + +"Some of them, Inspector," grunted the Central Office man. "I can't +talk much. Fosdick gave me hell for talking to a newspaper man. He left +word, though, that you could come in." + +"Thanks!" Drew said dryly. "Thanks! That's kind of him. You are holding +down this door?" + +"Sure, Inspector! The butler and the second-man are down at +Headquarters. I don't like the job, but orders is orders." + +Drew loosened his overcoat, removed his kid-gloves, stamped his +snow-covered shoes on the rug, and hurried past the library, where +stood a burly Central Office man on guard. He mounted the steps with +the running motion of a boy of fifteen. He glanced upward to where +velvet-soft light glowed at the entrance to Loris Stockbridge's suite +of rooms. Delaney stood framed in the opening. His huge bulk blotted +out the inner rooms. His face, seen in the high shadows, was long and +grim. + +"She's in there," said the operative, raising his chin over his lifted +arm. "Miss Stockbridge is in there. She's with her maid--one Fosdick +tried to pinch--and Harry Nichols. She's got a notice by special +delivery, that the coffin she ordered from the Hardwood Casket Company, +of Jersey City, will be delivered to-morrow. She never ordered any +coffin, Chief. Ain't that dirt--to a girl like that? What d'ye think of +it?" + +Drew's answer to Delaney's question was a grinding of teeth and a sharp +oath of defiance. He clutched the operative's arm in a nipping grip. He +led him into the tiny reception-hall of the suite. + +The detective paused on the threshold of a larger room. He dropped his +hand from Delaney's arm. He stabbed sharp glances here and there about +the interior. He widened his eyes as they came to rest upon a further +doorway, which was hung with soft tapestries gathered to the side-walls +by cords of silk. Beyond this doorway, like the vista of some rare +painting, shone an inner light of a woman's shrine. + +Silver and pearl and old rose blended into a bower such as is found in +palaces. Tiny medallions and plaques and miniatures--narrow framed +studies in oil--fans, vases, statuettes of ivory and rare china, a +hundred choice and dainty objects of haute-art were in that splendid +room. + +Drew advanced over a rug so soft and deep he felt like a peri entering +Paradise. He brushed aside the tapestries and strode swiftly forward. +His hat came off as Loris advanced to meet him from a large chamber, +wherein the color scheme had been worked out in black and white with a +suggestion of green-in-gold. + +He forgot the material things of that apartment as he bowed gallantly. +He thrust his hand forward and clasped strong fingers over her own. The +grief of her father's death had widened her eyes and set them in +circles of dark brows and tear-stained features. Her voice clutched in +her throat as she tried to speak. Her hand was drawn from his slowly. +It raised to her broad forehead beneath her blue-black hair, with a +passing motion that dispelled some of the doubt within her. She smiled +wanly. Her round, young breast rose and fell with the rustle of +perfumed laces. She swished her lavender gown behind her with a turn of +a white, supple wrist upon which was a tiny, diamond-studded watch of +superior make. + +"Courage!" said Drew. "Have courage! They won't get you!" + +"They--they," she breathed. "They have threatened me like they +threatened poor father. They sent a letter. Oh, I wish I were a man!" + +Drew flushed beneath his olive cheeks. He reached upward and turned +down his overcoat collar. He laid his hat on a chair, braced his +shoulders, and stared around the room. His eyes wandered from the walls +to the inner opening. "Who's in there?" he asked. + +"Harry--Harry Nichols. I telephoned for him. I was afraid. I admit I'm +afraid, Mr. Drew. You know what they did to father?" + +"Yes, I know. It was an error on my part. We did not take the proper +precautions. But this time--we will!" + +"I hope you do. I don't feel like myself, after last night. It came so +suddenly. I heard you people talking in the lower hallway. I went to +the bannisters and saw all the servants at the library door. And +then--and then, I went down without a particle of warning. It was a +shock, Mr. Drew." + +"One I could have spared you," admitted the detective. "It was +preventable," he added, turning toward Delaney. + +The operative stepped forward. He struck a chair with his foot and +tumbled it over. Picking it up and setting it down on its legs, he +flushed guiltily. + +"Be careful!" snapped Drew. "Get me that letter this young lady +received from Jersey. Get it! We'll look it over right now!" + +Delaney glanced at Loris. "She's got it," he said. "I gave it back to +her." + +Loris shuddered and pressed her hands to her breast. "I tore it up," +she whispered. "I was so excited and angry I tore it up. It's in the +waste-basket." + +"Fetch the basket!" said Drew to Delaney. "Go get it. We'll make this +room our headquarters," he added, swinging about on one heel. "We'll +stay right here and watch things, Miss Loris." + +The girl nodded prettily. Her courage came back with flushed cheeks. +She glanced up at Drew's strong jaw and face. The detective squared his +shoulder with a final shrug. "We'll stay here!" he said masterly. +"Though all the demons in hell are closing in on you, we'll stick. +We'll get them this time! I've almost got my man. If he moves his pawns +to-night, we'll round up the whole bunch and send them to the chair!" + +"Are there more than one?" + +"Yes! One is directing--another or others are doing his will. Your +father was slain in some mysterious manner which we have not, as yet, +determined. The man, or men, who caused him to meet with death, left +their marks behind them--fingerprints--footprints, voices over wires, +and other evidences of material deviltry. They blundered a score of +times! They should have killed that magpie. They did not wear gloves +when they should have worn gloves. They forgot, or overlooked, that +telephone calls can be traced. We've traced them. We've almost +succeeded. The trouble is, that time is short. What was in that +letter?" + +Loris turned toward the inner room. Delaney, followed by Harry Nichols +in full uniform, appeared. The operative held out a handful of scrapped +paper. + +"Ain't much to learn here, Chief. It's pretty well torn up. I remember +what it said, though." + +"Repeat it!" + +"It was from the Hardwood Casket Company of Jersey City. It was dated +this morning. It said that the coffin Miss Stockbridge ordered for the +lady who was about to die in her family, would be delivered to-morrow +afternoon by express at her town house, as ordered." + +"The curs!" exclaimed Drew. + +"Sure they are, Chief. The letter was signed by the manager. I think it +was the manager. I couldn't read his writing!" + +"Let me see the scraps." + +Delaney sorted them into a small stack and passed them to Drew. The +detective lifted each fragment, held it to the light, and placed it +into his right overcoat-pocket. "I get it," he said. "It looks genuine. +Did you telephone them?" + +"Nope! I was a-waiting for you to come up here. There's a phone here. +It's over there!" + +Drew nodded. "I saw it," he said thoughtfully. "We better be careful +how we use the phones of this house. They tapped the wires before, and +they can do it again. We're fighting very high-class devils." + +"It doesn't seem real!" blurted Harry Nichols. "I thought that death +only stalked in No Man's Land. It's right here, gentlemen!" + +Drew frowned and shook his head. He glanced at Miss Stockbridge. He +rubbed his hands softly. "No more danger," he warned in a confident +voice. "We've got twenty Central Office men in the house or about the +place. No bank was ever better protected. There will be no real trouble +to-night." + +"That's what you said the other time, to father," Loris suggested +without thought. "You did--you remember? You were in the library and he +felt so confident nothing would happen. Something did happen!" + +"I admit it!" Drew said with candor, "I admit everything, Miss Loris. +I'm partly to blame. The trouble was, I underestimated my adversary. A +man should never do that. This time, though," he added with glazed eyes +that roamed the walls. "This time is going to be different. Now, how +about all your rooms? We must be sure that there is no slip. We must be +sure----" + +"Sure, we must be sure!" interrupted Delaney. "I've looked everywhere, +Chief. Leave that to me!" + +Drew glanced at Loris, who had stepped toward Harry Nichols. He studied +the picture the two made, with their heads close together. The captain +held himself defiantly, but with that certain polish which goes with a +fondness for the things of life worth having. He had chosen a rather +pretty girl, and upon her he had lavished his attentions. He had defied +Stockbridge! This was motive enough for a crime. He was not the +criminal, decided Drew. There was that to the captain's resolute, +though thick lips, and his wide eyes, which assured the detective he +would not stoop to low things to gain his ends. He had enlisted +voluntarily. He had worked hard at Plattsburg. He had served, and was +upon the eve of going to Pershing. No man with such a record would slay +a girl's father to gain the girl. + +The detective erased Harry Nichols from his mind. "You two," he said +commandingly, "had better go into the library! I mean Miss +Stockbridge's writing-room. Stay there, please, till Mr. Delaney and I +notify you. Who else, beside we four, are in this part of the house?" + +"Only the maid," said Loris. + +"Go in, please, and wait. I'm going to lock everything up. We're going +to take every precaution this time. Frankly, I don't see how any agency +can do more than we have already. Were we dealing with ordinary crooks +or blackmailers, I would have you take a taxi and move to some Fifth +Avenue hotel. But it seems an unnecessary risk. This is the safest +place in the world, despite the letter from the casket company and the +former warning. What man can enter this place to-night--without our +permission?" + +"I'd like to see one!" blurted Delaney. + +Harry Nichols offered his arm to Loris. They passed from the view of +the two detectives with the locked, gliding stride of two dancers who +moved to slow time. Drew heard the portieres which led to the +writing-room rustle downward and settle into place. He passed his hand +over his forehead and breathed deeply. + +"We'll get busy," he whispered tersely. "We'll search these rooms +again. Let's start with a definite foundation!" + +Delaney grunted at the uselessness of this as he reached and took the +detective's overcoat which was peeled off and extended to him. + +"Hang it on a chair," said Drew sharply. "Over there with my hat. Now," +he snapped, "what about the windows of this room, the little reception +hall and the bedroom over there? That's a bedroom, isn't it?" + +"Sure, Chief! I frisked it good. The Central Office men were up here +early in the morning. They went through everything. Fosdick, they say, +was like a bull. He said the thing couldn't be done." + +"It _was_ done!" + +"Did you get any clue, Chief, as to how it was done?" + +"It's as much a mystery as ever. But we're trimming the tree called +Truth with a broad ax. I'm going around this case to get the man or men +who did it. Then we'll find out how it was done!" + +"Oh!" Delaney's expression was thought-laden. "Just thought of it, +Chief. I got them plaster-of-paris casts. I got 'em down stairs. It was +some job, believe me. I took everything about that junction-box, after +I'd thawed the snow with hot blankets which a good-looking cook brought +to me." + +"Go down and get them!" + +Delaney hurried out through the tapestries of the room. Drew started +his search of the apartment by a study of the windows and the catches. +He opened one and glanced outside. Snow had drifted to the depth of +three inches on the sill. This snow was unmarked. He examined all of +the sills extending from the three rooms. He closed and locked the +windows. He backed off into the center of the reception room and +studied the situation from every angle. The furniture was fragile and +in sets of such splendid periods his eyes closed over them. The rugs +and tapestries--curtains and portieres--sheathings of yellow +hand-painted silk from Nippon--rare ceramics and cloisonnes--a huge +peach-blow vase of the Ming dynasty and a hundred little jade and +jasper knick-knacks were the outward evidence of wealth. + +He opened the plate-glass cases and peered inside. He crawled under a +couch and backed out dusting his hands. He tapped with slow knuckles a +long cheval-glass by the side of which was a tiny gold-bracket and a +silver-plated telephone. He went the rounds of the walls, lifting +pictures, portraits and little military oils by French painters of the +Franco-Prussian period. He found nothing to excite his suspicion! + +Entering a simple bedroom, with its tiled flooring and its single white +bed, he spared this as he passed to the bath beyond, which had no +outlet save a ventilating shaft securely barred by a bronze grating of +close, fantastic-scrolled mesh. + +Delaney's heavy steps were heard in the reception hall as Drew +finished. Striding out into the larger room he frowned as the operative +deposited a blanket upon a Persian rug and began to untie its corners. + +"I got 'em here, Chief," explained the assistant with upturned face. +"There's five or six prints--all alike." + +"What? Repeat that!" Drew dropped to one knee. + +"Sure, Chief. There's only been one guy at that junction-box before the +freezing started. He made plenty of tracks. He came and went from the +fence to the box. It's a small foot. There was plenty of prints made +after the snow piled on top of these little prints." + +"The operatives?" + +"Sure, and the Central Office bunch! But these prints I got here are +the only ones under the snow. They stuck up when I melted away the +surface." + +Delaney offered a plaster-cast of the top of a footprint. It was +roughly done. It had been made, like the others in the blanket, by +pouring cold plaster within a retaining bulge of soap. The plaster had +hardened and brought out each detail. Drew traced his finger over the +toe. "Right foot," he said. "Now let's see the others!" + +"Here's a left foot, Delaney," added the detective slowly. "Only one +left and four right. That might happen. You didn't take them all. Well, +bundle them up and plant them somewhere. Put them under that couch, out +of sight. I've got an idea!" + +"What is it, Chief?" asked the operative as he drew on the knots until +he had gathered the corners together. "What's new? I can't see anything +in sight, at-tall, at-tall. One man--that's all I see." + +"And that's _all_ I see--the trouble-hunter--Delaney!" + +"But what about the tall guy who looked like a German? The fellow the +trouble-man saw getting over the fence and beating it for Fifth +Avenue?" + +"He didn't leave any tracks!" + +"Ah, Chief, get out! That ain't human!" + +Drew paced the floor with his hands clasped behind him. He wheeled with +sudden energy. "Go, you!" he exclaimed with a pointing finger. "Hurry +out of this house and telephone Gramercy Hill Exchange. Tell the +superintendent to send over that trouble-man. I want to compare these +prints with his shoes. He couldn't have been lying. There's no object +in that! But, Delaney, how could a man tap in on that junction-box and +never leave prints in the snow? That's my question!" + +"How could one shoot a man in a sealed room, Chief? There ain't much +difference!" + +Drew snatched out his watch. "Hurry," he said. "Get over to Gramercy +Hill Exchange--it's only three blocks from here. Ask Jack Nefe, or +whoever is in charge, for the trouble-man who fixed the phone last +night. He'll be able to tell us what part of the fence the tall fellow, +who looked like a German, got over. Perhaps he wasn't at the +junction-box at all!" + +"Who, Chief?" + +"The tall fellow! Perhaps he was skulking about the windows at the +back." + +"Perhaps he was a ghost," said Delaney to himself as he lunged through +the tapestries toward the staircase which led down from the third floor +of the mansion. + +Drew crossed the room and rapped softly on a panel by the portieres +which covered the opening to the reading-room and library. He heard a +muffled word of warning. Loris Stockbridge glided across the rugs and +peered out. Her face was set and tear-stained. She had been sobbing +upon an olive-drab shoulder. + +"Pardon," said Drew with a slight sigh. "I beg pardon, Miss +Stockbridge. I want to look over the sitting-room and examine the +windows. Where is the maid?" + +Loris touched her eyes with a handkerchief drawn from her breast. She +replaced this and nodded over her shoulder. She parted the portieres +with her unjeweled right hand. "The maid," she said softly, "is in her +room. That's back of this reading-room. Shall I call her?" + +"You and Mr. Nichols come in here, please," said Drew. "I'll knock on +the maid's door and look her over. We can't be too careful--remember +that. It's getting late," he added with candor. + +Drew allowed Harry Nichols and Loris to pass him as he held the +portieres for them with a thoughtful bow. He crossed the reading-room, +examined the books and cases, glanced under a low divan, and saw to it +that each window was latched before he knocked lightly upon a further +door which was hidden by curtains. + +A maid appeared, in smart white apron and pursed lips of inquiry. Drew +regarded her not unkindly. He ran his eyes up and down her trim figure +from the black bow in her brown hair to the wide ribbons which laced +her trim French shoes. + +"How long have you been with Miss Stockbridge?" he asked. + +_"Merci, Monsieur!"_ she courtesied. "It has been for zee longest time. +_Cinq--sept, annees, monsieur,"_ she counted mentally. + +"Good!" said Drew closing the door lightly. "Good little girl. We won't +bother you the rest of the night," he added as he turned a good key in +a perfectly good lock and dropped the curtains. + +"Now!" he said with a final glance about the reading-room, with its +morocco-bound tomes and glowing lights. "Now, let the worst come! Let +that come what may!" + +He strode through to the reception room, glanced slit-lidded at Loris +and Nichols, who had seated themselves in the deeper recess of a +splendid alcove, and hurried to the hall where Delaney was hastily +removing his coat, and showing other evidences of some answer to his +quest at the telephone exchange. + +"Well?" asked Drew as the bulk of the big operative loomed through the +tapestries. "Well, what did you find out over there?" + +"Enough, Chief!" Delaney's voice was hard. He glanced at Loris and +Nichols. His right eye closed in a warning wink of caution. + +"Come into this other room," said Drew. "Come right in, Delaney. This +way!" Drew lifted the portieres, then dropped them after the operative +had stumbled forward. + +"What did you find?" he asked into Delaney's ear. "Out with it!" + +The operative glanced about the reading-room. He blinked at the glowing +electrics. He recovered his voice as he drew in a deep breath which +bulged his chest to barrel proportions. + +"I went," he said huskily. "I went to Gramercy Hill Exchange. Found the +superintendent.... Fellow, you told me to find, Chief ... I draws him +to one side.... I asked about this trouble-hunter.... He ups like I'd +hit him.... He says fellow quit to-day.... Says fellow.... Says he was +no good.... Says he was tapping joints instead of soldering them. Says +he only hired him on account of the shortage of electricians and +helpers ... because of the last Army draft." + +"Did you get his address?" + +"I got it, Chief.... It is over on Fifty-third Street near the +River.... I didn't go.... I wanted to see you first.... There's more." + +"Out with it!" + +"The superintendent says he never sent that trouble-hunter over here +last night.... There's a record of sending another man named Frisby." + +"Did you see--Frisby?" + +"I did, Chief." + +"What did he say?" Drew's fingers had clutched the operative's arm. +"What did he say?" he repeated grimly. + +"Said, that Albert--that's the trouble-hunter--had stopped him on the +way over here and took his place.... Said, he was satisfied.... Albert +could have _all_ the jobs on a night like last night. That's just what +Frisby said, Chief!" + +Drew loosened his fingers from Delaney's arm and turned slowly. The +portieres swayed slightly. They shook anew. They parted at the center +and revealed Loris Stockbridge. Her eyes burned the soft gloom with +glazed interrogation. She raised her white hand and pressed back her +hair from her forehead. She stepped forward with her knees striking +against the stiff satin of her skirt. She swung from Delaney toward +Drew. + +"What were you saying?" she asked imperiously. "What did you say about +a trouble-man? What was it, please?" + +"I'm lookin' for one, Miss!" declared Delaney. "I was over at the +telephone company's exchange lookin' for the lad that was here last +night and fixed the junction-box in the yard back of the house. Mr. +Drew wants him." + +Loris turned toward the detective. "You want him?" she asked softly. +"What do you want him for? Please tell me. I don't like him, at all." + +It was Drew's turn to draw in his breath. He eyed the girl. He tried to +fathom the reason for her simple question and her objection. "Miss +Loris," he said, shrugging his square shoulders. "Why, it's a slight +matter. The man has disappeared. We can't find him. He's +flown--perhaps." + +"Is he a little chap with a satchel and a testing set?" she asked. "A +nice-mannered, soft-voiced little man who was so obliging, and yet +so--oh! I don't know what I have against him. He's so sly--don't you +think so, Mr. Dr--e--w?" + +"When did you ever see him?" asked Drew, feeling the blood rising to +his cheeks at a thought which surged through his brain. + +"Meet him? Why! he was here early this afternoon. He was all over the +house!" + + + + +CHAPTER TWELVE + +"SUSPICION FASTENS" + + +Triggy Drew had been trained in the hardest school in the world. Loris +Stockbridge's statement, delivered with such sincerity and so naively, +completely upset him. It was like a gentle reminder that, as a hunter +of men, he had failed. He took the blow with flaming cheeks and an +almost stopped heart. + +Delaney realized that something of moment in the case had happened. He +stared at his chief, then turned his eyes upon Harry Nichols, who +stepped through the portieres and stood by Loris' side. + +"What is it, Chief?" asked the operative. "Was there anything in what +she said?" + +"Anything!" exclaimed Drew, recovering himself with a tossing shrug of +his shoulders. "Anything? Everything! The man we want is----" + +"Found?" breathed Loris clutching Nichols' arm. + +"Not yet--but _very_ soon!" said the detective with sanguine eyes. "We +want that trouble-hunter, Delaney," he added gathering in the details +for action as he spoke. "You'll have to hurry right over to the address +and see if you can round him up. If he isn't there--get him! I want him +brought here at once. He's got much to explain!" + +"I'll go right now," said Delaney, starting toward the reception room. + +"Wait," said Drew. + +Delaney turned at the portieres. + +"Don't phone me here," the detective warned. "Don't do anything by +telephone. We're on the trail of a man or men who can tap wires. He or +they may have a confederate in this house. Be careful--get your suspect +and bring him here. We'll try him with the footprints. We'll check up +with the fingerprints. Then, if he don't cave in, we'll turn him over +to Fosdick and the Third Degree. I firmly believe that Albert, whom I +saw in the library and who was in this house in the early afternoon of +this day, is implicated in the murder. Strange that I never suspected +him." + +"I'm going!" growled Delaney, tearing his eyes away from Loris and +glancing through the curtains. "I'm right after him, Chief. I won't +stop till I get him, either." + +"If you don't make it in thirty minutes," said Drew glancing sharply at +his watch, "if you don't make it by then--come back here. Perhaps +something will have turned up in the meantime. Get that?" + +"Sure, Chief! Good-by!" + +Delaney had passed through the portieres, crossed the reception room +and pressed aside the tapestries leading to the hallways, before Drew +stepped to the broad doorway and motioned for Loris and Nichols to take +their former positions. He waited until they were seated with their +faces in the shadow cast by the overhead silken hangings. He spoke +then, and to the point. + +"This case," he said, thrusting his hands in his coat pockets and +striding back and forth. "This case is clearing clue by clue. The +trouble-man, whom some one let into the house this afternoon, is the +missing link in the chain of circumstance and applied deduction. Who +let him in?" + +"I did!" + +Drew stopped in his stride. "You, Nichols?" he questioned sharply. "Why +did you let him in?" + +"Because I asked Harry to," defended Loris with heat. "I heard the bell +ring. I sent the maid downstairs. She came back and told me that a man +from the telephone company was waiting to look over the connections. +She said that he said that there was trouble with the wires." + +"I don't believe it!" exclaimed Drew; "that is," he added hastily, "I +don't believe there was anything the matter at all. In the light of +what Delaney has told me, that fellow came here last night, when some +one else named Frosby or Frisby was sent. Now why would he want to take +another's place? For one reason only--the same reason that he came here +this afternoon. This reason concerns your future health and security. +We had one death in this house which followed his first visit. We don't +want anything to happen after his second visit." + +"You are right, Mr. Drew," said Nichols. "I was careless. I went down +stairs and talked with the fellow. It was just a few minutes after I +arrived from downtown. He seemed so plausible that I asked the Central +Office Detective at the door, who gave the permission. It was all my +fault, I guess." + +"Where did this fellow go? What did he do in the house?" + +"He went into the library and tested the phone there. The connection +seemed to be all right. Then he went down stairs and tested the +butler's 'phone. The butler had been taken as a material witness by +Fosdick. I followed the man. He didn't do anything but test and then +talk with Franklin Official--I think it was." + +"Are you sure he talked over the phone? It's ridiculously easy for a +person to hold down the hook and make believe they are talking to most +anybody." + +"I don't know about that, Mr. Drew," said the captain, turning toward +Loris. "Did he talk to anybody when he used this 'phone, Miss +Stockbridge?" + +"I believe so, Harry. I really thought he did." + +Drew furrowed his brows in perplexity. There was no evidence shown that +the trouble-man had ever talked with anybody, via wire, from the +mansion. He recalled the first appearance of the lineman in the +library. That time both calls, to Central, might have been feigned by +holding down the hook and speaking into a disconnected transmitter. The +man was clever. He knew all there was to be known concerning telephony. + +"I'm a child," the detective concluded, swinging about the room in +perplexity. "One thing," he added aloud to Loris and Nichols. "One +thing! We are absolutely alone in this part of the house. I have locked +the maid in her room. No one can get through the door to the hall. +There's a spring lock on it. Delaney closed it when he went out." + +"And there's a score of detectives scattered about," said the captain +reassuringly, as he leaned toward Loris. "Why should we fear anything +at all?" + +"I wouldn't, Harry," said Loris, "if it wasn't for what happened to +poor father. Mr. Drew took the same precautions and had everything +locked and watched. It doesn't seem as if we were in New York at all. +It seems like some mediaeval time and place." + +Drew reached for a fragile-looking chair, turned it, sat down and +thrust his custom-made shoes out across the rug in the direction of +Loris and Nichols, whose faces shone white and drawn in the soft light +of the alcove where they were seated. + +Swirling thought surged through the detective's brain. He went over the +case with dulled understanding. Briefly, he had eliminated the former +suspects and compressed the matter into a small compass. His conclusion +brought him to his feet with slow swaying from side to side. Some one +in state prison was probably directing matters. Some one in New York +was carrying out the arch-fiend's orders. This free agent had the nerve +of the damned and the cunning of Cagliostro. He had succeeded in +planting a confederate in the mansion, or entering himself, and slaying +Stockbridge. The entire case, concluded Drew, rested in capturing the +free agent before he could do further murder. Loris was marked and had +been from the first. + +"What servants remain?" he asked, dropping his hand on his right hip +pocket and feeling the bulge of an automatic there. "Which of the +servants, Miss Stockbridge, have Fosdick and his men left for you?" + +"The French maid," said Loris softly. + +"I saw her! She looks all right. She says she has been with you five or +six years." + +"Six--almost. It's been over six years, Mr. Drew!" + +"That ought to let her out of the case. Now, the next one?" + +"The housekeeper, Mrs. Seeley. She has been with us ten or twelve +years--ever since I can remember. Mother thought the world of Mrs. +Seeley." + +"Who else?" + +"Father's valet. They didn't arrest him." + +"He was down to my office. He looks all right. I'll cross him off the +list of suspects. Now, are there any more servants in the house?" + +"There's a French chef and a pantry man, I think. Also there's a poor +old darkey who tends to the furnace. I don't believe he leaves the +basement. I never see him, only on holidays." + +"The butler, then, and the doorman and the second man and the rest of +the servants have been taken down to Center Street for interrogation +and as suspects. That leaves us with very few to handle, Miss +Stockbridge. I'm going to start by securing the door which leads into +the hallway. Then we'll wait here." + +Drew hurried through the tapestries, stopped, and examined the lock of +the door before he shot home a second bolt which was functioned by a +butterfly of heavy gold alloy. He stood erect with both hands pressing +at his temples. It came to him with double force that the same +precautions had been taken when Stockbridge was alone in the library +downstairs. There was the lock of superior make and the winged-latch. +There was the two-inch, or more, door of dark wood. There were the +servants and detectives both within and outside the mansion. Yet the +millionaire had been reached in a secret manner through all the +precautions. + +"Things repeat, sometimes," mused Drew, fingering the catch and the +flat key. "The same conditions bring the same results. I----" + +The detective's voice trailed into a whisper as he heard footsteps +outside the door. He reached back to his pocket and waited. His heart +thumped like a prisoned bird within his breast. It was a case of +strained nerves. He felt the responsibility of guarding Loris. + +"Bah!" he exclaimed, recovering himself and squaring his jaw. "Bah," he +repeated. "It's somebody for me." + +He opened the door after twisting the butterfly and turning the flat +key in the lock. A blurred figure pressed forward. A gruff voice boomed +from a muffling collar. + +"Hello, Chief! I'm back in a half-hour! No luck, either!" + +Drew waited until Delaney had removed his overcoat and overshoes, which +he placed in one corner by a hall-tree. "What did you find?" he asked +glancing toward the tapestries. + +"The fellow's beat it for good. Landlady says he owes her one week's +rent. He cleaned out with a suit-case and left this." The operative +reached in his pocket and brought forth a single drill of quarter-inch +diameter. He held it out. "All I could find, Chief, after a quick +frisk. This was in the mattress." + +"Regulation lineman's wood-bit," said Drew as he examined the size +number on the shank. "This might have been the one used in boring the +hole between the slot-booths at Grand Central Station." + +"Then Albert is the lad, Chief?" + +"We don't know, yet. There's lots of bits like this one. Did you try it +for fingerprints?" + +"They're all rubbed off! I had to pull it from the mattress. It was +stuck in a hole near the foot of the bed." + +"Hold it!" said Drew. "Hold it for evidence. Put it with your plaster +casts. Now----" + +"Well, Chief?" + +Drew glanced at his watch. "I'm going out to that drug-store," he said. +"I want to phone. I can't use the phones of this house. The wires may +be tapped. You stay right by this door and wait till I get back. It +won't be more than ten minutes. Go get my hat when you're putting the +bit away. It's in the corner by Loris and Nichols. Tell them I'm +stepping out and that you will stand guard. They might hold me. She is +very nervous." + +Delaney was back at the detective's side, after a clumsy stride through +the tapestries. "Cute couple," he said, jerking his thumb over-shoulder +toward the inner room. "They're sittin' there so close you couldn't get +a sheet of paper between them. I like that colleen, Chief! She's the +kind you see on them magazine covers--only prettier." + +"A cat can look at a queen," quoted Drew, pulling down his hat and +opening the door wide. "Be sure and lock this after me," he warned. +"Lock and bolt it. Stand guard and don't let anybody in at all. I'm +only going round the block." + +Delaney shut the door and turned the key. He followed this action by +twisting the butterfly. Then he drew his gun and waited, grimly alert. + +Drew reached the drug-store after a brisk, lung-cleansing walk through +the down-driving snow. He dropped a coin in the slot and first called +up his office. Harrigan, who had remained at his post, answered for +most of the operatives who were out on the case and who had 'phoned in +at every opportunity. + +"Get Frick at the prison," Drew shot back, after making a few notes. +"Get him and tell him to call up this 'phone," Drew glanced at the +number over the transmitter. "Tell him to call up Gramercy Hill 9749 +and let whoever I station here, know to whom and to what number Morphy +is talking in New York. Get that?" + +"Sure," came back over the wires. "Sure, Chief. You want to pinch the +fellow he's connecting with?" + +"I certainly do," said Drew. "We can work it this way. As soon as I +find out from Frick where Morphy or anybody else is 'phoning from the +prison, I can get a man over there in time to make the arrest. The +superintendent at Gramercy Hill will help us out if the call comes +through his exchange. He can get the girl to stall for a minute or two. +I'll send Delaney here to hold this end of the wire. You keep him +posted as to developments. O'Toole, yes! He's planted in the alley back +of the house. He can't report. All the others are all right?" + +Drew hung up with a flip of the receiver. He backed out of the booth +and hurried around the corner. He reached the iron-grilled gate of the +mansion with his head down and the snow seeping between his collar and +his neck. + +"Rotten night!" said the Central Office man at the door. "I don't think +we'll hear anything from anybody. Them gunmen like the backrooms of +saloons too well to pull off a gun-play in this storm, Inspector." + +"You never can tell," said Drew, shaking his coat and hurrying toward +the stairway which led to Loris Stockbridge's apartment. + +Delaney opened the door after a repeated knock in Morse code. He eyed +his chief. He motioned toward the inner rooms. "All quiet," he said +with a broad smile. "Them turtle doves sure like to be left alone." + +"And you would too! Especially if you lost your only relative the night +before--lost him in the way she lost hers." + +The big operative gulped down the thrust. "What did you find out?" he +asked in a husky whisper. + +"Get your coat on. Get over to that drug-store and plant near that +booth--Gramercy Hill 9749. Frick, at the prison, is going to call that +booth up as soon as Morphy or anybody else there tries to get New York. +If Frick gives you a number, call up the superintendent at Gramercy +Hill and tell him who you are. He's on duty all night. He'll give you +the address of the number, and stall the call. That'll give you time to +rush to the address and grab your man." + +"I'll grab him, Chief!" rumbled Delaney, reaching for his storm coat +which was supposed to be fur-lined. "Leave that to me!" he added. "Jus' +leave it tu me!" + +Drew eyed the operative's huge hands. "I'll do that," he said with a +short laugh. "Now hurry! No, wait." + +"What is it, Chief?" asked Delaney in the doorway. + +"If the address is downtown, or in Brooklyn, what would you do then?" + +"I'd get the office, Chief, and have Harrigan rush over a man. This +super at Gramercy Hill ought to be able to stall that call long enough +for us to connect--with both hands and both feet." + +"Go to it!" said Drew, pressing Delaney out through the door. "Good +luck," he added as he twisted the key and shot the bolt. "Now we are +getting there," he said softly. "Unfortunately for that devil +up-the-river, he has to phone from _one_ place. That's the thing which +will beat him. I hate to think what would happen if he was outside +giving orders. He could get away with it, nicely." + +Drew never felt surer of himself in a case. He tested the lock and bolt +for a second time. He draped the tapestries and strode into the sitting +room with his shoulders held back--a sanguine light in his olive eyes. + +"Well, Miss Stockbridge," he said, pausing in the center of the room +and smiling. "I think we are on the verge of big things. The attempt +cannot be made to-night without we have plenty of warning." + +"Good!" exclaimed Loris, standing upright and arranging her lavender +gown about her slipper-tops. "That's the best news I've heard in a long +time, Mr. Drew," she added, glancing archly at the detective, beneath +her dark lashes. "Has that Mr. Delaney found any one?" + +Drew raised his brows. Loris' question was not exactly a compliment to +the big operative, who meant so well. + +"He hasn't found anything," said Drew, with soft, pleasing voice. "He +hasn't done that, but I'm venturing my future reputation that he will +find our man--the trouble-man perhaps." + +Harry Nichols stepped to Loris' side. "We were children there," he +admitted frankly. "At least I was. I never suspected him at all. His +manners were so pleasant. He seemed so weak and intent about his +business." + +"Ah!" said Drew, raising his finger. "That's it! He was intent about +_his_ business. Only, this particular business concerned the taking of +a human life in cold blood. Mr. Stockbridge was murdered by this fiend, +in the guise of a harmless trouble-hunter. How the murder was +accomplished and by what lethal method we do not know. I'm acting on +the theory that if we catch the man we will find out how it was done. +If I can't make him--Fosdick, Commissioner of Detectives, will. May God +help him if he doesn't talk to Fosdick!" + +"But can't we find out how father was killed?" asked Loris, with tears +glazing over her eyes. "It don't seem--it don't----" + +The captain caught Loris about the waist and led her to the divan in +the alcove. She sank down with her face covered with her hands. Soft +sobs, brought to her throat by the memory of the murder, caused Drew to +pace the rugs with alert, nervous strides like a man who would guard +her from some menacing shadow. He went to the ventilators and closed +them slightly. He crossed the room to the radiator-boxes and set them +in an open position. He adjusted a thermostat on the wall, to seventy +degrees. He stood back then and listened with both ears strained for +outside sounds. + +Snow sifted across the curtain-drawn panes with a cutting of fine +diamonds against diamonds. A wind whistled and moaned and swirled over +the turrets and towers of the mansion. An echo lifted from the driving +traffic of the Avenue. Below this echo, so faint it seemed like a +murmur of a distant sea, the city throbbed with the shifting of the +whimpering wind. Once it roared. Then afterward there was silence, save +for the sifting snow, and Loris' low, throat choke from welling sorrow. + +She sat up finally and dried her eyes. "I should be ashamed of myself," +she said, brokenly. "I must be brave. I fear something, though. It +seems to be in the room or the air. What is it I fear, Mr. Drew?" Her +question was vague. Her eyes shone hectically bright and strangely +alluring to the detective. + +"There's nothing to fear!" he declared with a direct glance. "I'm +armed! Then," he added as an additional encouragement. "Then, Mr. +Nichols is a soldier! You are in safe hands, believe me!" + +Harry Nichols bowed politely. "I've got a gun, myself," he admitted +candidly. "It's not that little one, either. It's army regulation. It, +or the ones like it, have been stopping the Huns. I guess we'll take +care of anything that comes up to-night, Mr. Drew. It's getting late, +isn't it?" + +The detective glanced at his watch. "I ought to hear from Delaney," he +said, replacing the watch and reaching for a chair. "Delaney is like +old Dobbin--faithful and slow." + +Drew sat down, pulled at the knees of his black trousers and rested his +heels on the thick soft pile of a Persian rug. Behind him was the +cheval glass and the telephone stand. Before him, and in the shade of +the silk draperies, Loris' eyes glowed alongside the captain's resolute +face. + +The minutes passed with the trio in the same position. The snow sifted +across the cold panes. The wind whined. Suddenly between gusts, Loris +asked point-blankly: + +"Do you suspect that man, Morphy?" + +"Yes; I do!" said Drew with a snap. "I believe that every single lead +we have points to him. I believe he planned to destroy your father ever +since the day of conviction. I believe----" + +"But he is in prison." + +"Ah!" said the detective, with bright eyes. "So is his master, Lucifer, +in the lower regions. He's there, but he has a long arm. Morphy's tool +in this affair is probably the telephone repair-man. You saw him. Mr. +Nichols saw him. I saw him. We all agree that he does not look the part +of a scoundrel and a scoundrel's tool. But," Drew paused and spread out +his hands; "but," he continued, "that's the reason he was chosen for +Morphy's murderous work. You can't send a thug into a drawing room--or +a library. You can't cut a sharp slice with a dull tool. This +trouble-hunter is all that the name implies--a hunter of trouble. I +don't doubt that we have the case rounded up, save for bringing him in. +Morphy, we can get at any time. He's in prison and he's getting very +close to the little green door that leads to the electric-chair. One +slip to-night, and we have him!" + +"Miss Stockbridge must go south after the funeral," said Nichols. "She +can't be jeopardized! She is nervous and has suffered acutely. I for +one am sorry we let her stay here. It is the place she should not be. +They know where to look for her!" + +"They're beat to-night," assured Drew, rising and stretching his arms. +"My! my!" he added, "this is slow, sleepy work. I'd ask for tea, but I +think it's best we stay locked in here. Don't you, Miss Stockbridge?" + +"Marie can get some. There's a service-waiter running up to her room. +Suppose I order tea, or coffee, and cakes. It might cheer us up?" + +Drew held out a warding arm as Loris rose and started toward the +writing room. "I'll tend to it," he said. "You stay right here close up +to Mr. Nichols. We're taking no chances at all." + +The detective parted the portieres and knocked upon the maid's door as +he turned the key with his left hand. He waited as she gave the order +through a silver-plated speaking tube. He heard the service-waiter +rising. He leaned forward and took the tray with a sharp glance about +the maid's room. It was as clean and as neat as a work basket. A French +novel, with a vivid portrait of a poilu carrying a very sharp bayonet +on its cover, lay in the center of a white counterpane on the bed. + +"Good-night!" he said as he closed and carefully locked the door. He +reached downward and caught up the tray. He started across the +writing-room. He paused in its center as he heard: + +"Burrrr! Burrrr! Burrrrr!" + +Shrillingly the perfumed air of the suite vibrated with the silver +notes of the telephone. Drew hesitated, with the tray balanced in his +hand. He took one step forward as Loris swished across the +sitting-room, lifted the hard-rubber receiver and voiced a soft, +"Hello!" + +Drew let go of the tray and sprang forward. He parted the portieres and +watched Loris' face. It changed between seconds to a flushed mask of +crimson-fear. She staggered back, dropped the receiver, and cried +"Harry!" as she sank to the floor. + +Drew darted across the rugs and snatched up the instrument. He heard a +low, chuckling laugh that died to a whisper and then to nothingness. He +flipped the receiver back on the hook. He turned with a savage twist. +He stared across the room toward Loris, who had risen to her knees and +whose head was against Nichols' olive-drab breast. + +"What was said?" he questioned sharply. + +A mass of turbaned, midnight-hued hair uncoiled and fell about the +girl's white face. Glorious eyes dulled, then glowed, with the fire +which was pulsing within her. Her lips trembled and went blanched as +she throated brokenly: + +"The man--the man at the other end said.... He said that his master had +ordered my coffin.... He said that I had only a few hours to live.... +He said that he would call me up again.... For me to be ready then, to +meet my Master and my--doom." + + + + +CHAPTER THIRTEEN + +"A SILENT PRISONER" + + +Loris Stockbridge finished speaking with a low sob which went straight +to the detective's heart. He advanced across the room and ran his arm +about her supple waist. "We'll help her to the divan," he told Nichols. +"That's it! Right over here and in the corner. She's all right. I'll +tend to that threat which came over the wires." + +Drew backed away and turned toward the telephone. He eyed it with cold +calculation. He took one step further, then wheeled and glanced at +Nichols. + +"I want to trace that call if it is humanly possible," he said with +decision. "We can find out, at least, from where it came. Suppose you +leave me here with Miss Stockbridge, and you go down stairs and around +to the drug-store?" + +Loris rested her weight on one elbow. She sat erect, with slowly +widening eyes. Her hands strayed to her hair and pressed it back from +her ears. She gained command of herself after a shudder had passed +through her slender body. She half rose. + +"I've heard that voice before!" she exclaimed, pointing toward the +'phone. "It was familiar, Mr. Drew. Now where have I heard it?" + +"Some friend of your father's?" + +"No, I don't think it was. But I've heard it in this house." + +"A servant--the valet?" + +"No! No, Mr. Drew, it wasn't the valet's voice. It was whispering and +consumptive. It squeaked. It sounded like a little boy's voice." + +"How about that trouble-man?" Drew advanced with keen steps. He felt +that he was very close to the truth. + +"It might have been. Only--only, Mr. Drew, it was +younger--thinner--squeakier. It was a terrible voice. It rings and +rings in my ears. It was so sure!" + +"Ump!" declared Drew with clenched fists. "It won't be so sure," he +said, squaring his jaw. "It won't be near so sure, next time. I think +it was that trouble-man you heard. Don't you remember anything he said +when he was in the house, for comparison?" + +"I just heard him say--I heard him say that the connections, I think he +called them, were all right. Then he went away, Mr. Drew." + +"Did his voice squeak then?" + +"It was rather low--like a boy's or a girl's. He seemed too polite. He +had his cap in his hand." Loris stopped speaking and stood erect. She +arranged her gown and glanced down at Nichols. "I feel stronger," she +said bravely. "I wonder what became of that tea?" + +Drew stepped into the writing-room and found the tea-pot upon its side. +He poured from this a cup of tea which he carried to Nichols. "Just +taste it," he ordered. "I want to be sure it isn't doped or anything +like that. That's it. Just a small swallow. It's all right, isn't it? +It isn't bitter?" + +Nichols handed the cup to Loris. "Drink it," he said with confidence. +"That's good tea--only a little cold." + +Drew took the empty cup and set it down on a small table. "You'll go +for me?" he asked Nichols. "I want it traced without using the wires of +this house. They might be tapped." + +"Be back in ten minutes!" said the captain at the tapestries, after +Loris had nodded. "Whom shall I ask for at Gramercy Hill?" + +"The superintendent--Jack Nefe! If he isn't there, get the chief +operator. Delaney will attend to that. Find out from what number the +call came. We might get that whispering devil right away." + +"I believe it was the trouble-man," said Loris, as Drew returned after +locking the door to the hallway. "Now that I think of it--I'm almost +sure it was. He just tried to change and lower his voice--that was +all." + +"Lower it?" + +"Yes, Mr. Drew. It was so faint that I hardly heard it at first. He +seemed afraid of something. Perhaps somebody was in the room where he +was telephoning." + +"That might have been. Well--he can't hurt or harm you that way. The +thing is for you to keep up your courage. Fear is a terrible thing if +you would let yourself be mastered by it. It might be their game to +break you down by a series of threats." + +"I won't do that. I've Harry and you to stand by me!" + +Drew pulled out his watch. "It's getting toward midnight," he said. "No +word yet from Delaney or any of the others on watch. I think that the +storm will clear soon. You can go to bed. Harry--Mr. Nichols and I'll +get a deck of cards and keep watch out here. We'll do sentry duty. He's +used to that!" + +Loris glided about the room. She stopped at the cheval glass and +arranged her hair with a series of twists that formed a turban secured +by loops. She swished around and glanced archly toward Drew. Their eyes +met bravely. Hers dropped under shading lashes. + +"I'm all right," she whispered with a half laugh. "I did look awful. It +was the shock of hearing that terrible man. How childish to call me up +and say what he did. He didn't mean it!" + +"Ah," said Drew, reaching in his pocket and bringing out a key. "Ah, he +did mean it, I think. He has overreached himself by telephoning. +Gramercy Hill Exchange is on the alert. There's Mr. Nichols with good +news, at the door. Now for his report." + +The captain came in, brushing snow from his olive-drab uniform. He +glanced at Loris as he strode across the room and took her hand with a +firm grip. "Delaney," he said confidentially, "was right at the booth. +He was sitting on a chair, propped up and talking with the prescription +clerk. He did the telephoning to Gramercy Hill. I don't know who he got +there, but they already knew about the call." + +Nichols turned toward Drew for confirmation. + +"That's right!" the detective exclaimed. "They should know! The +vice-president, Westlake, has left orders to record all calls to this +house. Where was that whispering voice from, Mr. Nichols?" + +"From Forty-second Street and Broadway." + +"Close!" exclaimed Drew, rubbing his hands. "The fellow took chances." + +"It came from a slot-booth in a cigar store in a big building. It only +lasted two minutes. The operator at Gramercy Hill says the first voice +she heard, asking for Gramercy Hill 9764, was harsh and loud. I don't +understand that." + +"Harsh and loud," repeated Drew, toying with his watch chain. "That's +odd. Was it the same man that Miss Stockbridge heard?" + +"The operator don't know. Delaney says maybe there were two of them. +One, who called up, and one who talked to this room." Nichols turned +and nodded toward the silver-plated telephone. + +"Hardly possible," mused Drew. "I think he changed his voice after he +got the connection. He didn't want Miss Stockbridge to recognize him." + +Loris glanced at the two men. "What will they do?" she asked anxiously. +"Will Mr. Delaney and the other detectives catch him by that call?" + +"Hardly," said Drew. "He was in and out within three minutes. The bird +has flown from there!" + +"But where will he go?" + +"I don't know, Miss Stockbridge. I wish that I did know. There are over +a hundred thousand telephones in New York he could use. It's impossible +to guess which one. The booths at the Grand Central are covered by one +of my operatives. The telephone company is on the alert for all calls +to this house. All they can do is to record them and tell us what +happens after it happens. We are trying now to get this whispering dog +when he is compelled to wait at a booth. If Morphy 'phones him from the +prison to-night we have him. The telephone company is going to delay +the call after getting the number. It would look natural. Then, we can +strike at the booth or place where the call is directed in time to +catch the man Morphy is telephoning to. Up to now, Morphy has not +'phoned or Delaney would have said something about it." + +"But can't you stop these calls?" asked Loris. + +"Very easy. We could order the wires disconnected. But then we wouldn't +catch our man. He would be suspicious and wait for another time." + +"The whole thing seems so strange, Mr. Drew. We're locked in here. The +house is so well guarded. All they can do is 'phone and yet we--at +least I am nervous. Why have I got that strange feeling?" + +"From experience!" declared Drew. "If we knew how your poor father was +killed there wouldn't be cause for worry. We don't know. It was so +subtle that we are confronted with the unknown in terrible form. You +feel a shadow and so do I. A reaching shadow about this splendid house +of yours. It isn't anything we can grasp and say, 'Come here! You're +under arrest.' It's the uncanny mystery of the entire case that holds +us three on the ragged-edge. I confess I have not been myself since +last night. The powers of darkness and Lucifer, himself, have nothing +on the people we are fighting." + +"How about running Morphy in the guard house, or whatever they have up +there?" asked Nichols. "Why not lay the case before the warden and have +him put out of harm's way? That's what they'd do in the Army!" + +"We can't prove a single thing on him!" declared Drew. "He used the +'phone--once or twice. Perhaps he has permission from the +superintendent of state prisons to do so. He has business interests +which require his telephoning, we'll say." + +"Then we're just going to wait right here?" asked Loris, stamping her +slipper. "Wait right here and let them do their worst?" + +"The city detectives would do the same thing I'm doing," said Drew on +the defensive. "They'd trap their men. Do you want to see the man or +men who slayed your father, escape? He will, or they will, unless we +give them enough rope to hang themselves." + +"Or wire!" said Nichols cheerfully. "No, Loris, Mr. Drew is right. He's +done everything. All we have got to do, is wait. Let's sit down for a +little while. Delaney said he might have word soon." + +Drew waited until Loris had pressed herself into a small compass at the +back of the divan, with Harry Nichols leaning over her in a shielding +position which was thoughtful and at the same time affectionate. He +strode toward the writing room and parted the heavy, silk portieres. He +studied every detail. He dropped the portieres and crossed the sitting +room to the doorway leading into Loris' chamber. This, too, he searched +with his eyes. Backing to the center of the room he dropped his chin in +thought. A sound outside the mansion caused him to turn and hurry to a +window. He brushed the curtain aside and tried to peer out. He rubbed +the frosted glass vigorously. His nose pressed to a white button as he +searched the side street. A taxi had come to a grinding halt directly +below the window. Its wheels spun upon the slippery surface. A man +leaned out of an open doorway and urged the driver on with a brandished +fist of ham-like proportions. The driver backed into the snow, dropped +into first speed and stepped on his throttle. The taxi leaped forward, +gripped the surface, and plowed toward Fifth Avenue in a welter of +flying ice and flakes. + +Drew sprang back and faced Loris and Nichols who had risen and were +standing together in the glow from the cluster over their heads. + +"What happened?" they asked in unison. "What was outside?" + +"Delaney!" snapped Drew, dragging out his watch and glancing at it. +"Delaney's got word where to find his man. He's on the trail at last! +It's twelve-two. We ought to have that fellow in a half hour." + +"The trouble-man?" asked Loris, with rising hopes. "Do you think it is +the trouble-man, Mr. Drew?" + +"Nine chances in ten, it is! I'm venturing a guess it is. If we get +him--if Delaney gets him--he'll know it. Delaney used to work under the +old-time police chiefs. They showed scant consideration." + +"But, he won't hurt him!" said Loris, with a tremulous exclamation. + +"That murderer! Why, Miss Stockbridge, isn't he plotting to slay you? +Didn't he kill your father? I wish I were in Delaney's place." + +"Me too!" declared Nichols, drawing closer to the detective. "Say, +Inspector, I want to congratulate you. I do." + +"Wait, Harry. Just wait! You two sit down and be quiet. This affair is +a personal one with me. I don't doubt that Morphy or perhaps some one +else in state prison 'phoned to the same party who phoned Miss Loris. +That was all we needed. Delaney jumped into a taxi and hurried downtown +as fast as the storm permitted. Perhaps the call came from the same +booth. I don't think so, though." + +"The one at Forty-second Street and Broadway?" + +"I don't think so, Nichols. This fellow seems to pick a new one every +time. He's very crafty. That alone shows a criminal mind." + +Drew paced the floor with soft gliding. He turned at the portieres and +crossed to the tapestries. He returned and stood before Loris and +Nichols. + +"Captain," he said, "we can now begin to reconstruct this case. We can +get some of the dead-wood from our minds. It is apparent to me that one +of Mr. Stockbridge's sworn enemies--Morphy, for instance--confined in +state's prison, set about to slay both members of the family. He +secured a confederate whom he knew. This confederate has never been +arrested in the state. We have that from the finger prints in the booth +at Grand Central. We will presume that this confederate is the +trouble-man. He is probably an expert electrician. He either tapped in +on the wires the night Mr. Stockbridge was murdered or got behind the +switchboard and called up the library 'phone." + +"The switchboard?" asked Loris. "You mean the big place where the girls +are?" + +"Not exactly there. The wires run down and are tagged. It would be +possible for him to cut in somewhere between the switchboard and the +conduits. Now I don't know how it was done. There's several ways. But +wherever he tapped in, he must have used a magneto to ring Mr. +Stockbridge up, and afterwards a battery-set to do the talking. All +this Westlake says it would be necessary to do, so that the operator +would not notice a permanent signal on the board." + +"What was his object?" asked Nichols. + +"To cover himself. He first disconnected the wires and waited till I +sent for a trouble-man. Frosby, or Frisby, was sent. The trouble-man +took his place. He came here and looked the place over. He lied to Mr. +Stockbridge and I when he told us about that tall German in the alley. +If there was such a man there before the snow froze we would have his +footprints." + +"You haven't them?" asked Loris. + +"No. Delaney has a set made by this trouble-hunter when he was at the +junction-box. This must have been the time he either cut the +connections so that I would send for him, or it was the time when he +called up and threatened Mr. Stockbridge with death within twelve +hours. You remember that the telephone company have no record of the +call. Now the next call----" + +"Was there another?" the girl asked. + +"Yes--to your father at or about the moment he died. That was from the +Grand Central Station at Forty-second Street. There's a good record of +that. Your father knocked the telephone down when he dropped dead. The +operator noticed that the connection was open and put on the howler. +The record is clear on that." + +"But what is all this twisting and turning for?" + +"To throw us off, Miss Stockbridge. We're dealing with a crafty, +cunning mind. This mind took the extreme precaution of connecting two +booths at Grand Central so that a man in Sing Sing could talk to your +father without leaving a record at the Westchester Exchange or at +Gramercy Hill Exchange. How this was done I don't know. It could be +done with auxiliary batteries and looping so that the Gramercy Hill +operator thought the Westchester call was to a slot booth, while +another call from the next booth to this house was really the same +connection shunted or looped through. Westlake, vice-president of the +telephone company, says that there would be several ways of doing this. +He added it would take an expert in telephony." + +"I'm all twisted up, Mr. Drew. I suppose you understand it. But what +about that call to-night--the one that frightened me?" + +"The man was sure of himself!" said Drew without thinking. "He has his +plans made. He figures they will not fail!" + +"Oh, you mean----" + +"I mean, Miss Stockbridge, that he expects to slay you in the same +manner your father was slain. We have this advantage. You are not alone +in this room or these rooms. Your father was alone. The murderer will +have Mr. Nichols and myself to deal with this time! Be calm." + +"But--I don't see how he could--get in here?" + +"Nor do I. The point is that he got into the library and out again +without trace. He had an hour to do his work in. Here, he is running +every risk." + +"But he has already been here, Mr. Drew." + +The detective glanced keenly at Nichols, who had shot the statement +straight through clean white teeth. + +"I know it," Drew said with a trace of anxiety in his voice. "That is +disquieting. But we have searched these rooms and found absolutely no +trace of tampering with locks or ventilators or window-catches." + +"Could he climb up here? He might have climbing irons," added Nichols +glancing toward the windows. + +"A good porch-climber could do it," Drew mused, with his eyes sweeping +the curtains. "A very good one could. There are only three or four good +ones out of prisons. They never go in for murder." + +"Wouldn't money buy them?" asked Loris. "Mr. Morphy may have retained +one--with some of the gold he stole from poor father." + +"Retained," repeated Drew, turning with sudden intentness. "Retained, +is hardly the word, Miss Loris. Hired, is more to the point. Hired +assassins are not uncommon. We have the Becker case and the Hope +murder. We have----" + +Drew allowed his voice to trail to a whisper. "We have," he declared, +"our man! There's the front door bell! It's Delaney!" + +"You have splendid ears, Mr. Drew." + +"I have to have, Miss Stockbridge. Now," he added sharply, "you and Mr. +Nichols go into the library--the writing room. I think the case is +closing. There may be a little excitement if Delaney's got that fellow. +I, for one, am not going to stand much from him. Please go into the +other room. That's right. Stand there, Harry, in case we need a +soldier!" + +Drew advanced step by step toward the tapestries. He lifted his gun +from his hip pocket, examined it with narrowed eyes, then replaced it +loosely. He brushed the curtains aside and had the key out, as heavy +steps shook the upper stairway and a knock sounded on the panels of the +door. + +"Who's there?" asked Drew. + +"Delaney, Chief!" + +"All right! Just a moment." + +The detective glanced through the slit in the tapestries, saw +that Nichols and Loris were across the room, then twisted the +butterfly-latch, at the same time he thrust in the flat key and turned +the lock. + +The door swung open. Delaney's huge bulk blocked the way. He half +turned, cursed savagely, and clutched a pipe-stem neck with rude +fingers. "Come along, you!" he boomed. "Get in there!" + +The form of a man hurtled by Drew, fell and rose, then fell again +beyond the tapestries in the center of the sitting room. Drew, like +some lithe cat, was over him with a drawn gun. Delaney puffed across +the rugs and tried to speak as the detective leaned and studied the +chalk-pale face below shielding cuffed hands which were raised +impotently. + +"The trouble-man!" exclaimed Loris fearsomely. + +A Central Office detective slouched through the door, deposited a kit +of lineman's tools on the floor near the tapestries, then retired +discreetly. + +"It's him!" said Drew. "Please get back, Miss Stockbridge. We're going +to fix this fellow." + +"Oh, please don't strike him." + +"Please--Miss Stockbridge. I'll promise nothing in this connection. +This is the man who foully murdered your father." + +Loris shrank back and against Nichols' extended arm. Drew glanced at +her with swift concern. He dropped his eyes to the man at his feet. +"What happened?" he asked Delaney. "Has this fellow said anything? Done +any talking?" + +Delaney glared at the trouble-man. "Never a word has he said, Chief. +He's a clam. But----" + +"What's that? Go on, Delaney!" + +"Why, Chief, I wouldn't have brought him here if he hadn't said to +Morphy over the 'phone that _'it'_ was fixed in her room. Now what does +he mean by that _'it'?"_ + +"We'll find out!" declared Drew, dropping to the prisoner's side. + + + + +CHAPTER FOURTEEN + +"THE PRISONER SPEAKS" + + +The detective wasted no time searching the trouble-hunter's pockets. +His skilled fingers drew forth two envelopes, a note book and a small +roll of money, the least of which was ten-dollar bills and the +greatest, on the inside, spread out to three staring noughts and a one +in front of these. + +"One thousand and sixty dollars!" said Drew dryly, handing the roll to +Delaney. "This fellow's well heeled. Perhaps for a get-a-way. Take +that. Now here----" + +Drew tapped the envelopes with his fingers, spread them open and +removed their sheets of closely-written paper. + +"First letter," he announced with raising brows, "is from Standard +Electrical Co., of Chicago, recommending Albert Jones as a capable +electrician. I don't doubt it. He's capable of most anything." + +Delaney took the letter and waited with his eyes fastened upon the +silent figure who had not revealed his identity from the time of the +arrest. + +"Second letter," continued Drew, "is addressed to Albert Jones, General +Delivery, New York Post Office. It is from Ossining. It is signed +Mortimer Morphy. How careless," said the detective, rising in his +excitement. "How _very_ careless! It goes on to say that everything is +all right. That the appeal is pending with the governor. That uncle +Monty was expected to die and that aunt Lou was very low." + +Drew paused and glanced toward Loris and Nichols. "You know what that +means?" he asked. "Uncle Monty was Mr. Montgomery Stockbridge and aunt +Lou would figure out for you, Miss Stockbridge. Keep this, Delaney. +We're going to convict this man right here--whether he talks or not. +This letter was written to him two months ago. It shows premeditation." + +"He looks ill," said Loris. "His face is so white." + +"Dope!" snapped Drew, pressing down the prisoner's right eyelid and +glancing at the pupil. "A narcotic of some kind shows in the small +iris. It's like a pin head. Yen she, eh, Delaney?" + +"Guess it is, Chief. Frisk his cap and belt. They carry it there, +sometimes." + +Drew started at the prisoner's hair and went over his entire body with +careful fingers. A bulge, at the waist, resolved itself into a chamois +money-belt which contained five cartridges, a small handful of electric +fuses and a spool of fine wire. + +Drew eyed this last with furrowed brow. He pocketed it finally and +studied the cartridges. + +"Twenty-two, cupronickel, center-fire," he announced with a hard smile. +"That forges another chain. We're getting there. He was loaded for +something, Delaney." + +"Sure and he was. Look at those handcuffs, Chief. I made them tight as +I could." + +Drew handed up the cartridges and fuses and rattled the cuffs. The +prisoner protested by turning partly over. His eyelids fluttered and +opened full upon Loris. She shrank back between the curtains. Her hands +went up to her face in voiceless fear. "Please keep away," said Drew. +"This man is always dangerous. I want to trim his claws before I take +any chances with him. Delaney," he added, "get my overcoat and bring me +those plaster-casts. This case grows interesting. I wonder who the +fellow is? 'Albert Jones' doesn't convey much. He is a friend and tool +of Morphy. Poor Morphy! I wonder what he'll say when the governor gets +this evidence? He's buried now for twenty long years of penal service. +He picked a good tool, though. A smart man!" + +The prisoner did not brighten to any extent under the professional +flattery. His eyes closed. The cuffed wrists dropped down upon his +chest. He breathed slowly as Drew took the overcoat Delaney brought, +and found the photos of the finger prints which Fosdick and the expert +at headquarters had both declared were not on record. + +"A little ink," Drew said to the operative. "We'll smear this fellow's +thumb and see if his print answers to the print I found in the booth at +Grand Central. I'll venture that it does." + +Nichols extended a fountain pen which the detective opened, sponged on +the corner of a handkerchief, and returned with a chuckle of +satisfaction. + +"Ah," he said, gripping the prisoner's hand and smearing a thumb with a +rolling motion across the back of the print. "Ah, Delaney, see here. +The same whorls and loops. The same tiny V-shaped scar. One, two, +three--center right. This is the man. We have him deeper in toward the +place with the little, green door. He knows what I mean!" + +The prisoner's lips closed to a thin, hard line. A tiny spot of hectic +fire burned in the center of each cheek as Drew completed the searching +and rose. + +"Footprints, now!" he said with a snappy order. "Compare those plaster +casts you took at the junction-box back of this house. Are they the +same? There's a series of four screw holes in his rubber-heels, +Delaney. Do they compare with the casts. Measure them!" + +"Sure and they do," said the big operative, rising and pointing to the +small projections. "This lad, Chief, was the only one around that +junction-box till after the snow froze and drifted over. That's my +idea, Chief. It caught him, didn't it, Chief?" + +"Every little helps to forge the chain," Drew said. "He's in bad now. +His only chance is to tell us what he knows about Morphy? What was said +over the telephone wire? What did Frick say?" + +"It was this way, Chief," Delaney said. "I'm waiting talking with the +drug-clerk when there's a ring on the slot-booth 'phone. It's Jack Nefe +at Gramercy Hill. He says to me that Frick had just 'phoned and said +that Morphy had come out of the guard room, looked around, then, after +chinning with a keeper at the front gate, he had started going over a +telephone book for a number. Nefe said for me to hold the wire. Then I +gets a number, Chief. It's Gramercy Hill 11,678. Nefe said that was a +booth in the new Broadway Subway at Forty-first Street. I piles into a +cab and arrives there just as this fellow had finished boring a hole +between the two booths--11,678 and 11,679. I waits behind a +slot-machine. Some one rang up when he coupled the wires, listens, then +asks Gramercy Hill central for this 'phone here in Miss Stockbridge's +room. You see the game, Chief?" + +"Go on!" said Drew. "Be very clear!" + +"This fellow was connecting Morphy at state prison with this house +through the two slot booths. I sneaked up and waited for him to finish. +He's busy with a pair of pliers. I falls on him like a ton of bricks. +Then after I get the cuffs on, I listens in. It's Morphy roaring there, +with that big bull voice of his. He's mad 'cause he gets no answer. He +shouts over and over, Chief--'Bert! Bert! Bert! Is it planted in her +room? Her room. Is it there?'" Delaney paused and stared about the +sitting room. + +"What does he mean, Chief?" he asked huskily. "What is that _'it'?"_ + +"Go on!" said Drew tersely. + +"I got Morphy off the wire, Chief. I got Frick and then Frick got the +warden. He's a good fellow. He listened to me, then he calls some +guards and they drag Morphy through the prison and down to the coolers. +I guess they're down in the ground, somewhere. Anyway, Chief, he's gone +for good--unless they send him to the chair for his part in the murder +of Stockbridge." + +"He'll go! What I want to know now, Delaney, is this fellow's right +name. Morphy said 'Bert,' eh?" + +"Sure he did, Chief. 'Bert! Bert! Bert!' That's close to Albert. Albert +Jones, like's in the letter." + +"No! That would be a throw-off. He's some other kind of a Bert. Let me +see his cap." + +Delaney picked the prisoner's cap from the rug and passed it over to +Drew. The detective examined it, ripped the silk, and looked under the +lining. He straightened and handed it to Harry Nichols. + +"Can you make that name out?" he asked. "Your eyes are younger than +mine. Perhaps Miss Stockbridge can read it. It's Spanish, I think. +'Gusta' or 'Gasta.' The rest is obliterated with grease." + +"Antofagasta!" declared Loris suddenly. "It's Antofagasta, Chile." + +"Fetch the lineman's kit, the Central Office man brought," said Drew to +the operative. "Put it right here by this fellow's side. I--we are +getting close to the truth in this case." + +Delaney hurried back with the satchel. It was the same one that Drew +had seen in the library on the evening Stockbridge was murdered. It had +excited no suspicion then. + +"A magneto," said the detective. "First comes a ringing magneto which +has seen much service. Put that over there, Delaney. Spread a paper or +something. Ah," Drew added, "here's a set of small dry batteries +arranged in series. Three or four of them. I don't know just what +they're for, but Bert does." + +The prisoner's pale eyes blinked and were closed again as the lids +compressed in wrinkled determination. He moved slightly when Drew +pressed a knee against his chest. He coughed with dry catching deep +down in his throat. The detective felt of his pulse. It was faint but +steady--like a tired sleeper's. + +"He's coming out of it," Drew said. "He'll talk after awhile. Let's +see, what is this?" + +Delaney leaned over the satchel. "Another link," said Drew, drawing out +a telephone receiver without wires attached to it. "And here," he +added, "is the testing set with the sharp clamps. That's for listening +in or talking with other people's connections. I don't doubt that this +fellow knows his business. Here's a micro-volt meter that registers +fractions of volts. Here's an ammeter of the pocket size. I've seen +this kind on automobiles for testing dry-cells. Now, what is this?" + +"Looks like a full set of jimmies!" blurted Delaney. "That's a +sectional jimmy!" + +"He's got everything," said the detective, turning and glancing at +Loris. "Here, Miss Stockbridge," he said, holding up an empty cartridge +shell. "Here is the most important link in the chain against him. It's +a twenty-two shell which has been fired. See--wait--what's this, +Delaney? The cap on the end hasn't been struck. The cartridge was +discharged--the cap is intact. How could that be?" + +Loris and Harry Nichols leaned over the detective. He turned the tiny +shell around in his fingers. He sniffed it. He held it out so they +could see the end. "Discharged," he exclaimed, "without touching the +detonating cap on the end! That's odd! Very suggestive!" + +"Let me see it," said Nichols. "I'll tell. We have exams on these +things. This seems to have been fired," he continued with thought. +"It's been fired without concussion. I'd say it was heat that did it. A +match touched to the base here would fire the cap, which would, in +turn, set off the powder. There's a different color to the brass at the +cap end. It looks to me like a shell which has been clamped down by +three--no, four screws. There's marks on the rim. See them, Loris--Miss +Stockbridge? Right there. Right at my nail." + +"That's about right, Harry!" declared Drew, reaching for the cartridge. +"It was clamped down with small screws. It was ignited or set off by +heat. It forms part of a home-made pistol which conforms, to a hair, +with Fosdick's statement that the bullet never went through a barrel +that was rifled." + +"That's your own statement!" blurted Delaney. "Fosdick never had brains +enough to figure a thing out like that. All he knows is pinch everybody +two or three times. I've seen him do it." + +Drew eyed the prisoner. "So you see," he said softly, cuttingly, "crime +does not pay. The net has closed over your head. You erred a score of +times. You couldn't afford to make one little mistake. I could--I did! +I've made a hundred in this case already! It's the hound and the hare. +The hound loses the scent and brays on blunderingly till he picks it up +again. You lost me time and again. You fooled me in that lineman's +guise when you came into the library. Your make-up was perfect. You +said just the right things." + +The prisoner's lips curled in a thin cruel line. He rattled the cuffs +defiantly. His shoulders lifted then fell back upon the rug. + +"Bert!" snapped Drew. "Bert!" he repeated with awakening thought. +"Delaney," he said, turning and glancing up at the operative's broad, +flushed face. "I got this fellow located. What was the name of the man +we tried to find in the Morphy failure? The one we had a bench-warrant +for? He was indicted. The indictment was sealed. You know! It's a name +you didn't like. The fellow who escaped to Rio or South America? Who +afterwards went to Antofagasta. Ah, Cuthbert!" + +"That's it, Chief! Cutbert! Cutbert Morphy--the old devil's brother. +This is him!" + +Drew rubbed his hands vigorously. "It is!" he exclaimed, with his eyes +swinging over the prisoner's drawn features. "Cuthbert Morphy--a +brother's tool and confederate. We're getting on!" + +The detective rose and faced Loris and Nichols. "Captain," he said, "a +firing squad at sunrise would be the Army's answer to this man's +deviltry. Consider what he has done. He's worked back to New York after +a year as a fugitive. He connected in some manner with Morphy at Sing +Sing. Perhaps he went there as a visitor under the pretext of business +connected with Morphy's affairs. This scheme was hatched there in the +prison. It was financed by Morphy. It succeeded in so far as Mr. +Stockbridge was concerned. First the telephone call to the cemetery +superintendent. Then followed his visit to this house for the purpose +of fixing some fiendish device. Or----" + +"He might have fixed the windows, Chief," suggested Delaney. "He might +have opened a catch and climbed in afterwards." + +"He wasn't near the windows," said Drew. "He had something else in the +back of his crafty, twisted brain. He came and went out, with Mr. +Stockbridge and I watching him. He called up, then, and threatened the +death. He probably looped the library 'phone up with Sing Sing at or +about midnight. We have a record of both calls." + +"Why," asked Loris, as Drew paused in thought. "Why did he have Morphy +connected with father? I can't see, Mr. Drew, that part of it. The +rest, you have told is, is very clear." + +"Nor I yet," admitted the detective. "But that is a detail. It is +probably the criminal's ego, which is in every one of them, to notify +their prey that the hour has come. Morphy was an artist in crime. He +was a master mind in finance and chicanery. What better revenge could +he think of than to notify Mr. Stockbridge that death was about to +strike? It savors of Machiavelli and Borgia. Whom the gods destroy they +first make mad. He tried it on you." + +"Gods!" blurted Delaney with ire. "Devils, you mean, Chief!" + +"Yes, or worse!" said Drew, glancing sternly at the prisoner. "This +fellow," he added, "is the agent for the destroyer. Now how was it +done?" + +Delaney glanced about the walls of the room in apprehension. "I'll take +another look around," he suggested heavily. "Maybe with them new ideas +we can locate something that might be planted for the killing." + +Drew glanced sharply at the prisoner's face. A faint sneer was on the +thin lips. The wrists twisted and turned in the handcuffs. The steel +chain rattled metallically. Loris backed step after step toward the +shielding curtain and Harry Nichols. "Oh!" she said suddenly, as she +dropped her head against his breast. "Oh, Harry! there can't be +anything like _that."_ + +"Certainly not!" Drew hastened to ejaculate. "That's nonsense. If there +was anything planted in either of these three rooms, there's no one to +get in and operate it. I've searched! Mr. Delaney has searched. Do you +want us to search again?" Drew's lips were drawn with doubt as he +stared anxiously from Loris to Nichols. "I'll do it, captain, if you +say so. I think we've done enough work, however. The thing is to get +this fellow to talk. I don't want to give him over to Fosdick and the +third degree till we see if he is going to treat us right. He can turn +state's evidence on Morphy, who blundered. Then he'll get off lightly. +Morphy is the master mind." + +"He only smiles," said Nichols, tapping his breast suggestively. "I've +a gun here and I've a mind to use it. Do you think I want Miss +Stockbridge murdered like her father was murdered? I'll shoot that cur! +He's a whispering snake! A Hun!" + +"Don't!" sobbed Loris, as Nichols thrust his hand in his coat and drew +out a flat automatic of .44 caliber. "Don't, Harry! Perhaps this man is +innocent." + +"Innocent!" declared Nichols. "Why, Loris--why, Miss Stockbridge, you +don't think _that_, after all the things Mr. Drew has discovered. I'll +wager my commission he's guilty as Hell, and I mean it, Loris." + +"He's that!" Delaney declared. "He and his brother the devil are one in +sin. They're lost spirits." + +"Now everybody," said Drew, gathering in the group with his eyes, which +were strangely bright. "Everybody keep very quiet for a minute. Let me +think." + +"Sure and I will, Chief. I'm thinking I want to think, myself." + +Drew frowned at Delaney. He dropped his eyes and studied the prisoner's +hands. They were strangely white and remarkably small for a man who had +labored at telephone-repairing. The detective's glance rested on the +ink-stained thumb. His mind swung with this thought to the footprints. +Following the train he arrived at the first conclusion that an expert +in telephony could devise most any kind of a practical method for +opening a window or a ventilator. He dismissed this theory with a +glance about the room. The ventilator was well-hidden and inaccessible +to any one without a step-ladder. Considerable time devoted in climbing +upon a chair and a case of jade ornaments might reach it, but the +trouble-man had not been alone in the room when he inspected the +telephone. + +Drew went over the salient details of the Stockbridge tragedy. One fact +stood out. The windows had been well locked. The sashes were covered +with snow. A climber, even on the face of the house, would have +difficulty in springing a catch by a secret method, raising the window +and entering without leaving a track of some kind. He dismissed this +supposition as untenable. He turned to Delaney, fully puzzled. + +"Was there a climber's set in that bag?" he asked sharply. + +"I didn't see any, Chief. I don't think this fellow's a climber. He +ain't built like one. His shoes are smooth on the bottom and his hands +are all polished up around the nails. Looks to me, Chief, as if he +might be able to pick most any kind of a lock." + +"The locks are out of the question!" snapped Drew. "I examined them. +They're not in line. Has anybody here any suggestions?" + +Drew stared at the prisoner's drawn, white face as he asked this +question. "He wasn't long in this part of the house," said the captain. +"The maid watched him. She thought perhaps he might take something." + +"Fosdick is to blame!" said Drew almost losing his temper. "He should +have given strict orders at the door not to let anybody in till the +case was settled. It's all mixed up now. This man had ample opportunity +to cover himself. A clever sneak could do most anything under your eyes +without you seeing him operate. I suppose the only thing to do is to +turn him over to Headquarters. He'll get his!" + +Loris frowned slightly at Drew's manner. The detective did not act like +his former self. She watched him pace the floor between the prisoner +and the tapestries. He came back with a square set to his jaw and a +hard glint in his olive eyes which gleamed like steel behind velvet. + +"Stand him up!" + +Delaney stared at his chief. He opened his mouth, then closed it +firmly. "All right," he said, reaching down. "I'll stand him up if you +let me give him an upper-cut. I don't like these silent crooks. They're +snaky, Chief." + +"No unnecessary violence, gentlemen," suggested Nichols as Loris laid +her hand on his arm. "I'd like to have him alone for a few minutes--but +outside. Go easy. Perhaps he'll talk." + +"It may be your life or this man's!" gritted Drew, stepping up to the +prisoner after a sharp glance at Loris. "I pity him when Fosdick gets +hold of him. He'll talk then!" + +The prisoner swayed with Delaney's fingers gripping his collar in a +vice-strong clutch. His white-pale face, his narrow-set eyes, his +furtive glance to left and right like a cornered rat, brought Drew to +mind of a man who was slowly breaking down. He lowered his brows and +clutched the prisoner's elbow with strong fingers that pressed deep +through the coat sleeve. + +"Out with it!" he demanded harshly. "It's your last chance to save your +miserable skin. You're not going to get any mercy from the +Commissioner. You know what he'll do to you!" + +The prisoner twisted loose from Drew's clutch. His eyes wavered as he +stared at Loris for a long second, then dropped to the floor. They +closed in painful thought. Suddenly he blanched with passion. + +"I've no use for you coppers!" he screamed shrillingly. "I hate the +sight of you and your kind. Let me go! Let me go!" + +"Fine chance," whispered Delaney, tightening his grip on the prisoner's +collar. "You got a fine chance, you murderin', thievin', second-story +man! I'd paste you if the lady wasn't here! Sure I would, right between +the eyes!" + +"Easy," said Drew. "Leave him to me. He's thinking the thing over. I +don't mind telling him that the magpie beat him. That and the +carelessness of Morphy in calling up when he must have known that Frick +was in the front office of the prison. It's always the way, Bert. He +travels the fastest, up or down, who travels alone. It's the lone star +that gives us the trouble. There's nobody to peach on him!" + +The prisoner bit his upper lip. A slight sign of blood showed. He +tasted this with the tip of his tongue. His eyes narrowed in +calculation. He turned and faced Drew with slit-lidded intentness. + +"I haven't done a thing," he whispered. "You ain't got a thing on me." + +"Oh, no!" blurted Drew with heat. "I ain't got a thing. I've been +asleep since the time you murdered this girl's father. I've had ten men +on your trail since the beginning. I don't hold the first murder so +much against you as I do the projected one--which missed fire by a +scant margin. You slayed a man with your devilish ingenuity, but you're +not going to put it over on his daughter. I've seen to that! I notice +nobody has called up and said this was the Master talking. There's a +good reason." + +The prisoner fluttered his pale lashes and glanced at the telephone. He +closed his eyes with a smile shadowing his lips. + +"There's a good reason," repeated Drew. "You are not in some booth at +Forty-first Street to make the connection. Morphy is in the strongest +cooler. He's booked for twenty years. After that he'll get more. He +can't help you!" + +"Oh, you coppers," said the trouble-man. "Just give me five minutes and +I'd show you. I don't hold anything against the girl. I never saw her +before." + +"You lie!" + +"Why don't you take these cuffs off-a-me? I can't hit back." + +"I'd sooner take the chance outside," said Drew, glancing at Loris. +"I'd do it there!" + +Delaney tightened his grip and half held the trouble-hunter in the air. +He raised on his toes with the strain. + +"Oh, don't!" exclaimed Loris. "I'll have to ask you to stop this. I +can't let it occur in my house!" + +"Miss Stockbridge," said Drew with soft rebuke. "Miss Stockbridge, I've +been in the detective business for twenty years. I never saw in that +time a more dangerous man. He is the super-type who usually falls +through the errors of other men. This fellow has brains. He's an expert +in telephony and in wireless. There are a number of patents in the +patent office under his name." + +"Then he may be innocent, Mr. Drew." + +"He's as guilty as the Kaiser!" exclaimed Delaney, twisting the +prisoner around. "Look at him. He's been trying to murder the finest +little lady in the country. She never harmed anybody. She's devoting +most of her time to Red Cross work and the--Army," added the big +operative with a touch of brogue as he glanced at Nichols. + +"But he has not said that he murdered father," said Loris. + +"Sure an' he won't say it. I know the breed of this snake. He wants +nothing used against him in the trial. He'll have the evidence of us +four to show that he didn't say anything. I never saw an innocent man +who wouldn't talk!" + +"We're getting nowhere," objected Drew, taking command of the +situation. "Take him out, Delaney, and turn him over to the Central +Office bunch. They'll take him down to Fosdick!" + +The prisoner lifted his manacled hands. He dropped them after a slow +glance at Drew's square jaw. + +"Come on!" said Delaney with a jerk backward. + +"Wait!" + +Drew and Nichols leaned forward. "Well?" asked the detective, as the +prisoner bowed his head. "Well? Well?" + +"Is that true about my brother--Morphy?" + +"It is!" Drew said with ringing conviction. "It's true! He's out of +this world. He's buried alive and the key has been thrown away." + +"The jig is up, then," said the trouble-man, turning toward the +telephone. "Let me telephone," he said in a whisper. "I want to use +it," he repeated faintly. "I'll show you how that--that Stockbridge +died." + + + + +CHAPTER FIFTEEN + +"THE VOICE ON THE WIRE" + + +The prisoner lifted his manacled hands and held them toward Drew. "Let +me loose," he said, "and I'll explain everything that I've done! I want +it off my mind. I won't sleep until you people are satisfied. I know +you--you copper! I know Fosdick--the third degree artist." + +Drew frowned as he glanced at the cuffs. He scratched his dark hair and +combed his fingers back toward his ears. He turned and glanced at Loris +and Nichols in the opening between the two splendid rooms. + +"I don't like to take a chance with this fellow," he admitted. "Do you +want me to, Miss Stockbridge? It's your life he was after, and he may +be shamming now. You never can trust an opium addict. They have no +soul." + +"I've as much as a copper's!" + +"Shut up, you!" boomed Delaney, threateningly. "Shut up! There's a lady +in this room!" + +The prisoner clicked his cuffs together. He stared at the cheval glass +and the telephone. "A lady?" he repeated through the corner of his +lips. "A limb of the Stockbridge tree," he said bitterly. "I hold +nothing against her. I told you that before. But we promised the old +man we'll take care of her after we killed him, and she came near +going--let me tell you that. I could have killed her with twenty +words." + +"He's rambling," said Delaney, reaching for the prisoner. "The dope has +gone to his head. I don't believe there's any----" + +"Easy, Delaney," warned Drew thoroughly on the alert. "Don't make the +mistake of underestimating this fellow. He acts like a man who has +repented--who wants to right some of the wrong he has done. I don't +think we are taking chances in letting this fellow loose. He is +unarmed. I tended to that. If he wants to 'phone--let's let him." + +"Your case, Chief!" + +Drew reached in his pocket and brought around a police regulation +revolver. "I'll have this right here!" he snapped as he slowly raised +it. "You, Delaney, unlock one cuff and pass it to me. I'll wrap the +chain around my left wrist. If this fellow tries anything I'll tend to +his case--forever. These .44's are made for stopping purposes, eh, Mr. +Nichols?" + +"They certainly are, Mr. Drew. I think we can handle that little man +without trouble. What does he want to telephone for?" + +"What for, Bert?" asked Drew, swinging and confronting the prisoner. +"Do you want to say good-by to somebody?" + +"Good-by is right," whispered the trouble-man, extending his hands +toward Delaney, who fished out a small key. "Yes, it's good-by to +somebody. Unlock them!" + +"Hold on!" exclaimed Drew. "I don't like that tone. You'll have to act +better than that, Bert. What do you want to get loose for? What number +do you want? I'll call up." + +"No, I got to do it. I want one hand free--that's all." + +Loris stepped to Drew's side. "Can there be anything about the room," +she asked, "that he wants to use? Perhaps he'll pick something up and +use it too quickly for you to stop him." + +"I don't think so," said Drew grimly. "This gun, Miss Stockbridge, +happens to have a hair trigger. We'll chance it--with your permission." + +"I'm not afraid for myself--but don't you think the poor fellow should +be prevented from harming himself. He acts just like a man who wanted +to do something terrible. He seems to have given up hope." + +"A woman's intuition," mused Drew. "Perhaps a close one," he said +aloud. "You get back into the other room, Miss Stockbridge. Let Mr. +Nichols stand in front of you for protection. I'm going to grant this +fellow's request. Delaney, unlock the left cuff!" + +The key rattled in the tiny key-hole as Drew poised his revolver and +drew a sight between the prisoner's fluttering eyelids. "Stand right +there," whispered the detective tersely. "Right there," he added, +reaching with his left hand and taking the cuff and chain from the +operative. "Now, Bert, you're half free. What do you want with the +telephone?" + +The prisoner pinched his wrist and worked his hand like a hinge. A +white mark, which slowly changed to red, showed where Delaney had +clamped the handcuff down to its last notch. The trouble-man eyed this +mark. His lips hardened. He strained on the chain as he lifted his +fingers to his brow with a tired gesture. + +"Hurry!" said Drew. "Hurry, Bert, or we'll cuff you up again. Do you +want to telephone?" + +"Y--e--s!" The voice was tremulous and dry. "Yes! I'll use it. I'll +show you how that pirate--Stockbridge--was killed. The yellow +squealer!" + +Loris raised her chin proudly. She leaned against Nichols in the +doorway. "I won't stand for that!" declared the soldier. "You are being +insulted in your own house!" + +"Wait, Harry! Something is going to happen! I know it is!" + +"You're right, lady," whispered the prisoner. "It's going to happen +to--well, I don't care. I'm done. The jig is up!" + +Cuthbert Morphy shrugged his shoulders and turned toward Drew. He +stared at the menacing revolver with a cryptic smile. "Get your man +downstairs," he said, in hollow tones. "Get him to go in the library +and call up this number. Tell Central to connect the two 'phones in +this house. Shout into the library transmitter when the connection is +made." + +Drew frowned. "What's all that for?" he asked. + +"Do as I say." + +"I don't know about that. I give orders here. What do you want that +done for? I thought you wanted a number on the 'phone. I thought you +would get somebody on the wire who would explain everything." + +"Everything will be explained, Inspector. Everything! I told you the +jig was up with me. I mean it, too. There's nothing left but the +truth." + +Drew wound the handcuff chain tighter about his left wrist. He braced +his feet and turned to Delaney. "Go downstairs," he said, "and call up +this number. Do what this fellow says. The number is Gramercy Hill +9764." + +Loris and Nichols lifted their brows as they turned toward each other. +"I'm afraid," said the girl. "Something is not right, Harry." + +"It's the only way we'll ever find out what this man means. If they +take him away without letting him talk over the 'phone we'll never +know. Leave things to Mr. Drew. He's armed! I'm armed! There's no +danger!" + +"Get downstairs to the library!" Drew ordered. "Do what this man wants. +Shout into the transmitter. Go now!" + +Delaney lunged through the tapestries and unlocked the door to the +hall. He paused there in thought. He turned and glanced back. + +"Hurry!" exclaimed Drew. "Hurry now!" + +The big operative cursed audibly as he descended the two flights of +carpeted steps. He nodded to the Central Office man at the library +door. He passed inside, rounded the table and stood by the 'phone. He +picked up the receiver. His eyes wandered along the floor as he waited. +A dark spot showed on the hardwood. It was where the millionaire's +blood had gushed forth from the bullet hole in the base of his brain. + +"Gramercy Hill 9-7-6-4!" said Delaney with a bull's voice. + +"B-r-r-r-r-! B-r-r-r-r-! B-r-r-r-r-r!" sounded from the ringing-box of +the silver plated telephone in the sitting-room of Loris Stockbridge's +suite. + +The prisoner pulled at the chain as he leaned toward the telephone. +"It's ringing," he said in a thin whisper. "Let me--let me listen in." + +Drew studied the entire situation before he granted permission. Loris +and Nichols were framed between the silken portieres. The captain held +his army regulation revolver at his hip. Loris leaned forward with her +dark eyes smoldering and intent. The blood had left her cheeks. They +were white and tersely set. She seemed older to Drew. He smiled +reassuringly, dropped his gun to his hip, pressed it against the +prisoner and shoved him toward the 'phone as a "B-r-r-r-r-" sounded +above the lifting roar of Delaney's voice in the depths of the great +mansion. + +The room became charged and surcharged with electricity. A crackling +sounded as Drew's feet glided inch by inch over the silk rug. The storm +outside whined and synchronized with the rise and fall of the great +voice shouting "Hello! Hello! Hello! Hello, you!" + +The trouble-man turned. His hand reached upward and lifted the +hard-rubber receiver from the hook. His lids fluttered toward Loris. +His eyes softened with memories. "I'm glad I didn't do it!" he hissed +across the room. "Good-by, lady--good-by!" + +"Be careful!" snapped Drew, pressing the revolver firmly against the +prisoner's right side. "Be careful! This is a hair trigger!" + +The trouble-man smiled a twisted, wan smile as he turned his head +toward the transmitter and said huskily: + +"Hello! Hello! You big copper! Shout on! See how loud you can curse me! +That's it. That--is--it!" + +Drew heard Delaney's voice rise in indignation. The taunt had spurned +him to greater effort. The metallic diaphragm of the receiver roared +and clicked. It echoed the voice. It stopped. It vibrated again. It +reached a reed-like tune of high-pitched anger. The prisoner closed his +eyes and stiffened. He pressed the receiver directly over his ear. He +drew back on the chain and to one side. Drew's face darkened with +suspicion. It was too late. The detective had time to spring away as a +cone of lurid light and flame shot out from the telephone diaphragm and +splashed across the prisoner's set face. A sharp detonation racked the +perfumed air of the room. Smoke wreathed about the astonished +Inspector's head, and floated upward toward the ventilator. + +Cuthbert Morphy's muscles relaxed. He spun, sank to his knees, then +pitched forward across the rug with a bullet in his brain. Drew +untwisted the chain with a wrist flip, sprang forward toward the +cheval-glass, and stamped his foot down upon the smoking telephone +receiver as if it were the head of a rattlesnake. + +He turned with clear light striking out from his eyes. He nodded toward +the leaning form of the girl and the erect one of the captain. He +divined in seconds how the murder of Montgomery Stockbridge had been +accomplished. The full series of events and clues flashed through his +brain. It was like an orderly array seen at a picture show. + +Cuthbert Morphy, guised as a trouble-hunter in the employ of the +telephone company, had devised a single-shot pistol out of a telephone +receiver and had caused it to be actuated by the human voice so that it +would always strike in the most vulnerable part of man's anatomy--the +ear. + +With this lethal instrument he had slain the millionaire, and, when +trapped and in danger of execution, he had employed the same method to +bring about his own death. It was a fitting end to a life of crime and +drug-brought imageries. + +Delaney, with drawn gun and wild of eyes, burst through the tapestries +and brought up with a dizzy lurch before the body of Cuthbert Morphy. +He stammered and glared downward. He swung his heavy chin and stared at +Loris and Nichols in the gloom of the further curtains. He clapped Drew +on the shoulder with a heavy hand. + +"Had to shoot him, eh, Chief? What'd he try? What--you got your foot on?" + +"An electric pistol," said Drew, with a grim smile distending his +olive-hued lips. "An infernal machine, Delaney. I hope it isn't a +repeater. Cut that wire! Both wires! Get your knife out and cut through +them, quick! I won't take any chances." + +The big operative pocketed his revolver with a back swing of his right +hand, brought it forward empty and ran it down his trouser pocket. He +brought out a buck-horn jack-knife, pried it open, stooped and slashed +through the two silk cords holding the receiver to the bottom of the +transmitter which had fallen from the bracket. + +Loris swayed with supple limbs. She raised her hands and pressed her +unjeweled fingers against her face. She sobbed once, then turned and +threw herself upon Nichols' drab shoulder. "Harry," she cried. "Oh, +Harry--what happened? I didn't see what happened!" + +The captain glided an arm about her waist and half-carried, half-led +her to a couch in the reading-room. "Rest here a minute," he said, +leaning down. "Be cool and as brave as you can. The trouble-man won't +trouble you any longer. He took his own medicine!" + +Nichols returned to the sitting room in time to hear Drew exclaim, +after Delaney had reached down and lifted the receiver, "The case is +closed! This closes it with a bang! Give me that electric pistol, +Delaney!" + +The operative handed it over. "Get a big rug," ordered Drew with sudden +thought. "Cover that fellow over till we call the Central Office men +and the coroner. I want to examine this receiver." + +"Right here on this little table would be a good place," suggested +Nichols, lifting off a handful of ivory ornaments and depositing them +on top of a glass case. "I'll spread a paper here. I'd like to see +what's inside that thing myself." + +"Do you know anything about electricity or telephony?" asked Drew, as +he turned the hard-rubber receiver in his hand and stared at the +listening end. + +"Very little, Inspector. But fire-arms are in my line and that seems to +be one." + +The detective nodded. "It's one, all right," he said, holding it out +with a steady hand. "Looks harmless, don't it? Two binding-posts on one +end. A rubber cap on the other. Notice that diaphragm." + +Nichols took the receiver and squinted at the rubber cap. "By George!" +he said. "This is odd. There's a tiny hole drilled or punched in the +center. It's about the same size as the bore of a twenty-two caliber +revolver." + +"Look at your hands!" said Drew. "What the devil," he added with +dawning conviction. "Say, Delaney, do you remember that spot of black +under my left ear. The one you noticed after we left yesterday morning? +The----" + +"Sure, Chief. That's where you got the smut--from that receiver!" + +"I got it when I picked up the telephone in the library downstairs and +tried to get Central. Do you remember how long she took? This is the +same receiver in all probability. The trouble-hunter removed it from +the library connections, loaded it, and brought it up here. It looks +like any ordinary receiver. The telephone company have some with +binding posts and some without. This is an earlier model." + +"The spot of black was from the first discharge when Stockbridge was +killed!" exclaimed Delaney. + +Drew ran his fingers around the inner rim of the rubber cap. He held +them up. "See!" he exclaimed. "No wonder my neck was marked. That +settles that mystery, Delaney. If we had any brains at all we would +have connected the soot and the telephone. If we had done that we'd +have solved the case early this morning, or yesterday morning. It's +after one, now!" + +"This hole," said Nichols, "was the only thing in the whole dastardly +scheme that could have been seen. It's the size of the end of a lead +pencil. Funny you didn't notice it?" + +"I looked everywhere but there," admitted Drew. "The receiver hangs +with the diaphragm end down. That's the reason I didn't see it. +Well--there's always a reason," he added. "Now, Delaney, fetch me that +trouble-hunter's satchel. We'll see what this pistol is made of and how +it is made. I venture to say that it is simple." + +Delaney awoke from his stupor and lifted a rug which he tossed over the +body of Cuthbert Morphy. He wiped his hands with a finite motion. He +wheeled and slouched lankily across the polished floor. He returned +with the lineman's kit. + +"Pliers," said Drew, as the big operative removed the straps and +reached his hand inside. "I saw a pair there when we had it open +before," the detective added, unscrewing the rubber cap of the receiver +and lifting the thin metal diaphragm from the face of two tiny magnets +which were wound with fine silk wire. + +"Regulation magnets," whispered Nichols, leaning over the detective's +shoulder. "They're regulation except there's a hole drilled down +between them. There must be a barrel all the way through the receiver." + +"We'll see. Got those pliers, Delaney?" + +The operative passed up a pair. "Ah," chuckled the detective, +unscrewing the binding-posts and lifting off a hard rubber cap. "Ah, +see here!" + +Delaney rose and peered over the captain's shoulder straps. The two men +watched Drew's nimble fingers trace out the mechanism of the electric +pistol. + +"It's simple!" declared the detective. "It's very simple and ingenious +in construction. It's a crowning wonder to me that some one hasn't used +this sort of device to carry out a wholesale slaughtering. Suppose they +never thought of it." + +Drew glanced at the silent mound under the Persian rug. "The wrong +road," he whispered tersely. "He took the wrong road. He was a +mechanical and electrical genius. He was a patent expert." + +Delaney worked his brows up and down. "Shall I call Miss Stockbridge?" +he asked. + +"I'll do it," Nichols said, turning and hurrying through the portieres. +He returned with Loris leaning upon his arm. Her eyes were glazed and +tear-laden. She held a tiny, limp lace handkerchief between her +trembling fingers. + +"There's no danger," said Drew. "Come here, Miss Stockbridge," he +added. "I want to show you what was all ready for you." + +The detective raised the hard-rubber receiver. "Here we have the +diaphragm," he said, pointing. "It's a round plate of soft iron. It's +secured to the rubber by an insulated ring. It is the part you press up +to your ear when you listen at a telephone. There's a small hole +punched in this one. The same sized hole extends down through the +center core, or magnet. This hole isn't rifled. It couldn't well be +rifled save with special machinery. That's why the bullet found in Mr. +Stockbridge's brain was without longitudinal scorings. It was fired +from a smooth-bored pistol." + +"That's what you thought!" blurted Delaney with loyalty. + +"I was at sea," said Drew. "Now," he continued, "we have a live +cartridge at the opposite end of this core from the diaphragm. See it?" +Loris leaned over the little table. + +"Right here!" The detective pointed. "That is a twenty-two cartridge +with a cupronickel bullet. See the cap? See how it is held from coming +back by those tiny screws about the rim?" + +Loris nodded and gathered up her straying hair. + +"Now," continued Drew. "Now, this cartridge was exploded by the action +of the human voice. Here's a tiny spiral of very slender platinum wire. +It must be number forty, at least. That's very fine! This spiral is in +series with the winding about the magnets. The same current pulsated by +the human voice which actuates the receiver diaphragm, also passed +through this spiral. Now," Drew paused. "Now," he added with rising +voice, "here is a tiny charred piece of match-head, I guess. It was set +in the coil. It flared when the wire became hot. The heat was +sufficient to ignite the cap. See it!" + +"I see it!" exclaimed Nichols. + +"The action is simple," continued Drew. "A pulsation of the current +which was formed by the action of the vibrating, transmitter diaphragm, +also pulsated the fine wire before it went to the receiver magnets. The +louder the voice into the transmitter the more current--measured in +fractions of amperes--passed through the spiral. It became sufficiently +hot to flare the piece of match-head or whatever Cuthbert placed there. +This flare was communicated to the percussion cap, or fulminate of +mercury, at the base of the cartridge. This exploded the powder charge, +which in turn projected the cupronickel bullet forward through the tube +or the bore of the receiver and out through the thin, metal diaphragm, +and----" + +"What's that?" asked the operative. + +"Out through the hole in the diaphragm," continued Drew, "and right +into your ear or my ear, Delaney!" + +"Not into mine!" exclaimed the operative. "I'll never telephone as long +as I live, Chief!" + +"We'll all be careful," said Nichols, turning toward Loris. + +Drew gathered together the different parts of the telephone receiver. +"Evidence against Morphy," he said dryly, as he dropped them into the +side pocket of his coat. "They are our Exhibit A if he ever finishes +that twenty years in the cooler." + +Loris reached out her hand. "You saved my life," she said. "You saved +it, Mr. Drew." + +"I blundered and blundered and blundered on this case," admitted the +detective frankly. "Now I'm going to request you to wait a few minutes +before I call the coroner. Delaney has some questions. I feel sure he +wants to ask me one or two." + + + + +CHAPTER SIXTEEN + +"THE END" + + +Triggy Drew's eyes shone with triumphant fire as he turned and faced +the group gathered in the sitting room. + +He adjusted his coat lapels, clicked his heels and smiled politely. His +hand strayed up to his short-cropped mustache which was still neat and +well-trimmed despite the labors of the day. + +"Although the case is practically closed," he said with concern, "there +are features which are not entirely cleared up--even in my mind. +Perhaps we have a little time," he added, glancing at his watch. "Let's +go into the other room--away from these memories--and have a cup of +tea, if Miss Stockbridge will be so kind as to order some." + +Loris glanced at Nichols. She nodded as she turned toward Drew. He +moved over to the rug which covered Cuthbert Morphy's body. He stooped +and adjusted this. He rose and dimmed the lights by snapping off two of +the switches and turning a bulb in its socket. He hesitated as he +glanced at the telephone wires which Delaney had cut. + +"Central will wonder what has happened," he said half aloud. "The +connections leading to this house have given them a lot of trouble in +the last few hours. I suppose they haven't another trouble-man like +this one, though?" Drew pointed toward the shadowed rug which gleamed +with silk and rare woven designs. + +Loris raised her hand and grasped the portieres. She shuddered +slightly. She allowed her eyes to wander over the room as if for a last +fleeting glance. They locked with the detective's own. She smiled with +a plaintive droop to her mouth. + +"I'll order the tea," she said invitingly. "Will you come in?" + +Drew bowed and followed her through the portieres. Delaney already +stood by the door which led to the maid's room. Harry Nichols had +picked up a small book and was impatiently examining its pages. The +soldier turned and eyed the detective. + +"We'll sit down?" he asked, laying the book on a cushion. "I'm a bit +curious to know how you worked out a number of things. I think that +Miss Stockbridge is, too." + +"I'd like to be a detective!" exclaimed Loris, gliding across the room +and tapping with her knuckles on the door. "Wouldn't you, Mr. Delaney?" +she added naively. + +Delaney chuckled. "I would, Miss," he said with candor. "I'm not a +regular. I'm only a volunteer. Mr. Drew has me along to do the heavy +work. He says what I can't lift I can drag." + +Loris smiled as the maid answered by opening the door to a crack. "Tea +for four," she said. "Pekoe and tea biscuits--unless----" + +She turned and widened her eyes prettily. "Would you have anything +else?" she asked Drew. + +"Strong tea!" exclaimed the detective. "I'll take 'hops,' as we call +it. Make it very strong and then we'll settle some of these questions. +My head is none too clear. I've been under a strain. I'm frank to admit +that!" + +The tea arrived within ten minutes. Drew had prevented Delaney from +'phoning for the coroner or to Fosdick. "Some matters to clear up," he +whispered suggestively. "We'll leave this place with the case entirely +completed." + +Nichols arranged two chairs about a tiny teak-wood table. He had set +this table within the bay of an alcove. The space was small, with +Delaney's big feet very much in the way. + +Drew poised his cup and glanced from Loris to Nichols. Their heads were +very close together. The blue-black luster of the girl's hair was a +perfect contrast to the officer's blond pompadour which was slightly +disarranged. The light from above haloed with the soft fire of frosted +glass and cut prisms. + +The detective upended the cup, drank deeply, then passed it over to +Delaney. "Another, please," he said, watching the operative struggling +with a saucer which was far too fragile for his thick fingers. "One +more cup," he added. "No sugar." + +Loris leaned from the cushion at the small of her back and glanced +toward the portieres with thought-laden eyes. "Poor misguided fellow," +she said softly. "I feel uneasy, Mr. Drew. Somehow or other I feel that +we were partly responsible for his death. I wish it hadn't happened." + +"I'll agree with you. We must forget more than we remember in this +world. Our time is short. The coroner and the Central Office squad will +have to be notified. I don't doubt that Fosdick will be surprised at +the turn in the case. He has some of your servants locked up, you +know!" + +Loris pressed closer to Nichols. "I wish that body wasn't in there," +she whispered. "Suppose he had other confederates who would break in?" + +"He worked alone," assured Drew, finishing the second cup and setting +it down. "I found no evidence of another crook. He worked single-handed +and single-minded. He made one mistake. Morphy was a bungler. A bungler +is a man who lets his artistic temperament get the better of him. Had +he allowed Cuthbert to slay both the--Mr. Stockbridge and yourself over +the 'phone, he would never have solved the case. It was the telephoning +from Sing Sing that opened up the entire matter." + +"The inevitable slip!" exclaimed Nichols. + +"Yes," said Drew. "They all make it. I could tell you of a thousand +instances. But back of the inevitable slip, as you call it, is +something deeper. It has not often been mentioned in dealing with +criminals." + +"What is it?" asked Loris. + +"Ego! Criminal ego! Most transgressors would go to the electric chair +if the newspapers would write enough about them." + +Loris raised her brows. "Is that the reason," she asked, "why Morphy +telephoned before he killed poor father?" + +"Exactly!" declared the detective. "Ego explains much that we call +revenge. Now," he added, glancing about and at a tiny clock on a +cabinet. "Now the questions from everybody! Make them short. Mr. +Delaney and I will leave in ten minutes." + +Nichols glanced at Loris. "You first," he said. + +"I've just one or two, Mr. Drew," she said. + +"What are they?" + +"Why did that poor dead man spare my life when he called me up the +first time? He could have killed me then." + +"I explained that. It wasn't _his_ vendetta." + +"Vendetta?" + +"That is what this case is. An almost successful attempt to wipe out, +or I should say obliterate, the Stockbridge Family--root and branch. +Morphy had nursed the thing for over a year. He had soured up there in +prison. His mind became abnormal. He conceived an abnormal revenge. +Also a personal one. He had every reason to believe that he would never +be discovered." + +"Then, Mr. Drew, he would have called me up on the phone later and done +what he did--to father? He would have told me who he was over the +telephone, and--and----" + +"Yes, Miss Stockbridge. Yes, be calm, though. He is beyond the pale +now. You will never hear from him again. Be assured of that!" + +Drew leaned in his chair and glanced at Delaney. The big operative +fidgeted in his seat, squirmed, reached for the tea-pot, then drew back +his hand and started drumming the table with his fingers. + +Nichols disengaged his arm from behind Loris and squared his shoulders. +He moved forward. "I'm going to ask a question for Miss Stockbridge," +he said. "Did you ever suspect her?" + +"Never!" declared Drew. + +"Or me?" + +The detective hesitated before he answered. His smile cleared the air +as he said. "Once--for about an hour. That was when I found out that +you were partly German. I got over it, though." + +"So did I," declared Nichols. "I got over the German part in no time. I +enlisted!" + +"That's a good answer! The best one I know!" + +Delaney turned to his chief. He drew in his legs. "There's a question +I'd like to ask," he said. + +"What is it?" + +"That magpie?" + +Drew eyed Loris. "It's her bird now," he said. "She may not want it +dragged back here again. I shouldn't think she would." + +"I don't!" exclaimed Loris. "I wish that you would explain how you +followed the clew, though. It talks so seldom, and then when it does +talk it says such nonsense it's a perfect enigma." + +"That bird," said Drew, "was the fine turning point of the case. Before +it was brought into the office, downtown, I had no clew to start from. +There was no indication to show from whence the blow had fallen. Your +father was slain for a motive. He was talking to Morphy when he died. +Cuthbert had connected the two men." + +"Through the two booths?" asked Loris. + +"Yes. Through the booths at Grand Central. Their conversation was +probably a brief one. Morphy undoubtedly gloated a minute or two, then +told Mr. Stockbridge that his time had come on this earth. Naturally +Mr. Stockbridge asked who was talking. Morphy answered by stating who +he was, and also that he was at Sing Sing. Mr. Stockbridge repeated +this statement aloud. He probably said, 'What, Sing Sing?' or 'Ah, +Ossining!' or words to that effect. The bird heard it and remembered it." + +"How strange!" exclaimed Nichols. + +"Not at all," said Drew, leaning forward. "It was just like a magpie to +pick out the one salient part of a conversation and repeat it. The +couplet 'Sing Sing' was one it had never heard. It is so striking to +even a bird. It probably came with such emphasis, there was no +forgetting it!" + +The group facing the detective was silent for a long minute. Delaney +moved uneasily as Nichols toyed with his cup. Loris breathed in +suppressed wonder at the tiny clew which had overthrown the best laid +plans on the part of Morphy and his confederate. It was like an echo of +a dead voice coming back to confront a murderer. She shivered as she +widened her eyes and stared at Drew. + +"There's another question," she said. "How did the trouble-man get into +this house in the first place, Mr. Drew?" + +"I was responsible. He forced my hand!" + +"How?" + +"By a clever subterfuge. He disconnected the library telephone wires at +the junction-box in the alley. He knew that sooner or later Mr. +Stockbridge would try to use the 'phone. He couldn't get a connection, +or I couldn't. It was the time I tried to 'phone and then notified +Gramercy Hill Exchange through another 'phone. He was listening in and +consequently caught the gist of my orders to Harrigan. He hurried to +Gramercy Hill Exchange and there met Frisby, another trouble-man, +starting out to investigate my complaint. He took Frisby's place, +hurried over and closed the library connection and then came into the +house, stating that we had sent for him." + +"Clever," said Nichols. "That was clever, wasn't it?" + +"Remarkably so!" exclaimed Drew. "It was a case of making the detective +on the premises act as a tool. It was like a safeblower asking a night +watchman to move a safe out on a truck. I never suspected that fellow +at all. I hardly looked at him when he was testing the connections in +the library. I even heard him rattling a pair of pliers over the +binding posts on the receiver. That was the time he took the old one +off and put on the loaded pistol. It was done very quickly." + +The detective paused and glanced at his watch. "We must go," he said, +staring at Loris with soft interest. "I'm afraid we're keeping you from +your sleep." + +"No. I want to ask you another question," she said eagerly. "I'm still +in doubt about the slot booths at Grand Central. Why were they used?" + +"As a throw off! That is what the English would call shunting. +Electricians use the same word. It means diverting a current or a +connection. Cuthbert did this so that his trail would be harder to +check up. He thought of almost everything." + +"He missed his vocation!" interjected Nichols. + +"And misused his talents," added Loris. "Think of being clever enough +to do all of those things, and stoop to murder. He paid ten times over. +He must have been under that man Morphy's power. So many men were. I +heard father say that when Morphy was arrested. He said Morphy was the +most dangerous man in the world. That he would cause trouble sooner or +later." + +Drew rose and nodded. "He did that!" he exclaimed with conviction. "He +came very close to getting away with it. But for the magpie and the +fact that he 'phoned from the prison at the same time your father was +murdered, there would have been no clew. Cuthbert would have entered +this house after you were slain, and removed the receiver. That would +have thrown the case into one of the unsolved mysteries. Electricity is +a dangerous tool in the hands of clever crooks." + +"It leaves no trace!" said Delaney, rising and standing by his chief. +"It isn't made out of anything except little shakes in the wire or +something like that." + +Drew smiled good-naturedly. "It's a mystery to most people," he said, +turning toward the windows and listening. "It's a bigger mystery to a +woman than to a man," he added. "It's a good agent if properly used and +kept within bounds. It brings back life as well as takes it. It creates +and also destroys. No one knows what it is. All that we do know about +it is its action on material substances--the power to transform +mechanical energy into vibrations and then back again into mechanical +energy." + +"Like a voice on a wire?" asked Loris. + +"Yes, Miss Stockbridge. The mechanical vibration of a diaphragm in a +telephone transmitter is changed to electrical vibrations, passes along +a wire and changes back to the same thing we had at the beginning. +Cuthbert took advantage of this fact. All that was sent into the +library was Morphy's voice on the wire. The wire left no trace. The +voice actuated the diaphragm and at the same time the fine heating coil +at the cap on the cartridge. The energy of the voice was sufficient to +raise the temperature of the coil. This raise in temperature flashed +some compound set in the wire. The flash started the fulminate of +mercury in the cap. The cap exploded the smokeless powder. It was a +series of steps each a little higher than the one below it." + +"Was there any other way of doing the same thing?" Nichols inquired, as +he rose lankily and stood over Loris. + +"Yes!" declared Drew. "I can look back over what I found in the +technical books about electricity and telephony and see several other +ways for Cuthbert to accomplish the same result. The electrical pistol +did not necessarily have to be actuated by the human voice." + +"How terrible!" Loris whispered, with her brow puckering. "Perhaps +others will use the same idea to slay their enemies." + +"We'll keep it a close secret," the detective said. "It rests with us +four, now. Outside of us, there is only Morphy who knows." + +"How else could the pistol be discharged?" + +"Two other ways that I see, Miss Stockbridge. It would be rather easy +to arrange a little magnetic trigger in the receiver. This trigger +could be actuated by an excess of current--say the connecting of a +hundred and ten volt lighting circuit on the line. It might burn out +the magnet wiring, but it would also release the trigger and fire the +cartridge." + +"That's like a door-catch?" + +"Yes," said Drew. "Like a door-catch operated by a magnet or like the +firing pin of a large cannon. They're not all operated by lanyards. +Some work with push-buttons." + +Nichols passed his hand over his brow. "I know another way," he said, +glancing down at Loris. "There is a way which is far cleverer than +Cuthbert thought of. It could be done by a tuning-fork or reed." + +"Certainly!" exclaimed Drew. "I never thought of that. A reed attuned +to a certain voice could be adapted to trip a trigger. Then the loaded +receiver could be set so that one of your friends who had a peculiar +voice, either high or low, would slay you. Rather terrifying revenge, +that!" + +"Beyond the pale!" said Nichols. "It's too bad this man Cuthbert didn't +exercise one-tenth of his genius in perfecting war inventions. He'd +have helped us a lot." + +Drew nodded and strode to the curtains at a side window. He peered out, +rubbed the frosted panes, and pressed his nose against the glass. + +"Stopped snowing!" he exclaimed, coming back and clasping Delaney's +arm. "You hurry downstairs and telephone Fosdick that we are waiting +for him. Tell him to notify the coroner that there's a subject here +which will interest him. We'll not explain everything to either the +coroner or Fosdick. No one save us shall know the secret of the +receiver." + +"Delaney," said Nichols, as the big operative started through the +portieres. "Mr. Delaney." + +"Yes!" boomed back through the room. + +"Ask the Commissioner if he will release Miss Stockbridge's servants. +It was an outrage." + +"That's right!" exclaimed Drew, striding to the portieres. "Tell him I +said so, Delaney. Tell him just what you think. Give it to him strong! +He bungled and he don't deserve a bit of sympathy." + +"Mr. Drew?" + +The detective wheeled on one heel and glanced back at Loris, who had +risen and was standing with her arm linked within Nichols'. "Mr. Drew," +she repeated with slow insistence, "won't you have another cup of tea +before you go?" + +"That I will, Miss Stockbridge. We three shall drink to the end of the +case. Have you asked all the questions you want to? I want to forget +this night as soon as possible. You were too close to death to suit me." + +"I don't think of any more questions," said Loris, disengaging her arm +and gliding across the room. "We'll get the tea. There is one matter. I +want to pay you for your splendid services." + +"Ah!" exclaimed Drew. "Ah, Miss Stockbridge, they were far from being +splendid. I lost my reputation in the first instance. I should never +have allowed your father to remain alone in the library. That was very +short-sighted on my part." + +"You couldn't think of everything." + +"I underestimated the gravity of the situation." + +"Perhaps father didn't explain how dangerous his enemies really were." + +"No, I don't think it was that, exactly. I had been reading so many +accounts of German spies that I connected this case with one of them. I +took precautions against anything that a German might think of. I +didn't figure on super-brains of the criminal order. Cuthbert Morphy +had them!" + +The maid appeared with the tray and hot water. Drew took the cup from +Loris with a bow. He allowed the tea to cool as he glanced at the two +lovers. They had grown closer together over the time of the +investigation. Nichols had that poise which is given to well-trained +army men. He never said too much. This was a trait which pleased the +detective immensely. It spoke volumes for Loris and her judgment in +placing her trust in him. + +"I actually hate to leave you people," Drew said, finishing the cup. +"But I must be on my way." + +Loris arched her dark brows. Her mouth parted into a soft smile. Her +eyes glistened with moisture. "Harry is going, too," she said, glancing +from Drew to Nichols. "He has to go! I'll sleep upstairs in mother's +old room to-night. The maid can watch. Perhaps the butler will be +back." + +"He'll be back!" ejaculated the detective, adjusting his coat collar +and stroking his mustache. "I'll see to that if I have to go over +Fosdick's thick head. You can expect all of your servants within an +hour." + +Heavy footfalls on the rugs outside the suite announced Delaney. He +came through the portieres rubbing his hands in the manner of a man who +was well-satisfied with his errand. + +"I got them!" he boomed, glancing from Drew to Nichols and then letting +his eyes shine on Loris. "I got Fosdick, first. I told him what I +thought of him, too. I don't like him. Never did! He said he'd be right +up and see about things. He can see!" The big operative swung toward +his chief. + +"How about the coroner?" asked Drew. + +"He's coming as fast as his hurry-up wagon will let him. I told him +there was another--well, you know what I told him, Chief?" + +The detective lifted his lowered brows. "Yes! Yes!" he said hastily, +after a keen glance at Loris. "Yes. You did right. Now, get into the +other room and gather up all of the tools and plaster-casts and every +scrap of our own evidence. Put them in the trouble-man's satchel. Set +the satchel outside the door to the hall. Then wait for me. I'll be but +a minute." + +Delaney paused. "There's one thing," he said in a half stammer----"One +thing, Chief, that's been troubling me while I was 'phoning to the +coroner and to Fosdick." + +"What is it?" + +"If I can have that magpie? I'm going to give it to my wife--Mary--if I +can. There's no bird in the house." + +Drew turned toward Loris who had drawn Nichols to a window. + +"Can he have it, Miss Stockbridge?" he asked. + +"Certainly!" + +"Thanks," throated the operative, passing through the portieres with +renewed energy. "Thanks," he added under his breath as he started +picking up the plaster casts and tools. "That's how we caught +'Cutbert,' and I'll nurse the bird like a Grand Opera singer." + +Loris glided from out the curtains and crossed the room. She stood a +moment under a cone of soft light which reflected downward and brought +out every detail of her gown and girlish figure. She turned and smiled +widely at Drew who stood by the portieres. + +"I've almost forgotten something," she said, drawing out a chair and +sitting down with a graceful sweep of her skirt. "I've forgotten that +you are tired and that you have worked hard." + +"Not at all," said Drew. + +"Yes, you are tired and you have worked very hard. Harry will bear me +out in that. He was just saying that you would make a good major of +overseas forces. Why don't you join the army?" + +Drew reached into his right hand trouser pocket. He brought his hand +out with a small gold badge between his fingers. "I've already joined +the army," he said. "This is a Secret Service badge. Don't you know +that much work can be done over on this side? A burnt warehouse, for +instance, is equal to a victory for the Kaiser. My agency is almost +exclusively devoted to Government work. We never mention it, though." + +"I see," said Loris, reaching into a pigeonhole and drawing out a small +yellow check-book. "I'm glad," she added, picking up a mother-of-pearl +penholder and inspecting the pen-point. "I rather thought you would do +your share. I think everybody should to the limit of their pocketbook +and ability. Harry is." + +Drew bowed slightly. "That's right, stick by Harry," he said to +himself. "She's a sticker and then some," he added, frowning toward the +check-book and the poised pen. + +"Mr. Drew?" + +The detective took one step in her direction. He waited then. + +"Mr. Drew, how much money do I owe you? I'll pay you out of my account +until the estate is settled." + +The detective smiled broadly. "Nothing," he said, toying with his watch +chain. "I don't think you owe me anything in this case." + +"Oh, but I do!" + +"I don't think so. Your father retained me. He was--was slain through +my own carelessness. I think I owe you something." + +"I can't let it remain that way." Loris turned and widened her eyes. A +tiny pout sweetened her mouth. Nichols came across the rugs and stood +by her side. He turned to Drew. + +"That wouldn't be fair," he said. "You certainly earned your fee in +this case. Why, you look five years older than when you came up into my +rooms with that little pistol!" + +Drew touched his mustache. He closed his lips. Fatigue swept over him +as he said huskily: + +"I've aged, yes. Well, I guess I have. The responsibility was more than +I expected." + +"How much?" asked Loris, opening the check-book. + +Drew raised his eyes to the ceiling. A faint smile brightened his olive +skin and brought out the fullness of his cheeks. + +"Five thousand dollars," he said, without glancing at Loris. + +She dipped the pen into the ink well, leaned her elbow on the leaf of +the writing desk and hastily scratched a check with angular writing +which had certainly been cultivated in a select boarding school. She +turned, waved the check in the air, then rose and advanced toward the +detective, who had not lowered his eyes. + +"Thank you," she said, holding out the oblong of tinted paper. "I want +to thank you." + +Nichols stared at the detective. The soldier's eyes were like bayonets +beneath a parapet. He had thought the figure rather high. Loris had no +one to advise her save himself and the presence of Drew had tied his +tongue. + +"I want to thank you," repeated Loris. + +Drew lowered his eyes and reached for the check. He glanced at it, +started folding two edges, then smiled brightly as he crossed the room, +picked up the mother-of-pearl penholder and dipped it into the ink. + +"I'll endorse it," he said, flattening out the check with his palm. +"I'll endorse it so that it can be transferred." + +"To whom?" asked Loris. + +"Why, to where it belongs. Do you think that I could take it? It's too +much in the first place. In the second place I'm going to do my full +bit from now on. What do you say, if we endorse this over to the +American Red Cross? It'll buy beds and bandages and it'll help out all +around!" + +Loris lifted her eyes beneath her down dropping lashes. She smiled with +tiny puckerings at the corners of her mouth. The glance was so archly +sweet that Drew felt it was more than a reward. He caught her mood and +hastily dashed off his signature across the back of the check. + +"You present it to them," he said. "Take it with my compliments to the +treasurer of your own division. I'll venture they will not question the +signature." + +Nichols' hand crept out. It clasped over Drew's fingers in a soldier's +grip. The two men faced each other. Drew reached up his left arm and +patted the captain on the shoulder. "Two bars," he said. "I hope to see +stars there," he added sincerely. "Stars, when you come back from the +conquest of Berlin." + +"They'll be there!" declared Loris with flashing eyes. "Harry will get +them!" + +Delaney peered through the portieres despite his instructions to the +contrary. + +"All set, Chief," he said. "I hear Fosdick downstairs." + +"Coming," said Drew, as he turned away from Loris and Nichols. + +The two detectives paused in the center of the room. The mound under +the splendid rug held their eyes for a fleeting moment. The ends of the +telephone wires lay across the hardwood floor. They glanced at these. + +"No trace!" said Drew. "We needn't tell Fosdick much. Come on!" + +Delaney held out the detective's coat and hat. Drew thrust his arms +into his silk-lined sleeves, pulled the hat down over his eyes and +swung as the big operative turned his shoulder. + +"Look," whispered Delaney. + +Loris Stockbridge and her lover stood under the glow from the soft +clusters of the inner room of the suite. The captain held his peaked +cap in his right hand. He also was departing. + +"Turtle-doves," Delaney breathed with almost pride. + +"Ah!" said Drew. "Ah, my friend, you must remember that we were once +that way ourselves. But now--but now, Delaney--there is a thing which +is sweeter than love's young dream. It is a tired man's sleep. I think +I have earned mine to-night!" + +THE END + + + + +ZANE GREY'S NOVELS + +May be had wherever books are sold. Ask for Grosset & Dunlap's list. + +THE LIGHT OF WESTERN STARS + +A New York society girl buys a ranch which becomes the center of +frontier warfare. Her loyal superintendent rescues her when she is +captured by bandits. A surprising climax brings the story to a +delightful close. + +THE RAINBOW TRAIL + +The story of a young clergyman who becomes a wanderer in the great +western uplands--until at last love and faith awake. + +DESERT GOLD + +The story describes the recent uprising along the border, and ends with +the finding of the gold which two prospectors had willed to the girl +who is the story's heroine. + +RIDERS OF THE PURPLE SAGE + +A picturesque romance of Utah of some forty years ago when Mormon +authority ruled. The prosecution of Jane Withersteen is the theme of +the story. + +THE LAST OF THE PLAINSMEN + +This is the record of a trip which the author took with Buffalo Jones, +known as the preserver of the American bison, across the Arizona desert +and of a hunt in "that wonderful country of deep canons and giant +pines." + +THE HERITAGE OF THE DESERT + +A lovely girl, who has been reared among Mormons, learns to love a +young New Englander. The Mormon religion, however, demands that the +girl shall become the second wife of one of the Mormons--Well, that's +the problem of this great story. + +THE SHORT STOP + +The young hero, tiring of his factory grind, starts out to win fame and +fortune as a professional ball player. His hard knocks at the start are +followed by such success as clean sportsmanship, courage and honesty +ought to win. + +BETTY ZANE + +This story tells of the bravery and heroism of Betty, the beautiful +young sister of old Colonel Zane, one of the bravest pioneers. + +THE LONE STAR RANGER + +After killing a man in self defense, Buck Duane becomes an outlaw along +the Texas border. In a camp on the Mexican side of the river, he finds +a young girl held prisoner, and in attempting to rescue her, brings +down upon himself the wrath of her captors and henceforth is hunted on +one side by honest men, on the other by outlaws. + +THE BORDER LEGION + +Joan Randle, in a spirit of anger, sent Jim Cleve out to a lawless +Western mining camp, to prove his mettle. Then realizing that she loved +him--she followed him out. On her way, she is captured by a bandit +band, and trouble begins when she shoots Kells, the leader--and nurses +him to health again. Here enters another romance--when Joan, disguised +as an outlaw, observes Jim, in the throes of dissipation. A gold +strike, a thrilling robbery--gambling and gun play carry you along +breathlessly. + +THE LAST OF THE GREAT SCOUTS, By Helen Cody Wetmore and Zane Grey + +The life story of Colonel William F. Cody, "Buffalo Bill," as told by +his sister and Zane Grey. It begins with his boyhood in Iowa and his +first encounter with an Indian. We see "Bill" as a pony express rider, +then near Fort Sumter as Chief of the Scouts, and later engaged in the +most dangerous Indian campaigns. There is also a very interesting +account of the travels of "The Wild West" Show. No character in public +life makes a stronger appeal to the imagination of America than +"Buffalo Bill," whose daring and bravery made him famous. + +Grosset & Dunlap, Publishers, New York + + + + +KATHLEEN NORRIS' STORIES + +May be had wherever books are sold. Ask for Grosset & Dunlap's list. + +MOTHER. Illustrated by F. G. Yohn. + +This book has a fairy-story touch counterbalanced by the sturdy reality +of struggle, sacrifice, and resulting peace and power of a mother's +experiences. + +SATURDAY'S CHILD. Frontispiece by F. Graham Cootes. + +Out on the Pacific coast a normal girl, obscure and lovely, makes a +quest for happiness. She passes through three stages--poverty, wealth +and service--and works out a creditable salvation. + +THE RICH MRS. BURGOYNE. Illustrated by Lucius H. Hitchcock. + +The story of a sensible woman who keeps within her means, refuses to be +swamped by social engagements, lives a normal human life of varied +interests, and has her own romance. + +THE STORY OF JULIA PAGE. Frontispiece by Allan Gilbert. + +How Julia Page, reared in rather unpromising surroundings, lifted +herself through sheer determination to a higher plane of life. + +THE HEART OF RACHAEL. Frontispiece by Charles E. Chambers. + +Rachael is called upon to solve many problems, and in working out +these, there is shown the beauty and strength of soul of one of +fiction's most appealing characters. + +Ask for Complete free list of G. & D. Popular Copyrighted Fiction. + +Grosset & Dunlap, Publishers, New York + + + + +THE NOVELS OF MARY ROBERTS RINEHART + +May be had wherever books are sold. Ask for Grosset & Dunlap's list. + +"K." Illustrated. + +K. LeMoyne, famous surgeon, drops out of the world that has known him, +and goes to live in a little town where beautiful Sidney Page lives. +She is in training to become a nurse. The joys and troubles of their +young love are told with that keen and sympathetic appreciation which +has made the author famous. + +THE MAN IN LOWER TEN. Illustrated by Howard Chandler Christy. + +An absorbing detective story woven around the mysterious death of the +"Man in Lower Ten." The strongest elements of Mrs. Rinehart's success +are found in this book. + +WHEN A MAN MARRIES. Illustrated by Harrison Fisher and Mayo Bunker. + +A young artist, whose wife had recently divorced him, finds that his +aunt is soon to visit him. The aunt, who contributes to the family +income and who has never seen the wife, knows nothing of the domestic +upheaval. How the young man met the situation is humorously and most +entertainingly told. + +THE CIRCULAR STAIRCASE. Illus. by Lester Ralph. + +The summer occupants of "Sunnyside" find the dead body of Arnold +Armstrong, the son of the owner, on the circular staircase. Following +the murder a bank failure is announced. Around these two events is +woven a plot of absorbing interest. + +THE STREET OF SEVEN STARS. Illustrated (Photo Play Edition.) + +Harmony Wells, studying in Vienna to be a great violinist, suddenly +realizes that her money is almost gone. She meets a young ambitious +doctor who offers her chivalry and sympathy, and together with +world-worn Dr. Anna and Jimmie, the waif, they share their love and +slender means. + +Grosset & Dunlap, Publishers, New York + + + + +R. M. BOWER'S NOVELS + +May be had wherever books are sold. Ask for Grosset & Dunlap's list. + +CHIP OF THE FLYING U. Wherein the love affairs of Chip and Della +Whitman are charmingly and humorously told. + +THE HAPPY FAMILY. A lively and amusing story, dealing with the +adventures of eighteen jovial, big hearted Montana cowboys. + +HER PRAIRIE KNIGHT. Describing a gay party of Easterners who exchange a +cottage at Newport for a Montana ranch-house. + +THE RANGE DWELLERS. Spirited action, a range feud beween two families, +and a Romeo and Juliet courtship make this a bright, jolly story. + +THE LURE OF THE DIM TRAILS. A vivid portrayal of the experience of an +Eastern author among the cowboys. + +THE LONESOME TRAIL. A little branch of sage brush and the recollection +of a pair of large brown eyes upset "Weary" Davidson's plans. + +THE LONG SHADOW. A vigorous Western story, sparkling with the free +outdoor life of a mountain ranch. It is a fine love story. + +GOOD INDIAN. A stirring romance of life on an Idaho ranch. + +FLYING U RANCH. Another delightful story about Chip and his pals. + +THE FLYING U'S LAST STAND. An amusing account of Chip and the other +boys opposing a party of school teachers. + +THE UPHILL CLIMB. A story of a mountain ranch and of a man's hard fight +on the uphill road to manliness. + +THE PHANTOM HERD. The title of a moving-picture staged in New Mexico by +the "Flying U" boys. + +THE HERITAGE OF THE SIOUX. The "Flying U" boys stage a fake bank +robbery for film purposes which precedes a real one for lust of gold. + +THE GRINGOS. A story of love and adventure on a ranch in California. + +STARR OF THE DESERT. A New Mexico ranch story of mystery and adventure. + +THE LOOKOUT MAN. A Northern California story full of action, excitement +and love. + +Grosset & Dunlap, Publishers, New York + + + + +THE NOVELS OF WINSTON CHURCHILL + +THE INSIDE OF THE CUP. Illustrated by Howard Giles. + +The Reverend John Hodder is called to a fashionable church in a +middle-western city. He knows little of modern problems and in his +theology is as orthodox as the rich men who control his church could +desire. But the facts of modern life are thrust upon him; an awakening +follows and in the end he works out a solution. + +A FAR COUNTRY. Illustrated by Herman Pfeifer. + +This novel is concerned with big problems of the day. As _The Inside of +the Cup_ gets down to the essentials in its discussion of religion, so +_A Far Country_ deals in a story that is intense and dramatic, with +other vital issues confronting the twentieth century. + +A MODERN CHRONICLE. Illustrated by J. H. Gardner Soper. + +This, Mr. Churchill's first great presentation of the Eternal Feminine, +is throughout a profound study of a fascinating young American woman. +It is frankly a modern love story. + +MR. CREWE'S CAREER. Illus. by A. I. Keller and Kinneys. + +A new England state is under the political domination of a railway and +Mr. Crewe, a millionaire, seizes a moment when the cause of the people +is being espoused by an ardent young attorney, to further his own +interest in a political way. The daughter of the railway president +plays no small part in the situation. + +THE CROSSING. Illustrated by S. Adamson and L. Baylis. + +Describing the battle of Fort Moultrie, the blazing of the Kentucky +wilderness, the expedition of Clark and his handful of followers in +Illinois, the beginning of civilization along the Ohio and Mississippi, +and the treasonable schemes against Washington. + +CONISTON. Illustrated by Florence Scovel Shinn. + +A deft blending of love and politics. A New Englander is the hero, a +crude man who rose to political prominence by his own powers, and then +surrendered all for the love of a woman. + +THE CELEBRITY. An episode. + +An inimitable bit of comedy describing an interchange of personalities +between a celebrated author and a bicycle salesman. It is the purest, +keenest fun--and is American to the core. + +THE CRISIS. Illustrated with scenes from the Photo-Play. + +A book that presents the great crisis in our national life with +splendid power and with a sympathy, a sincerity, and a patriotism that +are inspiring. + +RICHARD CARVEL. Illustrated by Malcolm Frazer. + +An historical novel which gives a real and vivid picture of Colonial +times, and is good, clean, spirited reading in all its phases and +interesting throughout. + +Grosset & Dunlap, Publishers, New York + + + + +THE NOVELS OF GEORGE BARR McCUTCHEON + +May be had wherever books are sold. Ask for Grosset & Dunlap's list. + +GRAUSTARK. Illustrated with Scenes from the Play. + +With the appearance of this novel, the author introduced a new type of +story and won for himself a perpetual reading public. It is the story +of love behind a throne in a new and strange country. + +BEVERLY OF GRAUSTARK. Illustrations by Harrison Fisher. + +This is a sequel to "Graustark." A bewitching American girl visits the +little principality and there has a romantic love affair. + +PRINCE OF GRAUSTARK. Illustrations by A. I. Keller. + +The Prince of Graustark is none other than the son of the heroine of +"Graustark." Beverly's daughter, and an American multimillionaire with +a brilliant and lovely daughter also figure in the story. + +BREWSTER'S MILLIONS. Illustrated with Scenes from the Photo-Play. + +A young man, required to spend one million dollars in one year, in +order to inherit _seven_, accomplishes the task in this lively story. + +COWARDICE COURT. Illus. by Harrison Fisher and decorations by Theodore +Hapgood. + +A romance of love and adventure, the plot forming around a social feud +in the Adirondacks in which an English girl is tempted into being a +traitor by a romantic young American. + +THE HOLLOW OF HER HAND. Illustrated by A. I. Keller. + +A story of modern New York, built around an ancient enmity, born of the +scorn of the aristocrat for one of inferior birth. + +WHAT'S-HIS-NAME. Illustrations by Harrison Fisher. + +"What's-His-Name" is the husband of a beautiful and popular actress who +is billboarded on Broadway under an assumed name. The very opposite +manner in which these two live their lives brings a dramatic climax to +the story. + +Ask for Complete free list of G. & D. Popular Copyrighted Fiction. + +Grosset & Dunlap, Publishers, New York + + + + +SEWELL FORD'S STORIES + +May be had wherever books are sold. Ask for Grosset & Dunlap's list. + +SHORTY McCABE. Illustrated by Francis Vaux Wilson. + +A very humorous story. The hero, an independent and vigorous thinker, +sees life, and tells about it in a very unconventional way. + +SIDE-STEPPING WITH SHORTY. Illustrated by Francis Vaux Wilson. + +Twenty skits, presenting people with their foibles. Sympathy with human +nature and an abounding sense of humor are the requisites for +"side-stepping with Shorty." + +SHORTY McCABE ON THE JOB. Illustrated by Francis Vaux Wilson. + +Shorty McCabe reappears with his figures of speech revamped right up to +the minute. He aids in the right distribution of a "conscience fund," +and gives joy to all concerned. + +SHORTY McCABE'S ODD NUMBERS. Illustrated by Francis Vaux Wilson. + +These further chronicles of Shorty McCabe tell of his studio for +physical culture, and of his experiences both on the East side and at +swell yachting parties. + +TORCHY. Illus. by Geo. Biehm and Jas. Montgomery Flagg. + +A red-headed office boy, overflowing with wit and wisdom peculiar to +the youths reared on the sidewalks of New York, tells the story of his +experiences. + +TRYING OUT TORCHY. Illustrated by F. Foster Lincoln. + +Torchy is just as deliriously funny in these stories as he was in the +previous book. + +ON WITH TORCHY. Illustrated by F. Foster Lincoln. + +Torchy falls desperately in love with "the only girl that ever was," +but that young society woman's aunt tries to keep the young people +apart, which brings about many hilariously funny situations. + +TORCHY, PRIVATE SEC. Illustrated by F. Foster Lincoln. + +Torchy rises from the position of office boy to that of secretary for +the Corrugated Iron Company. The story is full of humor and infectious +American slang. + +WILT THOU TORCHY. Illus. by F. Snapp and A. W. Brown. + +Torchy goes on a treasure search expedition to the Florida West Coast, +in company with a group of friends of the Corrugated Trust and with his +friend's aunt, on which trip Torchy wins the aunt's permission to place +an engagement ring on Vee's finger. + +Grosset & Dunlap, Publishers, New York + + + + +BOOTH TARKINGTON'S NOVELS + +May be had wherever books are sold. Ask for Grosset & Dunlap's list. + +SEVENTEEN. Illustrated by Arthur William Brown. + +No one but the creator of Penrod could have portrayed the immortal +young people of this story. Its humor is irresistible and reminiscent +of the time when the reader was Seventeen. + +PENROD. Illustrated by Gordon Grant. + +This is a picture of a boy's heart, full of the lovable, humorous, +tragic things which are locked secrets to most older folks. It is a +finished, exquisite work. + +PENROD AND SAM. Illustrated by Worth Brehm. + +Like "Penrod" and "Seventeen," this book contains some remarkable +phases of real boyhood and some of the best stories of juvenile +prankishness that have ever been written. + +THE TURMOIL. Illustrated by C. E. Chambers. + +Bibbs Sheridan is a dreamy, imaginative youth, who revolts against his +father's plans for him to be a servitor of big business. The love of a +fine girl turns Bibb's life from failure to success. + +THE GENTLEMAN FROM INDIANA. Frontispiece. + +A story of love and politics,--more especially a picture of a country +editor's life in Indiana, but the charm of the book lies in the love +interest. + +THE FLIRT. Illustrated by Clarence F. Underwood. + +The "Flirt," the younger of two sisters, breaks one girl's engagement, +drives one man to suicide, causes the murder of another, leads another +to lose his fortune, and in the end marries a stupid and unpromising +suitor, leaving the really worthy one to marry her sister. + +Ask for Complete free list of G. & D. Popular Copyrighted Fiction. + +Grosset & Dunlap, Publishers, New York + + + + +THE NOVELS OF STEWART EDWARD WHITE + +May be had wherever books are sold. Ask for Grosset & Dunlap's list. + +THE BLAZED TRAIL. Illustrated by Thomas Fogarty. + +A wholesome story with gleams of humor, telling of a young man who +blazed his way to fortune through the heart of the Michigan pines. + +THE CALL OF THE NORTH. Ills. with Scenes from the Play. + +The story centers about a Hudson Bay trading post, known as "The +Conjuror's House" (the original title of the book.) + +THE RIVER MAN. Ills. by N. C. Wyeth and C. F. Underwood. + +The story of a man's fight against a river and of a struggle between +honesty and grit on the one side, and dishonesty and shrewdness on the +other. + +RULES OF THE GAME. Illustrated by Lejaren A. Hiller. + +The romance of the son of "The Riverman." The young college hero goes +into the lumber camp, is antagonized by "graft," and comes into the +romance of his life. + +GOLD. Illustrated by Thomas Fogarty. + +The gold fever of '49 is pictured with vividness. A part of the story +is laid in Panama, the route taken by the gold-seekers. + +THE FOREST. Illustrated by Thomas Fogarty. + +The book tells of the canoe trip of the author and his companion into +the great woods. Much information about camping and outdoor life. A +splendid treatise on woodcraft. + +THE MOUNTAINS. Illustrated by Fernand Lungren. + +An account of the adventures of a five months' camping trip in the +Sierras of California. The author has followed a true sequence of +events. + +THE CABIN. Illustrated with photographs by the author. + +A chronicle of the building of a cabin home in a forest-girdled meadow +of the Sierras. Full of nature and woodcraft, and the shrewd philosophy +of "California John." + +THE GRAY DAWN. Illustrated by Thomas Fogarty. + +This book tells of the period shortly after the first mad rush for gold +in California. A young lawyer and his wife, initiated into the gay life +of San Francisco, find their ways parted through his downward course, +but succeeding events bring the "gray dawn of better things" for both +of them. + +Ask for Complete free list of G. & D. Popular Copyrighted Fiction. + +Grosset & Dunlap, Publishers, New York + + + + +STORIES OF RARE CHARM BY GENE STRATTON-PORTER + +May be had wherever books are sold. Ask for Grosset & Dunlap's list. + +LADDIE. Illustrated by Herman Pfeifer. + +This is a bright, cheery tale with the scenes laid in Indiana. The +story is told by Little Sister, the youngest member of a large family, +but it is concerned not so much with childish doings as with the love +affairs of older members of the family. Chief among them is that of +Laddie, the older brother whom Little Sister adores, and the Princess, +an English girl who has come to live in the neighborhood and about +whose family there hangs a mystery. There is a wedding midway in the +book and a double wedding at the close. + +THE HARVESTER. Illustrated by W. L. Jacobs. + +"The Harvester," David Langston, is a man of the woods and fields, who +draws his living from the prodigal hand of Mother Nature herself. If +the book had nothing in it but the splendid figure of this man it would +be notable. But when the Girl comes to his "Medicine Woods," and the +Harvester's whole being realizes that this is the highest point of life +which has come to him--there begins a romance of the rarest idyllic +quality. + +FRECKLES. Decorations by E. Stetson Crawford. + +Freckles is a nameless waif when the tale opens, but the way in which +he takes hold of life; the nature friendships he forms in the great +Limberlost Swamp; the manner in which everyone who meets him succumbs +to the charm of his engaging personality; and his love-story with "The +Angel" are full of real sentiment. + +A GIRL OF THE LIMBERLOST. Illustrated by Wladyslaw T. Brenda. + +The story of a girl of the Michigan woods; a buoyant, lovable type of +the self-reliant American. Her philosophy is one of love and kindness +towards all things; her hope is never dimmed. And by the sheer beauty +of her soul, and the purity of her vision, she wins from barren and +unpromising surroundings those rewards of high courage. + +AT THE FOOT OF THE RAINBOW. Illustrations in colors by Oliver Kemp. + +The scene of this charming love story is laid in Central Indiana. The +story is one of devoted friendship, and tender self-sacrificing love. +The novel is brimful of the most beautiful word painting of nature, and +its pathos and tender sentiment will endear it to all. + +Grosset & Dunlap, Publishers, New York + + + + +JOHN FOX, JR'S. STORIES OF THE KENTUCKY MOUNTAINS + +May be had wherever books are sold. Ask for Grosset & Dunlap's list. + +THE TRAIL OF THE LONESOME PINE. Illustrated by F. C. Yohn. + +The "lonesome pine" from which the story takes its name was a tall tree +that stood in solitary splendor on a mountain top. The fame of the pine +lured a young engineer through Kentucky to catch the trail, and when he +finally climbed to its shelter he found not only the pine but the +_footprints of a girl._ And the girl proved to be lovely, piquant, and +the trail of these girlish footprints led the young engineer a madder +chase than "the trail of the lonesome pine." + +THE LITTLE SHEPHERD OF KINGDOM COME. Illustrated by F. C. Yohn. + +This is a story of Kentucky, in a settlement known as "Kingdom Come." +It is a life rude, semi-barbarous; but natural and honest, from which +often springs the flower of civilization. + +"Chad." the "little shepherd" did not know who he was nor whence he +came--he had just wandered from door to door since early childhood, +seeking shelter with kindly mountaineers who gladly fathered and +mothered this waif about whom there was such a mystery--a charming +waif, by the way, who could play the banjo better that anyone else in +the mountains. + +A KNIGHT OF THE CUMBERLAND. Illustrated by F. C. Yohn. + +The scenes are laid along the waters of the Cumberland, the lair of +moonshiner and feudsman. The knight is a moonshiner's son, and the +heroine a beautiful girl perversely christened "The Blight." Two +impetuous young Southerners fall under the spell of "The Blight's" +charms and she learns what a large part jealousy and pistols have in +the love making of the mountaineers. + +Included in this volume is "Hell fer-Sartain" and other stories, some +of Mr. Fox's most entertaining Cumberland valley narratives. + +Ask for Complete free list of G. & D. Popular Copyrighted Fiction. + +Grosset & Dunlap, Publishers, New York + + + + +NOVELS OF FRONTIER LIFE BY WILLIAM MacLEOD RAINE + +HANDSOMELY BOUND IN CLOTH. ILLUSTRATED. + +May be had wherever books are sold. Ask for Grosset & Dunlap's list. + +MAVERICKS. + +A tale of the western frontier, where the "rustler," whose depredations +are so keenly resented by the early settlers of the range, abounds. One +of the sweetest love stories ever told. + +A TEXAS RANGER. + +How a member of the most dauntless border police force carried law into +the mesquit, saved the life of an innocent man after a series of +thrilling adventures, followed a fugitive to Wyoming, and then passed +through deadly peril to ultimate happiness. + +WYOMING. + +In this vivid story of the outdoor West the author has captured the +breezy charm of "cattleland," and brings out the turbid life of the +frontier with all its engaging dash and vigor. + +RIDGWAY OF MONTANA. + +The scene is laid in the mining centers of Montana, where politics and +mining industries are the religion of the country. The political +contest, the love scene, and the fine character drawing give this story +great strength and charm. + +BUCKY O'CONNOR. + +Every chapter teems with wholesome, stirring adventures, replete with +the dashing spirit of the border, told with dramatic dash and absorbing +fascination of style and plot. + +CROOKED TRAILS AND STRAIGHT. + +A story of Arizona; of swift-riding men and daring outlaws; of a bitter +feud between cattle-men and sheep-herders. The heroine is a most +unusual woman and her love story reaches a culmination that is +fittingly characteristic of the great free West. + +BRAND BLOTTERS. + +A story of the Cattle Range. This story brings out the turbid life of +the frontier, with all its engaging dash and vigor, with a charming +love interest running through its 320 pages. + +Grosset & Dunlap, Publishers, New York + + + +***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK WHISPERING WIRES*** + + +******* This file should be named 34046.txt or 34046.zip ******* + + +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: +http://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/3/4/0/4/34046 + + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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