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?"