Whispering Wires Part 20

"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 s.h.i.+fted 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 Ca.s.sady 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 Antof.a.gasta. 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-b.u.t.ton. "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 a.s.sistant-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 s.n.a.t.c.hed 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.

"h.e.l.lo! h.e.l.lo!" 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, Fosd.i.c.k. It shows.... It shows that the typo cup.r.o.nickel 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, Fosd.i.c.k. 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, Fosd.i.c.k."

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 d.a.m.n 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! Bra.s.s Band Fosd.i.c.k! 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 cup.r.o.nickel 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.