Whispering Wires Part 30

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 rea.s.suringly, 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 compa.s.s. 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 d.a.m.ned 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 Fosd.i.c.k 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 bas.e.m.e.nt. 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 b.u.t.terfly 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 b.u.t.terfly and turning the flat key in the lock. A blurred figure pressed forward. A gruff voice boomed from a m.u.f.fling collar.

"h.e.l.lo, 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 b.u.t.terfly. 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."