Part 3 (1/2)
”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-cla.s.s 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 b.u.t.ton 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 gla.s.s. 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 gla.s.s 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 c.o.c.ked 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.