Part 4 (1/2)

”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 pa.s.sing.

”A mighty fine girl,” was Drew's whispered comment. ”They don't often come like that. She's very high cla.s.s. She's got spirit. I'd hate to s.n.a.t.c.h 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-gla.s.s 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 s.h.i.+rt. 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.