Part 14 (2/2)

Harry Nichols turned and strode to an ornate mantel-piece upon which was a single cabinet photo. He lifted it impulsively. He stared at the picture of Loris Stockbridge as if in it lay inspiration, and resolve.

He set the photo down and wheeled upon Drew. His eyes blazed.

”If you have no connection in this case, save as an adviser,” he said clearly and from his heart, ”why are you trying to trap me or her? Are all detectives alike? Would they rather see a man in jail than free?”

Drew closed his fingers over the little revolver. He glanced upward at Delaney's towering bulk which was near the doorway leading to the outer hall. This door was the only way out of the apartment. The detective gave no signal to the operative. His fingers uncoiled and revealed a thumb pressing upon the silver-plated barrel from which the leaden noses of six bullets showed as he turned it.

”You are wrong,” he said with simple navete. ”You wrong me in this matter. The affair at Stockbridge's will sooner or later bring you in contact with the Police Department's Detective Bureau. Fosd.i.c.k, the district attorney, the coroner, may want to interview you. The servants, the newspapers, idle tongues will connect your name with that of Loris Stockbridge. This connection, taking in the fact that she had a revolver of the same caliber as was used to slay her father, may cause trouble. I want----”

”How do you know it's the same revolver--the same caliber?”

There was a stubborn defense in the young man's tones which somewhat pleased the detective. It promised loyalty.

”It may not be the same revolver,” Drew said softly. ”It may be that the murder was not committed with a revolver. A rifle, held close to a man's brain, would make the same kind of mark and burns. I do know this, however, that the opening in Mr. Stockbridge's head is the same size as my lead pencil--which I have measured and found to be under a quarter-inch. It would seem then that twenty-two caliber might fit the wound. I know of no other caliber very close to it.”

”An army rifle,” suggested Delaney from the doorway.

”It is larger,” said Nichols with a quick frown. ”The modified Lee-Enfields, which we are now using, have a greater bore than the British or German rifles. They are about .30 caliber.”

”Whatever the case,” Drew said, ”we must get to our first question. I'm trying to find the truth and protect Miss Stockbridge from the police in case she is suspected. Whose revolver is this? Who does it belong to? How came she to have it so soon after meeting you in the corner drug-store? Did she request it? Perhaps you will clear these points and allow me to go ahead.”

”Before I answer your questions, Mr. Drew, before I say anything at all, I would rather have a talk with Miss Loris. You see, we are too good friends to act apart. I'll answer for her. She is innocent! She is too good, too pure to have anything to do with it. She never shot the old--Mr. Stockbridge.”

”He threw you out of the house on one occasion.”

Harry Nichols clenched his fists. ”I'll do the same to you!” he exclaimed. ”This is my apartment. What right have you got coming here and accusing Loris? I don't care who you are!”

”Good!” said the detective, rising and stepping forward. ”You said just what I wanted you to say. And you said it like a man who can wear an American uniform. Shake hands!”

Harry Nichols did not exactly brighten under the professional flattery.

He held out his fingers, however. Drew clasped his hand after transferring the revolver to his left palm. He twirled it as he stepped backward. ”Clean,” he said. ”It don't seem to have been used for some time. But then, who knows? A gun can be wiped and polished,--even in the barrel,--in a very few minutes.”

Drew glanced at Nichols with a silent question in his eyes. Delaney had already sized Nichols up as a very clever young man. He was not far wrong, as he learned when the detective's spoken question was shot through determined lips.

”Nichols,” said Drew, ”did you lend Miss Stockbridge this revolver? Is it yours? I shall have to turn it over to the police sooner or later.

They will trace it by the number.”

”Is it fully loaded?”

Drew turned the barrel with his broad thumb. He clicked the mechanism.

He broke it and held it out.

”Yes,” he said. ”Yes, it's fully loaded. This is still a merry whirl for six!”

”Are you sure?”

”Positive, Nichols!”

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