Part 30 (1/2)

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.