Part 31 (1/2)
”I'll grab him, Chief!” rumbled Delaney, reaching for his storm coat which was supposed to be fur-lined. ”Leave that to me!” he added. ”Jus'
leave it tu me!”
Drew eyed the operative's huge hands. ”I'll do that,” he said with a short laugh. ”Now hurry! No, wait.”
”What is it, Chief?” asked Delaney in the doorway.
”If the address is downtown, or in Brooklyn, what would you do then?”
”I'd get the office, Chief, and have Harrigan rush over a man. This super at Gramercy Hill ought to be able to stall that call long enough for us to connect--with both hands and both feet.”
”Go to it!” said Drew, pressing Delaney out through the door. ”Good luck,” he added as he twisted the key and shot the bolt. ”Now we are getting there,” he said softly. ”Unfortunately for that devil up-the-river, he has to phone from _one_ place. That's the thing which will beat him. I hate to think what would happen if he was outside giving orders. He could get away with it, nicely.”
Drew never felt surer of himself in a case. He tested the lock and bolt for a second time. He draped the tapestries and strode into the sitting room with his shoulders held back--a sanguine light in his olive eyes.
”Well, Miss Stockbridge,” he said, pausing in the center of the room and smiling. ”I think we are on the verge of big things. The attempt cannot be made to-night without we have plenty of warning.”
”Good!” exclaimed Loris, standing upright and arranging her lavender gown about her slipper-tops. ”That's the best news I've heard in a long time, Mr. Drew,” she added, glancing archly at the detective, beneath her dark lashes. ”Has that Mr. Delaney found any one?”
Drew raised his brows. Loris' question was not exactly a compliment to the big operative, who meant so well.
”He hasn't found anything,” said Drew, with soft, pleasing voice. ”He hasn't done that, but I'm venturing my future reputation that he will find our man--the trouble-man perhaps.”
Harry Nichols stepped to Loris' side. ”We were children there,” he admitted frankly. ”At least I was. I never suspected him at all. His manners were so pleasant. He seemed so weak and intent about his business.”
”Ah!” said Drew, raising his finger. ”That's it! He was intent about _his_ business. Only, this particular business concerned the taking of a human life in cold blood. Mr. Stockbridge was murdered by this fiend, in the guise of a harmless trouble-hunter. How the murder was accomplished and by what lethal method we do not know. I'm acting on the theory that if we catch the man we will find out how it was done.
If I can't make him--Fosd.i.c.k, Commissioner of Detectives, will. May G.o.d help him if he doesn't talk to Fosd.i.c.k!”
”But can't we find out how father was killed?” asked Loris, with tears glazing over her eyes. ”It don't seem--it don't----”
The captain caught Loris about the waist and led her to the divan in the alcove. She sank down with her face covered with her hands. Soft sobs, brought to her throat by the memory of the murder, caused Drew to pace the rugs with alert, nervous strides like a man who would guard her from some menacing shadow. He went to the ventilators and closed them slightly. He crossed the room to the radiator-boxes and set them in an open position. He adjusted a thermostat on the wall, to seventy degrees. He stood back then and listened with both ears strained for outside sounds.
Snow sifted across the curtain-drawn panes with a cutting of fine diamonds against diamonds. A wind whistled and moaned and swirled over the turrets and towers of the mansion. An echo lifted from the driving traffic of the Avenue. Below this echo, so faint it seemed like a murmur of a distant sea, the city throbbed with the s.h.i.+fting of the whimpering wind. Once it roared. Then afterward there was silence, save for the sifting snow, and Loris' low, throat choke from welling sorrow.
She sat up finally and dried her eyes. ”I should be ashamed of myself,”
she said, brokenly. ”I must be brave. I fear something, though. It seems to be in the room or the air. What is it I fear, Mr. Drew?” Her question was vague. Her eyes shone hectically bright and strangely alluring to the detective.
”There's nothing to fear!” he declared with a direct glance. ”I'm armed! Then,” he added as an additional encouragement. ”Then, Mr.
Nichols is a soldier! You are in safe hands, believe me!”
Harry Nichols bowed politely. ”I've got a gun, myself,” he admitted candidly. ”It's not that little one, either. It's army regulation. It, or the ones like it, have been stopping the Huns. I guess we'll take care of anything that comes up to-night, Mr. Drew. It's getting late, isn't it?”
The detective glanced at his watch. ”I ought to hear from Delaney,” he said, replacing the watch and reaching for a chair. ”Delaney is like old Dobbin--faithful and slow.”
Drew sat down, pulled at the knees of his black trousers and rested his heels on the thick soft pile of a Persian rug. Behind him was the cheval gla.s.s and the telephone stand. Before him, and in the shade of the silk draperies, Loris' eyes glowed alongside the captain's resolute face.
The minutes pa.s.sed with the trio in the same position. The snow sifted across the cold panes. The wind whined. Suddenly between gusts, Loris asked point-blankly:
”Do you suspect that man, Morphy?”
”Yes; I do!” said Drew with a snap. ”I believe that every single lead we have points to him. I believe he planned to destroy your father ever since the day of conviction. I believe----”