Part 32 (2/2)

Drew pulled out his watch. ”It's getting toward midnight,” he said. ”No word yet from Delaney or any of the others on watch. I think that the storm will clear soon. You can go to bed. Harry--Mr. Nichols and I'll get a deck of cards and keep watch out here. We'll do sentry duty. He's used to that!”

Loris glided about the room. She stopped at the cheval gla.s.s and arranged her hair with a series of twists that formed a turban secured by loops. She swished around and glanced archly toward Drew. Their eyes met bravely. Hers dropped under shading lashes.

”I'm all right,” she whispered with a half laugh. ”I did look awful. It was the shock of hearing that terrible man. How childish to call me up and say what he did. He didn't mean it!”

”Ah,” said Drew, reaching in his pocket and bringing out a key. ”Ah, he did mean it, I think. He has overreached himself by telephoning.

Gramercy Hill Exchange is on the alert. There's Mr. Nichols with good news, at the door. Now for his report.”

The captain came in, brus.h.i.+ng snow from his olive-drab uniform. He glanced at Loris as he strode across the room and took her hand with a firm grip. ”Delaney,” he said confidentially, ”was right at the booth.

He was sitting on a chair, propped up and talking with the prescription clerk. He did the telephoning to Gramercy Hill. I don't know who he got there, but they already knew about the call.”

Nichols turned toward Drew for confirmation.

”That's right!” the detective exclaimed. ”They should know! The vice-president, Westlake, has left orders to record all calls to this house. Where was that whispering voice from, Mr. Nichols?”

”From Forty-second Street and Broadway.”

”Close!” exclaimed Drew, rubbing his hands. ”The fellow took chances.”

”It came from a slot-booth in a cigar store in a big building. It only lasted two minutes. The operator at Gramercy Hill says the first voice she heard, asking for Gramercy Hill 9764, was harsh and loud. I don't understand that.”

”Harsh and loud,” repeated Drew, toying with his watch chain. ”That's odd. Was it the same man that Miss Stockbridge heard?”

”The operator don't know. Delaney says maybe there were two of them.

One, who called up, and one who talked to this room.” Nichols turned and nodded toward the silver-plated telephone.

”Hardly possible,” mused Drew. ”I think he changed his voice after he got the connection. He didn't want Miss Stockbridge to recognize him.”

Loris glanced at the two men. ”What will they do?” she asked anxiously.

”Will Mr. Delaney and the other detectives catch him by that call?”

”Hardly,” said Drew. ”He was in and out within three minutes. The bird has flown from there!”

”But where will he go?”

”I don't know, Miss Stockbridge. I wish that I did know. There are over a hundred thousand telephones in New York he could use. It's impossible to guess which one. The booths at the Grand Central are covered by one of my operatives. The telephone company is on the alert for all calls to this house. All they can do is to record them and tell us what happens after it happens. We are trying now to get this whispering dog when he is compelled to wait at a booth. If Morphy 'phones him from the prison to-night we have him. The telephone company is going to delay the call after getting the number. It would look natural. Then, we can strike at the booth or place where the call is directed in time to catch the man Morphy is telephoning to. Up to now, Morphy has not 'phoned or Delaney would have said something about it.”

”But can't you stop these calls?” asked Loris.

”Very easy. We could order the wires disconnected. But then we wouldn't catch our man. He would be suspicious and wait for another time.”

”The whole thing seems so strange, Mr. Drew. We're locked in here. The house is so well guarded. All they can do is 'phone and yet we--at least I am nervous. Why have I got that strange feeling?”

”From experience!” declared Drew. ”If we knew how your poor father was killed there wouldn't be cause for worry. We don't know. It was so subtle that we are confronted with the unknown in terrible form. You feel a shadow and so do I. A reaching shadow about this splendid house of yours. It isn't anything we can grasp and say, 'Come here! You're under arrest.' It's the uncanny mystery of the entire case that holds us three on the ragged-edge. I confess I have not been myself since last night. The powers of darkness and Lucifer, himself, have nothing on the people we are fighting.”

”How about running Morphy in the guard house, or whatever they have up there?” asked Nichols. ”Why not lay the case before the warden and have him put out of harm's way? That's what they'd do in the Army!”

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