Part 35 (2/2)

Drew eyed the prisoner. ”So you see,” he said softly, cuttingly, ”crime does not pay. The net has closed over your head. You erred a score of times. You couldn't afford to make one little mistake. I could--I did!

I've made a hundred in this case already! It's the hound and the hare.

The hound loses the scent and brays on blunderingly till he picks it up again. You lost me time and again. You fooled me in that lineman's guise when you came into the library. Your make-up was perfect. You said just the right things.”

The prisoner's lips curled in a thin cruel line. He rattled the cuffs defiantly. His shoulders lifted then fell back upon the rug.

”Bert!” snapped Drew. ”Bert!” he repeated with awakening thought.

”Delaney,” he said, turning and glancing up at the operative's broad, flushed face. ”I got this fellow located. What was the name of the man we tried to find in the Morphy failure? The one we had a bench-warrant for? He was indicted. The indictment was sealed. You know! It's a name you didn't like. The fellow who escaped to Rio or South America? Who afterwards went to Antof.a.gasta. Ah, Cuthbert!”

”That's it, Chief! Cutbert! Cutbert Morphy--the old devil's brother.

This is him!”

Drew rubbed his hands vigorously. ”It is!” he exclaimed, with his eyes swinging over the prisoner's drawn features. ”Cuthbert Morphy--a brother's tool and confederate. We're getting on!”

The detective rose and faced Loris and Nichols. ”Captain,” he said, ”a firing squad at sunrise would be the Army's answer to this man's deviltry. Consider what he has done. He's worked back to New York after a year as a fugitive. He connected in some manner with Morphy at Sing Sing. Perhaps he went there as a visitor under the pretext of business connected with Morphy's affairs. This scheme was hatched there in the prison. It was financed by Morphy. It succeeded in so far as Mr.

Stockbridge was concerned. First the telephone call to the cemetery superintendent. Then followed his visit to this house for the purpose of fixing some fiendish device. Or----”

”He might have fixed the windows, Chief,” suggested Delaney. ”He might have opened a catch and climbed in afterwards.”

”He wasn't near the windows,” said Drew. ”He had something else in the back of his crafty, twisted brain. He came and went out, with Mr.

Stockbridge and I watching him. He called up, then, and threatened the death. He probably looped the library 'phone up with Sing Sing at or about midnight. We have a record of both calls.”

”Why,” asked Loris, as Drew paused in thought. ”Why did he have Morphy connected with father? I can't see, Mr. Drew, that part of it. The rest, you have told is, is very clear.”

”Nor I yet,” admitted the detective. ”But that is a detail. It is probably the criminal's ego, which is in every one of them, to notify their prey that the hour has come. Morphy was an artist in crime. He was a master mind in finance and chicanery. What better revenge could he think of than to notify Mr. Stockbridge that death was about to strike? It savors of Machiavelli and Borgia. Whom the G.o.ds destroy they first make mad. He tried it on you.”

”G.o.ds!” blurted Delaney with ire. ”Devils, you mean, Chief!”

”Yes, or worse!” said Drew, glancing sternly at the prisoner. ”This fellow,” he added, ”is the agent for the destroyer. Now how was it done?”

Delaney glanced about the walls of the room in apprehension. ”I'll take another look around,” he suggested heavily. ”Maybe with them new ideas we can locate something that might be planted for the killing.”

Drew glanced sharply at the prisoner's face. A faint sneer was on the thin lips. The wrists twisted and turned in the handcuffs. The steel chain rattled metallically. Loris backed step after step toward the s.h.i.+elding curtain and Harry Nichols. ”Oh!” she said suddenly, as she dropped her head against his breast. ”Oh, Harry! there can't be anything like _that.”_

”Certainly not!” Drew hastened to e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.e. ”That's nonsense. If there was anything planted in either of these three rooms, there's no one to get in and operate it. I've searched! Mr. Delaney has searched. Do you want us to search again?” Drew's lips were drawn with doubt as he stared anxiously from Loris to Nichols. ”I'll do it, captain, if you say so. I think we've done enough work, however. The thing is to get this fellow to talk. I don't want to give him over to Fosd.i.c.k and the third degree till we see if he is going to treat us right. He can turn state's evidence on Morphy, who blundered. Then he'll get off lightly.

Morphy is the master mind.”

”He only smiles,” said Nichols, tapping his breast suggestively. ”I've a gun here and I've a mind to use it. Do you think I want Miss Stockbridge murdered like her father was murdered? I'll shoot that cur!

He's a whispering snake! A Hun!”

”Don't!” sobbed Loris, as Nichols thrust his hand in his coat and drew out a flat automatic of .44 caliber. ”Don't, Harry! Perhaps this man is innocent.”

”Innocent!” declared Nichols. ”Why, Loris--why, Miss Stockbridge, you don't think _that_, after all the things Mr. Drew has discovered. I'll wager my commission he's guilty as h.e.l.l, and I mean it, Loris.”

”He's that!” Delaney declared. ”He and his brother the devil are one in sin. They're lost spirits.”

”Now everybody,” said Drew, gathering in the group with his eyes, which were strangely bright. ”Everybody keep very quiet for a minute. Let me think.”

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