Part 39 (2/2)

The tea arrived within ten minutes. Drew had prevented Delaney from 'phoning for the coroner or to Fosd.i.c.k. ”Some matters to clear up,” he whispered suggestively. ”We'll leave this place with the case entirely completed.”

Nichols arranged two chairs about a tiny teak-wood table. He had set this table within the bay of an alcove. The s.p.a.ce was small, with Delaney's big feet very much in the way.

Drew poised his cup and glanced from Loris to Nichols. Their heads were very close together. The blue-black l.u.s.ter of the girl's hair was a perfect contrast to the officer's blond pompadour which was slightly disarranged. The light from above haloed with the soft fire of frosted gla.s.s and cut prisms.

The detective upended the cup, drank deeply, then pa.s.sed it over to Delaney. ”Another, please,” he said, watching the operative struggling with a saucer which was far too fragile for his thick fingers. ”One more cup,” he added. ”No sugar.”

Loris leaned from the cus.h.i.+on at the small of her back and glanced toward the portieres with thought-laden eyes. ”Poor misguided fellow,”

she said softly. ”I feel uneasy, Mr. Drew. Somehow or other I feel that we were partly responsible for his death. I wish it hadn't happened.”

”I'll agree with you. We must forget more than we remember in this world. Our time is short. The coroner and the Central Office squad will have to be notified. I don't doubt that Fosd.i.c.k will be surprised at the turn in the case. He has some of your servants locked up, you know!”

Loris pressed closer to Nichols. ”I wish that body wasn't in there,”

she whispered. ”Suppose he had other confederates who would break in?”

”He worked alone,” a.s.sured Drew, finis.h.i.+ng the second cup and setting it down. ”I found no evidence of another crook. He worked single-handed and single-minded. He made one mistake. Morphy was a bungler. A bungler is a man who lets his artistic temperament get the better of him. Had he allowed Cuthbert to slay both the--Mr. Stockbridge and yourself over the 'phone, he would never have solved the case. It was the telephoning from Sing Sing that opened up the entire matter.”

”The inevitable slip!” exclaimed Nichols.

”Yes,” said Drew. ”They all make it. I could tell you of a thousand instances. But back of the inevitable slip, as you call it, is something deeper. It has not often been mentioned in dealing with criminals.”

”What is it?” asked Loris.

”Ego! Criminal ego! Most transgressors would go to the electric chair if the newspapers would write enough about them.”

Loris raised her brows. ”Is that the reason,” she asked, ”why Morphy telephoned before he killed poor father?”

”Exactly!” declared the detective. ”Ego explains much that we call revenge. Now,” he added, glancing about and at a tiny clock on a cabinet. ”Now the questions from everybody! Make them short. Mr.

Delaney and I will leave in ten minutes.”

Nichols glanced at Loris. ”You first,” he said.

”I've just one or two, Mr. Drew,” she said.

”What are they?”

”Why did that poor dead man spare my life when he called me up the first time? He could have killed me then.”

”I explained that. It wasn't _his_ vendetta.”

”Vendetta?”

”That is what this case is. An almost successful attempt to wipe out, or I should say obliterate, the Stockbridge Family--root and branch.

Morphy had nursed the thing for over a year. He had soured up there in prison. His mind became abnormal. He conceived an abnormal revenge.

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