"Sure and I will, Chief. I'm thinking I want to think, myself."

Drew frowned at Delaney. He dropped his eyes and studied the prisoner's hands. They were strangely white and remarkably small for a man who had labored at telephone-repairing. The detective's glance rested on the ink-stained thumb. His mind swung with this thought to the footprints.

Following the train he arrived at the first conclusion that an expert in telephony could devise most any kind of a practical method for opening a window or a ventilator. He dismissed this theory with a glance about the room. The ventilator was well-hidden and inaccessible to any one without a step-ladder. Considerable time devoted in climbing upon a chair and a case of jade ornaments might reach it, but the trouble-man had not been alone in the room when he inspected the telephone.

Drew went over the salient details of the Stockbridge tragedy. One fact stood out. The windows had been well locked. The sashes were covered with snow. A climber, even on the face of the house, would have difficulty in springing a catch by a secret method, raising the window and entering without leaving a track of some kind. He dismissed this supposition as untenable. He turned to Delaney, fully puzzled.

"Was there a climber's set in that bag?" he asked sharply.

"I didn't see any, Chief. I don't think this fellow's a climber. He ain't built like one. His shoes are smooth on the bottom and his hands are all polished up around the nails. Looks to me, Chief, as if he might be able to pick most any kind of a lock."

"The locks are out of the question!" snapped Drew. "I examined them.

They're not in line. Has anybody here any suggestions?"

Drew stared at the prisoner's drawn, white face as he asked this question. "He wasn't long in this part of the house," said the captain.

"The maid watched him. She thought perhaps he might take something."

"Fosd.i.c.k is to blame!" said Drew almost losing his temper. "He should have given strict orders at the door not to let anybody in till the case was settled. It's all mixed up now. This man had ample opportunity to cover himself. A clever sneak could do most anything under your eyes without you seeing him operate. I suppose the only thing to do is to turn him over to Headquarters. He'll get his!"

Loris frowned slightly at Drew's manner. The detective did not act like his former self. She watched him pace the floor between the prisoner and the tapestries. He came back with a square set to his jaw and a hard glint in his olive eyes which gleamed like steel behind velvet.

"Stand him up!"

Delaney stared at his chief. He opened his mouth, then closed it firmly. "All right," he said, reaching down. "I'll stand him up if you let me give him an upper-cut. I don't like these silent crooks. They're snaky, Chief."

"No unnecessary violence, gentlemen," suggested Nichols as Loris laid her hand on his arm. "I'd like to have him alone for a few minutes--but outside. Go easy. Perhaps he'll talk."

"It may be your life or this man's!" gritted Drew, stepping up to the prisoner after a sharp glance at Loris. "I pity him when Fosd.i.c.k gets hold of him. He'll talk then!"

The prisoner swayed with Delaney's fingers gripping his collar in a vice-strong clutch. His white-pale face, his narrow-set eyes, his furtive glance to left and right like a cornered rat, brought Drew to mind of a man who was slowly breaking down. He lowered his brows and clutched the prisoner's elbow with strong fingers that pressed deep through the coat sleeve.

"Out with it!" he demanded harshly. "It's your last chance to save your miserable skin. You're not going to get any mercy from the Commissioner. You know what he'll do to you!"

The prisoner twisted loose from Drew's clutch. His eyes wavered as he stared at Loris for a long second, then dropped to the floor. They closed in painful thought. Suddenly he blanched with pa.s.sion.

"I've no use for you coppers!" he screamed shrillingly. "I hate the sight of you and your kind. Let me go! Let me go!"

"Fine chance," whispered Delaney, tightening his grip on the prisoner's collar. "You got a fine chance, you murderin', thievin', second-story man! I'd paste you if the lady wasn't here! Sure I would, right between the eyes!"

"Easy," said Drew. "Leave him to me. He's thinking the thing over. I don't mind telling him that the magpie beat him. That and the carelessness of Morphy in calling up when he must have known that Frick was in the front office of the prison. It's always the way, Bert. He travels the fastest, up or down, who travels alone. It's the lone star that gives us the trouble. There's n.o.body to peach on him!"

The prisoner bit his upper lip. A slight sign of blood showed. He tasted this with the tip of his tongue. His eyes narrowed in calculation. He turned and faced Drew with slit-lidded intentness.

"I haven't done a thing," he whispered. "You ain't got a thing on me."

"Oh, no!" blurted Drew with heat. "I ain't got a thing. I've been asleep since the time you murdered this girl's father. I've had ten men on your trail since the beginning. I don't hold the first murder so much against you as I do the projected one--which missed fire by a scant margin. You slayed a man with your devilish ingenuity, but you're not going to put it over on his daughter. I've seen to that! I notice n.o.body has called up and said this was the Master talking. There's a good reason."

The prisoner fluttered his pale lashes and glanced at the telephone. He closed his eyes with a smile shadowing his lips.

"There's a good reason," repeated Drew. "You are not in some booth at Forty-first Street to make the connection. Morphy is in the strongest cooler. He's booked for twenty years. After that he'll get more. He can't help you!"

"Oh, you coppers," said the trouble-man. "Just give me five minutes and I'd show you. I don't hold anything against the girl. I never saw her before."

"You lie!"

"Why don't you take these cuffs off-a-me? I can't hit back."

"I'd sooner take the chance outside," said Drew, glancing at Loris.

"I'd do it there!"

Delaney tightened his grip and half held the trouble-hunter in the air.

He raised on his toes with the strain.

"Oh, don't!" exclaimed Loris. "I'll have to ask you to stop this. I can't let it occur in my house!"

"Miss Stockbridge," said Drew with soft rebuke. "Miss Stockbridge, I've been in the detective business for twenty years. I never saw in that time a more dangerous man. He is the super-type who usually falls through the errors of other men. This fellow has brains. He's an expert in telephony and in wireless. There are a number of patents in the patent office under his name."

"Then he may be innocent, Mr. Drew."

"He's as guilty as the Kaiser!" exclaimed Delaney, twisting the prisoner around. "Look at him. He's been trying to murder the finest little lady in the country. She never harmed anybody. She's devoting most of her time to Red Cross work and the--Army," added the big operative with a touch of brogue as he glanced at Nichols.

"But he has not said that he murdered father," said Loris.

"Sure an' he won't say it. I know the breed of this snake. He wants nothing used against him in the trial. He'll have the evidence of us four to show that he didn't say anything. I never saw an innocent man who wouldn't talk!"

"We're getting nowhere," objected Drew, taking command of the situation. "Take him out, Delaney, and turn him over to the Central Office bunch. They'll take him down to Fosd.i.c.k!"

The prisoner lifted his manacled hands. He dropped them after a slow glance at Drew's square jaw.

"Come on!" said Delaney with a jerk backward.

"Wait!"

Drew and Nichols leaned forward. "Well?" asked the detective, as the prisoner bowed his head. "Well? Well?"

"Is that true about my brother--Morphy?"

"It is!" Drew said with ringing conviction. "It's true! He's out of this world. He's buried alive and the key has been thrown away."

"The jig is up, then," said the trouble-man, turning toward the telephone. "Let me telephone," he said in a whisper. "I want to use it," he repeated faintly. "I'll show you how that--that Stockbridge died."

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

"THE VOICE ON THE WIRE"

The prisoner lifted his manacled hands and held them toward Drew. "Let me loose," he said, "and I'll explain everything that I've done! I want it off my mind. I won't sleep until you people are satisfied. I know you--you copper! I know Fosd.i.c.k--the third degree artist."