"Looks like a crow, Chief. It sure startled me. I thought we had the villain right here."

Drew waited. Delaney--with a last glance toward the bird-cage--followed the butler to the upper floors of the mansion. Drew opened the letter and studied it. He examined the postmark. He heard, as he was replacing the paper in the envelope, the click of the gla.s.s against the bottle at Stockbridge's side. There followed a dry chuckle of inner satisfaction.

A match was struck. Cigar smoke wreathed under the rose-light and floated toward a high radiator which was over the book-cases. Drew went over to these and glanced upward. The gilt-grilled ventilator, through which the smoke pa.s.sed, was narrow and set within the wallplaster. It showed no sign of marks at its edge. It was the only opening, save the door and the two great windows at the front, which led from or into the library.

He returned to the center of the library. A swishing sounded. Loris, with eyes aflame, glided into the room. The curtains dropped behind her with soft rustling. She glanced from Drew to her father. She stamped her slippered foot upon the thick pile of the rug before the doorway.

"By what right?" she said to Drew. "By whose orders have you sent that awful man to my rooms?"

Drew flushed beneath the olive of his skin.

"_I_ sent him," he admitted guiltily. "I never thought you would be offended, Miss Stockbridge."

"I am--greatly so! Do you mistrust me?"

"Miss Stockbridge," Drew hastened to say with soft apology. "Miss Loris--that thought never entered my mind. It never did! I'll have Mr.

Delaney out, right away. He should not have gone in without your permission. I told him to knock and ask you."

"My maid let him in. I--I----"

Drew studied her gown. It had been changed. The Irish lace and the lavender one had been replaced by an Oxford-gray tailor-made suit which fitted her slender, elegant form like a close glove. Her slippers were topped with fawn-hued spats. One ring was on her finger. It was a solitaire of price. It gleamed and flashed in the rose-light as she raised her hand to her hair.

"I'll have Delaney right out," repeated Drew, bowing and starting for the doorway.

"No!"

Drew paused. He turned. The magnate towered over the table. His eyes were blood-shot and glazed with resolve.

"No!" he declared. "No, you'll not have him out! Let him do his duty!

Loris, go upstairs!"

"But, father----"

"Go--up--stairs!"

The girl flushed. Scarlet ripples rose from her young breast. Her cheeks crimsoned into two burning spots. She wheeled, gathered up her skirt, and glided swiftly through the portieres which dropped behind her like a curtain of a stage.

"Go--up--stairs," quoted the magpie greatly excited.

Drew retained the vision of Loris long after her footsteps had ceased to sound in the hallway. He grew thoughtful as he waited. There were details to the case which already caused him concern. It was evident that the girl was tremendously high-spirited and willful. Her obedience to her father's demand had only been after a struggle with her turbulent nature. She had given in to him, but friction was there which might cause trouble at a future hour.

Delaney parted the portieres, finally. He strode into the library with a flushed face. He lifted one brow as he jerked his head upward in a mute signal to Drew.

"I guess it's all O. K.," he blurted swinging toward Stockbridge and eyeing the bottle beside the telephone. "O. K. upstairs. I searched most everything--posted a valet at the master's suite and took a look into Miss Stockbridge's rooms. They seem all right. I guess they're all right," he added with candor, which Drew understood referred to the girl and her outburst in her boudoir.

"Good," Drew said closing his lips. "That's good. Now, Mr.

Stockbridge," he added, "there will be eight of us on the outside of this house. You have your trusted servants inside. There's three telephones in good order, thanks to the trouble-man. There's the entire New York Police and Detective Departments to back us up. There should be no trouble."

The Magnate blinked beneath the cone of rose-light. He wet his dry lips. He rubbed his scaly hands. "Any orders to me?" he asked determinedly. "What shall I do?"

"You lock this library door when Delaney and I go out. Lock it and bolt it securely. Don't take a particle of food. Don't drink any water. Try to get along to-night without sampling anything."

Stockbridge reached for the bottle of Bourbon. He held it up to the light. It was half full. "All right," said he. "I might finish part of this--that's all."

Drew glanced at Delaney. "That'll be all right," he said turning. "That bottle's been tested. You might let this officer try a little of it.

Nothing like being sure, you know."

Delaney was willing. The drink he poured, after the butler brought a clean gla.s.s, would have cost him considerable money in war time. He upended it neat. He smiled as one hand rested upon his chest. "Fine!"

he said with sincerity. "There's nothin' th' matter with that!"

Drew turned toward the portieres, where, between, the butler waited.

"We'll go now," he said. "Remember--lock and bolt this door. Instruct your man to stay outside and not to leave it under any circ.u.mstances.

When you go up to your bedroom, have him go with you. Then lock the upstairs door and let your valet sleep across the threshold. You can have a mattress moved for that purpose. I'll come in--first thing in the morning. Good night, sir!"

"Good night," repeated Stockbridge rising from his chair and leaning his hands upon the polished surface of the table. "Good night to both of you!"

Drew glanced back as the butler pressed in the curtains and started closing the hardwood door. The Magnate still stood erect under the rich glow from the overhead cone. His eyes were slit-lidded and defiant. He glared about the room like an aged lion in a jungle-glade. He started around the table.

The door closed. Drew waited in the hallway. He heard the lock snap.

The bolt shot home. Stockbridge was alone in a sealed room.

"Watch this door!" ordered Drew clutching the butler's purple sleeve.

"Watch it like a cat. Stay right near it under any and all circ.u.mstances. Don't go away from it. It may mean life or death to your master."

"I'll stoiy right 'ere, sir."

"See that you do," cautioned the Detective. "See that you do."

Delaney found the hats and coats in the foyer. These they donned, opened the outer door, and stepped into the night with jaws squared and hands thrust deep in their pockets.

They crossed the snow-mantled Avenue upon a long diagonal which brought them to the up-town corner and the waiting taxi, whose engine was softly purring beneath its hooded bonnet.

The driver was asleep. He woke as Drew laid a hand on his arm.

"Seen anything?" asked the Detective.

"Nothin', boss, but snow. Nothin' at all," he yawned.

Delaney glanced about. He opened the taxi door on the street side and lunged inward with a sigh of relief. Drew followed and pulled the door shut.

"Where's the bunch?" he asked. "Just how did you post them?"

"Flood's with the fixed-post cop on the Avenue. He's down a block.

Flynn and Ca.s.sady are in the alley--in the yard, I mean. They're watching the junction-box and the wires. Joe and O'Toole went east.

Harrigan is planted across the street. That's him between the two buildings. See him?"

Drew rubbed the rear gla.s.s of the taxi. He pressed his nose against this. A blurred form, almost obliterated by falling snow, showed where the operative was guarding the mansion.

Delaney, who was watching out through another window, suddenly clutched Drew by the arm. "Look!" he exclaimed. "Look, Chief! Over toward the big house!"