The Detective drew back from his study of Harrigan. He turned on the seat and followed Delaney's pointing finger. He clamped his jaw shut with a click of strong teeth.

"Somebody's coming out of Stockbridge's," said the operative.

"Quek!" signaled Drew. "Watch, closely," he added in a whisper.

A girl came through the doorway and opened the iron-grilled gates. She paused and glanced north and south through the curtain of down-falling snow. She turned with resolution and hurried along the east side of the Avenue. She was at the corner opposite the taxi, when Drew reached and opened the door with sly fingers.

"Tail her," he ordered. "Right after her, Delaney. I'd know that little lady in a million."

"Who is she, Chief?"

"Loris Stockbridge!"

"Sure?"

"Yes! Right after her! There--she turned east. See her white spats? See her furs? Some queen to be out a night like this. Don't let her get too far ahead of you. That's right, Delaney!"

The operative sprang to the curb. He rounded the hood of the taxi. He slouched along the pavement to the corner, waited for the fraction of a minute until a limousine pa.s.sed, then hurried over the Avenue. He disappeared into the canyon whose walls were towering apartments and whose end was marked by a row of soft arcs across which, snow falling from housetops, sparkled in the night like diamonds beyond price.

The Avenue churned with returning theater-parties and night-hawk cabs.

The roar of the city came to the waiting Detective's ears like a giant turning in his first sleep. The sifting snow sanded against the windows of the taxi. The purring motor missed sparking now and then. It shook the cab as it resumed its revolving with a sputter and a cough in the m.u.f.fler. The driver huddled deeper in his sheep-skin coat collar. He snored in synchronism with the engine.

Drew rubbed the gla.s.s before him and studied the aspect with close-lidded intentness. He marked the shut gates of the Mansion down the Avenue. He saw that the lights from the inner globes had been extinguished. He counted the staring windows. His eyes lowered to the soft rose-glow which streamed out through the shut blinds of the library. Snow was on the slats and sills.

A swift crunch of heavy shoes at the side of the taxi--the turning of the door-lock--the burly form in black that climbed in, announced Delaney.

"All right, Chief!" he said somewhat out of breath. "All right--move over. Here she comes back!"

Drew rubbed a frosted pane with his elbow. A blurred form--close to the sheltering wall of the side street--revealed itself into Loris Stockbridge. She turned the corner. She glanced back over her sabled shoulder. She pressed her gloved hands deep within her m.u.f.f and almost ran for the iron-grilled gates of the mansion.

"She connected with a blonde lad in olive-drab uniform!" said Delaney.

"He gave her something that looked to me like a revolver. Wot d'ye make out-a that, Chief?"

CHAPTER FOUR

"THE MURDER"

Triggy Drew had no good answer for Delaney's question concerning the revolver. The matter was important in view of the threat aimed toward Stockbridge. Why Loris should obtain a gun from a rendezvous in a drug-store was more than the Detective could fathom. He turned to Delaney.

"Explain yourself!" he snapped, gripping the operative by the sleeve.

"Make yourself clear! We have no time to waste in this matter!"

Delaney gulped and whispered. "It's this way. I follows the girl until she turns around the corner where there is an all-night drug-store. She was in a telephone-booth when I came up and looked through the window.

She was trying to get a number. While she's trying, a taxi rushes up and out jumps a lad in a long benny. He pays the driver with a bill and hurries past me and into the drug-store. I gets a good look at him.

He's about twenty-three years old, blonde hair and tall----"

"Tall?"

"He was five feet eleven, Chief. I'd say that to be safe. The uniform he wore under the benny was olive-drab with bars on his shoulder. He took the overcoat off--afterwards."

"How many bars?"

"Two, Chief."

"That's good!" exclaimed Drew with sudden vigor. "Good!"

"The girl," went on Delaney, "was 'phoning for him. She dropped the receiver when she heard him come in. She had the party she wanted--right there. Good deduction--that is!"

The Detective snorted. "Go on," he said with a faint frown.

"Sure it was! Well, I moves over and starts puttin' a penny in the slot-machine outside the drug-store. The machine didn't work very well on account of the snow. I'm a long time gettin' my piece of chewin'-gum. I sees them talking in the drug-store. His coat is off 'cause it's warm inside. He had an officer's uniform on."

"One bar or two?"

"Two bars on his shoulder, Chief."

"Captain, then. Go on."

"He's a tall lad with thick lips and wide-blue eyes. He's straight as a pike-staff and good lookin'--for a blonde."

"Looks German?"

"Not so I could notice! Seemed to be a bit of a swell. Had gloves and a high-cla.s.s wrist watch. I hate them things."

Drew smiled. "Hurry," he said. "Don't take too long. What happened?

What about the smoke-wagon?"

"I'm comin' to it, Chief. They moves over to the drug-case. They chins some more. Then he blows her to a soda--a cherry sundae."

Drew rubbed the gla.s.s at his side and started out. He swept the mansion with swift-running eyes. He turned.

"They were sweet--them two," went on Delaney with thought. "I deducts they'd known each other a long while."

"Quit your deducting. Get to facts!"

"Well, Chief, he ups and gives the drug-store the once over with sharp looks. Then he handed her a little, flat box which she pops into her m.u.f.f--quick as any shop-hister. It was as quick as that!"

"How do you know it was a revolver?"

"By what followed, Chief."

"What followed?"

"Her hand creeps into the m.u.f.f. It works around while the clerk is mixin' the sundae. When the clerk's back is turned, out comes the hilt of a nice, little gat with ivory trimmin's. It's one of them lovely watch-charm affairs--all polished up without a knock-out punch."