"A twenty-two?"

"About that. It's the caliber them actresses carry in their stockings.

It might kill, though, at short range."

"Go on, Delaney. Tell me what happened then?"

"I gets my chewin'-gum, Chief. I backs to the curb. They finish their sundae. I'm across the street when the lad goose-steps out of the drug-store--alone. O'Toole was talking with the fixed-post cop and a Central Office man half-way down the block. They gets my office when I pulls out my handkerchief. The C. O. d.i.c.k covers the corner. O'Toole falls in behind the lad in the fur benny as he pa.s.ses him, with collar turned up and leggins working at a double-time through the snow."

"That's good! O'Toole will put him to bed."

"Sure, Chief. Leave it to O'Toole. He never lost a tail yet. He'll follow that lad to France--unless you call him off."

Drew polished the gla.s.s and strained his eyes in the direction of Stockbridge's mansion. The Avenue had quieted over the hour after midnight. A few belated pedestrians, m.u.f.fled to the brows, glanced at the waiting taxi with curiosity. They did not stop, however.

Delaney drew out his watch and studied its dial by aid of the light which streamed from a corner arc. He replaced the watch.

"Twelve-forty-five," he announced. "Wish I'd brought a pint along. I would have, if the dame hadn't come out of the drug-store so quick."

"Did she buy anything--or do anything, after the officer left her?"

"No! Just waited a second, then came sailin' out without a smile. Had her hands crammed in her m.u.f.f. That's where the revolver was. Bet it was loaded."

"More deduction," said Drew. "Don't jump at conclusions, Delaney. Get facts and work from them. Get----"

The Detective's voice trailed into silence. He reached swiftly and wiped his hand over the frosted pane. He pressed his nose against the gla.s.s until it became white with cold. He jerked back his head.

"Quek!" he signaled from deep down in his throat. "Quek, Delaney! Open the door. Somebody is coming out of the house!"

Delaney twisted the handle. A breath of stinging air swept into the taxi's heated s.p.a.ce. Snow followed and drifted across the detectives'

knees. Both men strained in one position. Their eyes burned as they waited with grim-set lips.

A light shone from the lower entrance of the mansion. Its oblong brought out in bold-relief the details of the iron-grilled gates.

Across this fine snow sifted. A man emerged. He closed the door. He opened the gates and staggered toward the Avenue's curb. He stood, bare-headed in the night. His chin swung north and south with helpless motion. He fixed his eyes upon the waiting taxi, with a start of recognition. He came over the surface of the Avenue with faltering, bewildered steps.

"The butler!" snapped Drew. "That's Stockbridge's butler! What's happened?"

"G.o.d only knows!" exclaimed Delaney.

Drew climbed over the operative and sprang to the curb. He charged around the rear of the taxi and brought up with a jerk before the startled servant.

"What is it?" he asked sharply.

The butler stammered an incoherent answer. His eyes wavered from the taxi to the mansion--then back again. They gripped to a dead-lock with the detective's own.

"What happened?" exclaimed Drew.

"I don't know, sir. I don't know----"

"Keep cool! Answer me!" The Detective clutched the butler's shoulder with a vise-grip.

"Answer me," he repeated. "What happened? What is the matter--over there?"

"I don't----"

"None of that! Answer! Answer!"

"The telephone company, sir. The telephone people rang me ... they rang me hup hon the downstairs 'phone, sir. They said ... she said ... the chief-loidy said for me to 'ang the receiver hup hon the Gramercy 'ill 'ook, sir. The 9763 one, sir."

"Which one is that--the library?"

"It his, sir!"

"Go on! Go on! Go on!"

"I goes back where I 'ad left the second-man, sir, by the door, sir, as you'd ordered, sir. I knocks 'ard on the door."

"Yes! Yes!" said Drew, feeling Delaney's hot breath over his shoulder.

"Yes! Go on!"

"I knocks, sir. I pounds 'ard. I 'ammers and 'ammers hon the wood, sir.

'E don't answer--'e don't."

Drew's face grew stern. "Well?" he asked still holding the butler's eyes. "Well--what then?"

"I knocks some 'arder. Then the second-man, 'e knocks. 'E 'its the door with 'is 'eel, sir!"

"Come on!" said Drew, turning and clasping Delaney's sleeve. "Come on--something _is_ wrong!"

The detective swept the Avenue with a sharp glance as he hurried across the wheel-churned ice and snow. He signaled to Harrigan by drawing a handkerchief. That operative detached himself from the shadow between the two houses and moved toward the corner. He stood there on guard as Drew hurried through the iron-grilled gates and thrust his knee against the door. It opened. Delaney and the butler crowded in. They mounted the inner stairs on tiptoes. Drew's hand went behind him in warning. He turned at the top of the landing. The second-man was standing before the library door with folded arms and a watchdog expression on his c.o.c.kney face. He remained in that position as Drew glided to his side.

"Hear anything?" asked the detective.

"Never a word, sir. Hit's blym quiet hin there. Hi think 'e's 'ad something 'appen, sir. 'E never acted like that--before, sir. Sometimes 'e sleeps, but 'e always wakes hup when the walley comes after 'im, sir."

"'E does," echoed the butler with chattering teeth.

"Are you sure you tried to unlock this door?" queried Drew, twisting the k.n.o.b. "Have you tried the outer lock? You might have shot the bolt in your excitement."

"The key to the houter lock, sir, is hinside!"

"It is!" snapped Drew, pressing against the panel as he listened close up to the chamfering. "It is, eh? That's funny."

"'E put hit there, sir. The master did, sir!"

Drew did not dwell further on this. He stared at Delaney, with unseeing eyes. He bent and listened for a second time. He stiffened suddenly. He jerked back.

"Listen," he whispered tersely. "Everybody listen. What's that noise inside? Hear it? Hear it, Delaney?"

The operative dropped to his knees and pressed his ear to a faint line of light below the door. He rose, dusting his knees. He swore audibly.