CHAPTER FOURTEEN
"THE PRISONER SPEAKS"
The detective wasted no time searching the trouble-hunter's pockets.His skilled fingers drew forth two envelopes, a note book and a smallroll of money, the least of which was ten-dollar bills and thegreatest, on the inside, spread out to three staring noughts and a onein front of these.
"One thousand and sixty dollars!" said Drew dryly, handing the roll toDelaney. "This fellow's well heeled. Perhaps for a get-a-way. Takethat. Now here----"
Drew tapped the envelopes with his fingers, spread them open andremoved their sheets of closely-written paper.
"First letter," he announced with raising brows, "is from StandardElectrical Co., of Chicago, recommending Albert Jones as a capableelectrician. I don't doubt it. He's capable of most anything."
Delaney took the letter and waited with his eyes fastened upon thesilent figure who had not revealed his identity from the time of thearrest.
"Second letter," continued Drew, "is addressed to Albert Jones, GeneralDelivery, New York Post Office. It is from Ossining. It is signedMortimer Morphy. How careless," said the detective, rising in hisexcitement. "How _very_ careless! It goes on to say that everything isall right. That the appeal is pending with the governor. That uncleMonty was expected to die and that aunt Lou was very low."
Drew paused and glanced toward Loris and Nichols. "You know what thatmeans?" he asked. "Uncle Monty was Mr. Montgomery Stockbridge and auntLou would figure out for you, Miss Stockbridge. Keep this, Delaney.We're going to convict this man right here--whether he talks or not.This letter was written to him two months ago. It shows premeditation."
"He looks ill," said Loris. "His face is so white."
"Dope!" snapped Drew, pressing down the prisoner's right eyelid andglancing at the pupil. "A narcotic of some kind shows in the smalliris. It's like a pin head. Yen she, eh, Delaney?"
"Guess it is, Chief. Frisk his cap and belt. They carry it there,sometimes."
Drew started at the prisoner's hair and went over his entire body withcareful fingers. A bulge, at the waist, resolved itself into a chamoismoney-belt which contained five cartridges, a small handful of electricfuses and a spool of fine wire.
Drew eyed this last with furrowed brow. He pocketed it finally andstudied the cartridges.
"Twenty-two, cupronickel, center-fire," he announced with a hard smile."That forges another chain. We're getting there. He was loaded forsomething, Delaney."
"Sure and he was. Look at those handcuffs, Chief. I made them tight asI could."
Drew handed up the cartridges and fuses and rattled the cuffs. Theprisoner protested by turning partly over. His eyelids fluttered andopened full upon Loris. She shrank back between the curtains. Her handswent up to her face in voiceless fear. "Please keep away," said Drew."This man is always dangerous. I want to trim his claws before I takeany chances with him. Delaney," he added, "get my overcoat and bring methose plaster-casts. This case grows interesting. I wonder who thefellow is? 'Albert Jones' doesn't convey much. He is a friend and toolof Morphy. Poor Morphy! I wonder what he'll say when the governor getsthis evidence? He's buried now for twenty long years of penal service.He picked a good tool, though. A smart man!"
The prisoner did not brighten to any extent under the professionalflattery. His eyes closed. The cuffed wrists dropped down upon hischest. He breathed slowly as Drew took the overcoat Delaney brought,and found the photos of the finger prints which Fosdick and the expertat headquarters had both declared were not on record.
"A little ink," Drew said to the operative. "We'll smear this fellow'sthumb and see if his print answers to the print I found in the booth atGrand Central. I'll venture that it does."
Nichols extended a fountain pen which the detective opened, sponged onthe corner of a handkerchief, and returned with a chuckle ofsatisfaction.
"Ah," he said, gripping the prisoner's hand and smearing a thumb with arolling motion across the back of the print. "Ah, Delaney, see here.The same whorls and loops. The same tiny V-shaped scar. One, two,three--center right. This is the man. We have him deeper in toward theplace with the little, green door. He knows what I mean!"
The prisoner's lips closed to a thin, hard line. A tiny spot of hecticfire burned in the center of each cheek as Drew completed the searchingand rose.
"Footprints, now!" he said with a snappy order. "Compare those plastercasts you took at the junction-box back of this house. Are they thesame? There's a series of four screw holes in his rubber-heels,Delaney. Do they compare with the casts. Measure them!"
"Sure and they do," said the big operative, rising and pointing to thesmall projections. "This lad, Chief, was the only one around thatjunction-box till after the snow froze and drifted over. That's myidea, Chief. It caught him, didn't it, Chief?"
"Every little helps to forge the chain," Drew said. "He's in bad now.His only chance is to tell us what he knows about Morphy? What was saidover the telephone wire? What did Frick say?"
"It was this way, Chief," Delaney said. "I'm waiting talking with thedrug-clerk when there's a ring on the slot-booth 'phone. It's Jack Nefeat Gramercy Hill. He says to me that Frick had just 'phoned and saidthat Morphy had come out of the guard room, looked around, then, afterchinning with a keeper at the front gate, he had started going over atelephone book for a number. Nefe said for me to hold the wire. Then Igets a number, Chief. It's Gramercy Hill 11,678. Nefe said that was abooth in the new Broadway Subway at Forty-first Street. I piles into acab and arrives there just as this fellow had finished boring a holebetween the two booths--11,678 and 11,679. I waits behind aslot-machine. Some one rang up when he coupled the wires, listens, thenasks Gramercy Hill central for this 'phone here in Miss Stockbridge'sroom. You see the game, Chief?"
"Go on!" said Drew. "Be very clear!"
"This fellow was connecting Morphy at state prison with this housethrough the two slot booths. I sneaked up and waited for him to finish.He's busy with a pair of pliers. I falls on him like a ton of bricks.Then after I get the cuffs on, I listens in. It's Morphy roaring there,with that big bull voice of his. He's mad 'cause he gets no answer. Heshouts over and over, Chief--'Bert! Bert! Bert! Is it planted in herroom? Her room. Is it there?'" Delaney paused and stared about thesitting room.
"What does he mean, Chief?" he asked huskily. "What is that _'it'?"_
"Go on!" said Drew tersely.
"I got Morphy off the wire, Chief. I got Frick and then Frick got thewarden. He's a good fellow. He listened to me, then he calls someguards and they drag Morphy through the prison and down to the coolers.I guess they're down in the ground, somewhere. Anyway, Chief, he's gonefor good--unless they send him to the chair for his part in the murderof Stockbridge."
"He'll go! What I want to know now, Delaney, is this fellow's rightname. Morphy said 'Bert,' eh?"
"Sure he did, Chief. 'Bert! Bert! Bert!' That's close to Albert. AlbertJones, like's in the letter."
"No! That would be a throw-off. He's some other kind of a Bert. Let mesee his cap."
Delaney picked the prisoner's cap from the rug and passed it over toDrew. The detective examined it, ripped the silk, and looked under thelining. He straightened and handed it to Harry Nichols.
"Can you make that name out?" he asked. "Your eyes are younger thanmine. Perhaps Miss Stockbridge can read it. It's Spanish, I think.'Gusta' or 'Gasta.' The rest is obliterated with grease."
"Antofagasta!" declared Loris suddenly. "It's Antofagasta, Chile."
"Fetch the lineman's kit, the Central Office man brought," said Drew tothe operative. "Put it right here by this fellow's side. I--we aregetting close to the truth in this case."
Delaney hurried back with the satchel. It was the same one that Drewhad seen in the library on the evening Stockbridge was murdered. It hadexcited no suspicion then.
"A magneto," said the detective. "First comes a ringing magneto whichhas seen much service. Put that over there, Delaney. Spread a paper orsomething. Ah," Drew added, "here's a set of small dry
batteriesarranged in series. Three or four of them. I don't know just whatthey're for, but Bert does."
The prisoner's pale eyes blinked and were closed again as the lidscompressed in wrinkled determination. He moved slightly when Drewpressed a knee against his chest. He coughed with dry catching deepdown in his throat. The detective felt of his pulse. It was faint butsteady--like a tired sleeper's.
"He's coming out of it," Drew said. "He'll talk after awhile. Let'ssee, what is this?"
Delaney leaned over the satchel. "Another link," said Drew, drawing outa telephone receiver without wires attached to it. "And here," headded, "is the testing set with the sharp clamps. That's for listeningin or talking with other people's connections. I don't doubt that thisfellow knows his business. Here's a micro-volt meter that registersfractions of volts. Here's an ammeter of the pocket size. I've seenthis kind on automobiles for testing dry-cells. Now, what is this?"
"Looks like a full set of jimmies!" blurted Delaney. "That's asectional jimmy!"
"He's got everything," said the detective, turning and glancing atLoris. "Here, Miss Stockbridge," he said, holding up an empty cartridgeshell. "Here is the most important link in the chain against him. It'sa twenty-two shell which has been fired. See--wait--what's this,Delaney? The cap on the end hasn't been struck. The cartridge wasdischarged--the cap is intact. How could that be?"
Loris and Harry Nichols leaned over the detective. He turned the tinyshell around in his fingers. He sniffed it. He held it out so theycould see the end. "Discharged," he exclaimed, "without touching thedetonating cap on the end! That's odd! Very suggestive!"
"Let me see it," said Nichols. "I'll tell. We have exams on thesethings. This seems to have been fired," he continued with thought."It's been fired without concussion. I'd say it was heat that did it. Amatch touched to the base here would fire the cap, which would, inturn, set off the powder. There's a different color to the brass at thecap end. It looks to me like a shell which has been clamped down bythree--no, four screws. There's marks on the rim. See them, Loris--MissStockbridge? Right there. Right at my nail."
"That's about right, Harry!" declared Drew, reaching for the cartridge."It was clamped down with small screws. It was ignited or set off byheat. It forms part of a home-made pistol which conforms, to a hair,with Fosdick's statement that the bullet never went through a barrelthat was rifled."
"That's your own statement!" blurted Delaney. "Fosdick never had brainsenough to figure a thing out like that. All he knows is pinch everybodytwo or three times. I've seen him do it."
Drew eyed the prisoner. "So you see," he said softly, cuttingly, "crimedoes not pay. The net has closed over your head. You erred a score oftimes. You couldn't afford to make one little mistake. I could--I did!I've made a hundred in this case already! It's the hound and the hare.The hound loses the scent and brays on blunderingly till he picks it upagain. You lost me time and again. You fooled me in that lineman'sguise when you came into the library. Your make-up was perfect. Yousaid just the right things."
The prisoner's lips curled in a thin cruel line. He rattled the cuffsdefiantly. His shoulders lifted then fell back upon the rug.
"Bert!" snapped Drew. "Bert!" he repeated with awakening thought."Delaney," he said, turning and glancing up at the operative's broad,flushed face. "I got this fellow located. What was the name of the manwe tried to find in the Morphy failure? The one we had a bench-warrantfor? He was indicted. The indictment was sealed. You know! It's a nameyou didn't like. The fellow who escaped to Rio or South America? Whoafterwards went to Antofagasta. Ah, Cuthbert!"
"That's it, Chief! Cutbert! Cutbert Morphy--the old devil's brother.This is him!"
Drew rubbed his hands vigorously. "It is!" he exclaimed, with his eyesswinging over the prisoner's drawn features. "Cuthbert Morphy--abrother's tool and confederate. We're getting on!"
The detective rose and faced Loris and Nichols. "Captain," he said, "afiring squad at sunrise would be the Army's answer to this man'sdeviltry. Consider what he has done. He's worked back to New York aftera year as a fugitive. He connected in some manner with Morphy at SingSing. Perhaps he went there as a visitor under the pretext of businessconnected with Morphy's affairs. This scheme was hatched there in theprison. It was financed by Morphy. It succeeded in so far as Mr.Stockbridge was concerned. First the telephone call to the cemeterysuperintendent. Then followed his visit to this house for the purposeof fixing some fiendish device. Or----"
"He might have fixed the windows, Chief," suggested Delaney. "He mighthave opened a catch and climbed in afterwards."
"He wasn't near the windows," said Drew. "He had something else in theback of his crafty, twisted brain. He came and went out, with Mr.Stockbridge and I watching him. He called up, then, and threatened thedeath. He probably looped the library 'phone up with Sing Sing at orabout midnight. We have a record of both calls."
"Why," asked Loris, as Drew paused in thought. "Why did he have Morphyconnected with father? I can't see, Mr. Drew, that part of it. Therest, you have told is, is very clear."
"Nor I yet," admitted the detective. "But that is a detail. It isprobably the criminal's ego, which is in every one of them, to notifytheir prey that the hour has come. Morphy was an artist in crime. Hewas a master mind in finance and chicanery. What better revenge couldhe think of than to notify Mr. Stockbridge that death was about tostrike? It savors of Machiavelli and Borgia. Whom the gods destroy theyfirst make mad. He tried it on you."
"Gods!" blurted Delaney with ire. "Devils, you mean, Chief!"
"Yes, or worse!" said Drew, glancing sternly at the prisoner. "Thisfellow," he added, "is the agent for the destroyer. Now how was itdone?"
Delaney glanced about the walls of the room in apprehension. "I'll takeanother look around," he suggested heavily. "Maybe with them new ideaswe can locate something that might be planted for the killing."
Drew glanced sharply at the prisoner's face. A faint sneer was on thethin lips. The wrists twisted and turned in the handcuffs. The steelchain rattled metallically. Loris backed step after step toward theshielding curtain and Harry Nichols. "Oh!" she said suddenly, as shedropped her head against his breast. "Oh, Harry! there can't beanything like _that."_
"Certainly not!" Drew hastened to ejaculate. "That's nonsense. If therewas anything planted in either of these three rooms, there's no one toget in and operate it. I've searched! Mr. Delaney has searched. Do youwant us to search again?" Drew's lips were drawn with doubt as hestared anxiously from Loris to Nichols. "I'll do it, captain, if yousay so. I think we've done enough work, however. The thing is to getthis fellow to talk. I don't want to give him over to Fosdick and thethird degree till we see if he is going to treat us right. He can turnstate's evidence on Morphy, who blundered. Then he'll get off lightly.Morphy is the master mind."
"He only smiles," said Nichols, tapping his breast suggestively. "I'vea gun here and I've a mind to use it. Do you think I want MissStockbridge murdered like her father was murdered? I'll shoot that cur!He's a whispering snake! A Hun!"
"Don't!" sobbed Loris, as Nichols thrust his hand in his coat and drewout a flat automatic of .44 caliber. "Don't, Harry! Perhaps this man isinnocent."
"Innocent!" declared Nichols. "Why, Loris--why, Miss Stockbridge, youdon't think _that_, after all the things Mr. Drew has discovered. I'llwager my commission he's guilty as Hell, and I mean it, Loris."
"He's that!" Delaney declared. "He and his brother the devil are one insin. They're lost spirits."
"Now everybody," said Drew, gathering in the group with his eyes, whichwere strangely bright. "Everybody keep very quiet for a minute. Let methink."
"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'shands. They were strangely white and remarkably small for a man who hadlabored at telephone-repairing. The detective's glance rested on theink-stained thumb. His mind swung with this thought to the footprints.Following the train he arrived at the f
irst conclusion that an expertin telephony could devise most any kind of a practical method foropening a window or a ventilator. He dismissed this theory with aglance about the room. The ventilator was well-hidden and inaccessibleto any one without a step-ladder. Considerable time devoted in climbingupon a chair and a case of jade ornaments might reach it, but thetrouble-man had not been alone in the room when he inspected thetelephone.
Drew went over the salient details of the Stockbridge tragedy. One factstood out. The windows had been well locked. The sashes were coveredwith snow. A climber, even on the face of the house, would havedifficulty in springing a catch by a secret method, raising the windowand entering without leaving a track of some kind. He dismissed thissupposition 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. Heain't built like one. His shoes are smooth on the bottom and his handsare all polished up around the nails. Looks to me, Chief, as if hemight 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 thisquestion. "He wasn't long in this part of the house," said the captain."The maid watched him. She thought perhaps he might take something."
"Fosdick is to blame!" said Drew almost losing his temper. "He shouldhave given strict orders at the door not to let anybody in till thecase was settled. It's all mixed up now. This man had ample opportunityto cover himself. A clever sneak could do most anything under your eyeswithout you seeing him operate. I suppose the only thing to do is toturn him over to Headquarters. He'll get his!"
Loris frowned slightly at Drew's manner. The detective did not act likehis former self. She watched him pace the floor between the prisonerand the tapestries. He came back with a square set to his jaw and ahard 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 itfirmly. "All right," he said, reaching down. "I'll stand him up if youlet me give him an upper-cut. I don't like these silent crooks. They'resnaky, Chief."
"No unnecessary violence, gentlemen," suggested Nichols as Loris laidher hand on his arm. "I'd like to have him alone for a few minutes--butoutside. Go easy. Perhaps he'll talk."
"It may be your life or this man's!" gritted Drew, stepping up to theprisoner after a sharp glance at Loris. "I pity him when Fosdick getshold of him. He'll talk then!"
The prisoner swayed with Delaney's fingers gripping his collar in avice-strong clutch. His white-pale face, his narrow-set eyes, hisfurtive glance to left and right like a cornered rat, brought Drew tomind of a man who was slowly breaking down. He lowered his brows andclutched the prisoner's elbow with strong fingers that pressed deepthrough the coat sleeve.
"Out with it!" he demanded harshly. "It's your last chance to save yourmiserable skin. You're not going to get any mercy from theCommissioner. You know what he'll do to you!"
The prisoner twisted loose from Drew's clutch. His eyes wavered as hestared at Loris for a long second, then dropped to the floor. Theyclosed in painful thought. Suddenly he blanched with passion.
"I've no use for you coppers!" he screamed shrillingly. "I hate thesight of you and your kind. Let me go! Let me go!"
"Fine chance," whispered Delaney, tightening his grip on the prisoner'scollar. "You got a fine chance, you murderin', thievin', second-storyman! I'd paste you if the lady wasn't here! Sure I would, right betweenthe eyes!"
"Easy," said Drew. "Leave him to me. He's thinking the thing over. Idon't mind telling him that the magpie beat him. That and thecarelessness of Morphy in calling up when he must have known that Frickwas in the front office of the prison. It's always the way, Bert. Hetravels the fastest, up or down, who travels alone. It's the lone starthat gives us the trouble. There's nobody to peach on him!"
The prisoner bit his upper lip. A slight sign of blood showed. Hetasted this with the tip of his tongue. His eyes narrowed incalculation. 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 beenasleep since the time you murdered this girl's father. I've had ten menon your trail since the beginning. I don't hold the first murder somuch against you as I do the projected one--which missed fire by ascant margin. You slayed a man with your devilish ingenuity, but you'renot going to put it over on his daughter. I've seen to that! I noticenobody has called up and said this was the Master talking. There's agood reason."
The prisoner fluttered his pale lashes and glanced at the telephone. Heclosed his eyes with a smile shadowing his lips.
"There's a good reason," repeated Drew. "You are not in some booth atForty-first Street to make the connection. Morphy is in the strongestcooler. He's booked for twenty years. After that he'll get more. Hecan't help you!"
"Oh, you coppers," said the trouble-man. "Just give me five minutes andI'd show you. I don't hold anything against the girl. I never saw herbefore."
"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. Ican't let it occur in my house!"
"Miss Stockbridge," said Drew with soft rebuke. "Miss Stockbridge, I'vebeen in the detective business for twenty years. I never saw in thattime a more dangerous man. He is the super-type who usually fallsthrough the errors of other men. This fellow has brains. He's an expertin telephony and in wireless. There are a number of patents in thepatent office under his name."
"Then he may be innocent, Mr. Drew."
"He's as guilty as the Kaiser!" exclaimed Delaney, twisting theprisoner around. "Look at him. He's been trying to murder the finestlittle lady in the country. She never harmed anybody. She's devotingmost of her time to Red Cross work and the--Army," added the bigoperative 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 wantsnothing used against him in the trial. He'll have the evidence of usfour to show that he didn't say anything. I never saw an innocent manwho wouldn't talk!"
"We're getting nowhere," objected Drew, taking command of thesituation. "Take him out, Delaney, and turn him over to the CentralOffice bunch. They'll take him down to Fosdick!"
The prisoner lifted his manacled hands. He dropped them after a slowglance at Drew's square jaw.
"Come on!" said Delaney with a jerk backward.
"Wait!"
Drew and Nichols leaned forward. "Well?" asked the detective, as theprisoner 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 ofthis world. He's buried alive and the key has been thrown away."
"The jig is up, then," said the trouble-man, turning toward thetelephone. "Let me telephone," he said in a whisper. "I want to useit," he repeated faintly. "I'll show you how that--that Stockbridgedied."