CHAPTER FIFTEEN
"THE VOICE ON THE WIRE"
The prisoner lifted his manacled hands and held them toward Drew. "Letme loose," he said, "and I'll explain everything that I've done! I wantit off my mind. I won't sleep until you people are satisfied. I knowyou--you copper! I know Fosdick--the third degree artist."
Drew frowned as he glanced at the cuffs. He scratched his dark hair andcombed his fingers back toward his ears. He turned and glanced at Lorisand Nichols in the opening between the two splendid rooms.
"I don't like to take a chance with this fellow," he admitted. "Do youwant me to, Miss Stockbridge? It's your life he was after, and he maybe shamming now. You never can trust an opium addict. They have nosoul."
"I've as much as a copper's!"
"Shut up, you!" boomed Delaney, threateningly. "Shut up! There's a ladyin this room!"
The prisoner clicked his cuffs together. He stared at the cheval glassand the telephone. "A lady?" he repeated through the corner of hislips. "A limb of the Stockbridge tree," he said bitterly. "I holdnothing against her. I told you that before. But we promised the oldman we'll take care of her after we killed him, and she came neargoing--let me tell you that. I could have killed her with twentywords."
"He's rambling," said Delaney, reaching for the prisoner. "The dope hasgone to his head. I don't believe there's any----"
"Easy, Delaney," warned Drew thoroughly on the alert. "Don't make themistake of underestimating this fellow. He acts like a man who hasrepented--who wants to right some of the wrong he has done. I don'tthink we are taking chances in letting this fellow loose. He isunarmed. I tended to that. If he wants to 'phone--let's let him."
"Your case, Chief!"
Drew reached in his pocket and brought around a police regulationrevolver. "I'll have this right here!" he snapped as he slowly raisedit. "You, Delaney, unlock one cuff and pass it to me. I'll wrap thechain around my left wrist. If this fellow tries anything I'll tend tohis case--forever. These .44's are made for stopping purposes, eh, Mr.Nichols?"
"They certainly are, Mr. Drew. I think we can handle that little manwithout trouble. What does he want to telephone for?"
"What for, Bert?" asked Drew, swinging and confronting the prisoner."Do you want to say good-by to somebody?"
"Good-by is right," whispered the trouble-man, extending his handstoward Delaney, who fished out a small key. "Yes, it's good-by tosomebody. Unlock them!"
"Hold on!" exclaimed Drew. "I don't like that tone. You'll have to actbetter than that, Bert. What do you want to get loose for? What numberdo you want? I'll call up."
"No, I got to do it. I want one hand free--that's all."
Loris stepped to Drew's side. "Can there be anything about the room,"she asked, "that he wants to use? Perhaps he'll pick something up anduse it too quickly for you to stop him."
"I don't think so," said Drew grimly. "This gun, Miss Stockbridge,happens to have a hair trigger. We'll chance it--with your permission."
"I'm not afraid for myself--but don't you think the poor fellow shouldbe prevented from harming himself. He acts just like a man who wantedto do something terrible. He seems to have given up hope."
"A woman's intuition," mused Drew. "Perhaps a close one," he saidaloud. "You get back into the other room, Miss Stockbridge. Let Mr.Nichols stand in front of you for protection. I'm going to grant thisfellow's request. Delaney, unlock the left cuff!"
The key rattled in the tiny key-hole as Drew poised his revolver anddrew a sight between the prisoner's fluttering eyelids. "Stand rightthere," whispered the detective tersely. "Right there," he added,reaching with his left hand and taking the cuff and chain from theoperative. "Now, Bert, you're half free. What do you want with thetelephone?"
The prisoner pinched his wrist and worked his hand like a hinge. Awhite mark, which slowly changed to red, showed where Delaney hadclamped the handcuff down to its last notch. The trouble-man eyed thismark. His lips hardened. He strained on the chain as he lifted hisfingers to his brow with a tired gesture.
"Hurry!" said Drew. "Hurry, Bert, or we'll cuff you up again. Do youwant to telephone?"
"Y--e--s!" The voice was tremulous and dry. "Yes! I'll use it. I'llshow you how that pirate--Stockbridge--was killed. The yellowsquealer!"
Loris raised her chin proudly. She leaned against Nichols in thedoorway. "I won't stand for that!" declared the soldier. "You are beinginsulted in your own house!"
"Wait, Harry! Something is going to happen! I know it is!"
"You're right, lady," whispered the prisoner. "It's going to happento--well, I don't care. I'm done. The jig is up!"
Cuthbert Morphy shrugged his shoulders and turned toward Drew. Hestared at the menacing revolver with a cryptic smile. "Get your mandownstairs," he said, in hollow tones. "Get him to go in the libraryand call up this number. Tell Central to connect the two 'phones inthis house. Shout into the library transmitter when the connection ismade."
Drew frowned. "What's all that for?" he asked.
"Do as I say."
"I don't know about that. I give orders here. What do you want thatdone for? I thought you wanted a number on the 'phone. I thought youwould get somebody on the wire who would explain everything."
"Everything will be explained, Inspector. Everything! I told you thejig was up with me. I mean it, too. There's nothing left but thetruth."
Drew wound the handcuff chain tighter about his left wrist. He bracedhis feet and turned to Delaney. "Go downstairs," he said, "and call upthis number. Do what this fellow says. The number is Gramercy Hill9764."
Loris and Nichols lifted their brows as they turned toward each other."I'm afraid," said the girl. "Something is not right, Harry."
"It's the only way we'll ever find out what this man means. If theytake him away without letting him talk over the 'phone we'll neverknow. Leave things to Mr. Drew. He's armed! I'm armed! There's nodanger!"
"Get downstairs to the library!" Drew ordered. "Do what this man wants.Shout into the transmitter. Go now!"
Delaney lunged through the tapestries and unlocked the door to thehall. He paused there in thought. He turned and glanced back.
"Hurry!" exclaimed Drew. "Hurry now!"
The big operative cursed audibly as he descended the two flights ofcarpeted steps. He nodded to the Central Office man at the librarydoor. He passed inside, rounded the table and stood by the 'phone. Hepicked up the receiver. His eyes wandered along the floor as he waited.A dark spot showed on the hardwood. It was where the millionaire'sblood had gushed forth from the bullet hole in the base of his brain.
"Gramercy Hill 9-7-6-4!" said Delaney with a bull's voice.
"B-r-r-r-r-! B-r-r-r-r-! B-r-r-r-r-r!" sounded from the ringing-box ofthe silver plated telephone in the sitting-room of Loris Stockbridge'ssuite.
The prisoner pulled at the chain as he leaned toward the telephone."It's ringing," he said in a thin whisper. "Let me--let me listen in."
Drew studied the entire situation before he granted permission. Lorisand Nichols were framed between the silken portieres. The captain heldhis army regulation revolver at his hip. Loris leaned forward with herdark eyes smoldering and intent. The blood had left her cheeks. Theywere white and tersely set. She seemed older to Drew. He smiledreassuringly, dropped his gun to his hip, pressed it against theprisoner and shoved him toward the 'phone as a "B-r-r-r-r-" soundedabove the lifting roar of Delaney's voice in the depths of the greatmansion.
The room became charged and surcharged with electricity. A cracklingsounded as Drew's feet glided inch by inch over the silk rug. The stormoutside whined and synchronized with the rise and fall of the greatvoice shouting "Hello! Hello! Hello! Hello, you!"
The trouble-man turned. His hand reached upward and lifted thehard-rubber receiver from the hook. His lids fluttered toward Loris.His eyes softened with memories. "I'm glad I didn't do it!" he hissedacross the room. "Good-by, lady--good-by!"
"Be careful!" snapped Drew, pressing the revolver firmly against theprisone
r's right side. "Be careful! This is a hair trigger!"
The trouble-man smiled a twisted, wan smile as he turned his headtoward the transmitter and said huskily:
"Hello! Hello! You big copper! Shout on! See how loud you can curse me!That's it. That--is--it!"
Drew heard Delaney's voice rise in indignation. The taunt had spurnedhim to greater effort. The metallic diaphragm of the receiver roaredand clicked. It echoed the voice. It stopped. It vibrated again. Itreached a reed-like tune of high-pitched anger. The prisoner closed hiseyes and stiffened. He pressed the receiver directly over his ear. Hedrew back on the chain and to one side. Drew's face darkened withsuspicion. It was too late. The detective had time to spring away as acone of lurid light and flame shot out from the telephone diaphragm andsplashed across the prisoner's set face. A sharp detonation racked theperfumed air of the room. Smoke wreathed about the astonishedInspector's head, and floated upward toward the ventilator.
Cuthbert Morphy's muscles relaxed. He spun, sank to his knees, thenpitched forward across the rug with a bullet in his brain. Drewuntwisted the chain with a wrist flip, sprang forward toward thecheval-glass, and stamped his foot down upon the smoking telephonereceiver as if it were the head of a rattlesnake.
He turned with clear light striking out from his eyes. He nodded towardthe leaning form of the girl and the erect one of the captain. Hedivined in seconds how the murder of Montgomery Stockbridge had beenaccomplished. The full series of events and clues flashed through hisbrain. It was like an orderly array seen at a picture show.
Cuthbert Morphy, guised as a trouble-hunter in the employ of thetelephone company, had devised a single-shot pistol out of a telephonereceiver and had caused it to be actuated by the human voice so that itwould always strike in the most vulnerable part of man's anatomy--theear.
With this lethal instrument he had slain the millionaire, and, whentrapped and in danger of execution, he had employed the same method tobring about his own death. It was a fitting end to a life of crime anddrug-brought imageries.
Delaney, with drawn gun and wild of eyes, burst through the tapestriesand brought up with a dizzy lurch before the body of Cuthbert Morphy.He stammered and glared downward. He swung his heavy chin and stared atLoris and Nichols in the gloom of the further curtains. He clapped Drewon the shoulder with a heavy hand.
"Had to shoot him, eh, Chief? What'd he try? What--you got your foot on?"
"An electric pistol," said Drew, with a grim smile distending hisolive-hued lips. "An infernal machine, Delaney. I hope it isn't arepeater. Cut that wire! Both wires! Get your knife out and cut throughthem, quick! I won't take any chances."
The big operative pocketed his revolver with a back swing of his righthand, brought it forward empty and ran it down his trouser pocket. Hebrought out a buck-horn jack-knife, pried it open, stooped and slashedthrough the two silk cords holding the receiver to the bottom of thetransmitter which had fallen from the bracket.
Loris swayed with supple limbs. She raised her hands and pressed herunjeweled fingers against her face. She sobbed once, then turned andthrew herself upon Nichols' drab shoulder. "Harry," she cried. "Oh,Harry--what happened? I didn't see what happened!"
The captain glided an arm about her waist and half-carried, half-ledher to a couch in the reading-room. "Rest here a minute," he said,leaning down. "Be cool and as brave as you can. The trouble-man won'ttrouble you any longer. He took his own medicine!"
Nichols returned to the sitting room in time to hear Drew exclaim,after Delaney had reached down and lifted the receiver, "The case isclosed! This closes it with a bang! Give me that electric pistol,Delaney!"
The operative handed it over. "Get a big rug," ordered Drew with suddenthought. "Cover that fellow over till we call the Central Office menand the coroner. I want to examine this receiver."
"Right here on this little table would be a good place," suggestedNichols, lifting off a handful of ivory ornaments and depositing themon top of a glass case. "I'll spread a paper here. I'd like to seewhat's inside that thing myself."
"Do you know anything about electricity or telephony?" asked Drew, ashe turned the hard-rubber receiver in his hand and stared at thelistening end.
"Very little, Inspector. But fire-arms are in my line and that seems tobe one."
The detective nodded. "It's one, all right," he said, holding it outwith a steady hand. "Looks harmless, don't it? Two binding-posts on oneend. A rubber cap on the other. Notice that diaphragm."
Nichols took the receiver and squinted at the rubber cap. "By George!"he said. "This is odd. There's a tiny hole drilled or punched in thecenter. It's about the same size as the bore of a twenty-two caliberrevolver."
"Look at your hands!" said Drew. "What the devil," he added withdawning conviction. "Say, Delaney, do you remember that spot of blackunder my left ear. The one you noticed after we left yesterday morning?The----"
"Sure, Chief. That's where you got the smut--from that receiver!"
"I got it when I picked up the telephone in the library downstairs andtried to get Central. Do you remember how long she took? This is thesame receiver in all probability. The trouble-hunter removed it fromthe library connections, loaded it, and brought it up here. It lookslike any ordinary receiver. The telephone company have some withbinding posts and some without. This is an earlier model."
"The spot of black was from the first discharge when Stockbridge waskilled!" exclaimed Delaney.
Drew ran his fingers around the inner rim of the rubber cap. He heldthem up. "See!" he exclaimed. "No wonder my neck was marked. Thatsettles that mystery, Delaney. If we had any brains at all we wouldhave connected the soot and the telephone. If we had done that we'dhave solved the case early this morning, or yesterday morning. It'safter one, now!"
"This hole," said Nichols, "was the only thing in the whole dastardlyscheme that could have been seen. It's the size of the end of a leadpencil. Funny you didn't notice it?"
"I looked everywhere but there," admitted Drew. "The receiver hangswith the diaphragm end down. That's the reason I didn't see it.Well--there's always a reason," he added. "Now, Delaney, fetch me thattrouble-hunter's satchel. We'll see what this pistol is made of and howit is made. I venture to say that it is simple."
Delaney awoke from his stupor and lifted a rug which he tossed over thebody of Cuthbert Morphy. He wiped his hands with a finite motion. Hewheeled and slouched lankily across the polished floor. He returnedwith the lineman's kit.
"Pliers," said Drew, as the big operative removed the straps andreached his hand inside. "I saw a pair there when we had it openbefore," the detective added, unscrewing the rubber cap of the receiverand lifting the thin metal diaphragm from the face of two tiny magnetswhich were wound with fine silk wire.
"Regulation magnets," whispered Nichols, leaning over the detective'sshoulder. "They're regulation except there's a hole drilled downbetween them. There must be a barrel all the way through the receiver."
"We'll see. Got those pliers, Delaney?"
The operative passed up a pair. "Ah," chuckled the detective,unscrewing the binding-posts and lifting off a hard rubber cap. "Ah,see here!"
Delaney rose and peered over the captain's shoulder straps. The two menwatched Drew's nimble fingers trace out the mechanism of the electricpistol.
"It's simple!" declared the detective. "It's very simple and ingeniousin construction. It's a crowning wonder to me that some one hasn't usedthis sort of device to carry out a wholesale slaughtering. Suppose theynever thought of it."
Drew glanced at the silent mound under the Persian rug. "The wrongroad," he whispered tersely. "He took the wrong road. He was amechanical and electrical genius. He was a patent expert."
Delaney worked his brows up and down. "Shall I call Miss Stockbridge?"he asked.
"I'll do it," Nichols said, turning and hurrying through the portieres.He returned with Loris leaning upon his arm. Her eyes were glazed andtear-laden. She held a tiny, limp lace handkerchief between hertrembling fingers.
"There's no danger," said Drew. "Come here, Miss Stockbridge," headded. "I want to show you what was all ready for you."
The detective raised the hard-rubber receiver. "Here we have thediaphragm," he said, pointing. "It's a round plate of soft iron. It'ssecured to the rubber by an insulated ring. It is the part you press upto your ear when you listen at a telephone. There's a small holepunched in this one. The same sized hole extends down through thecenter core, or magnet. This hole isn't rifled. It couldn't well berifled save with special machinery. That's why the bullet found in Mr.Stockbridge's brain was without longitudinal scorings. It was firedfrom a smooth-bored pistol."
"That's what you thought!" blurted Delaney with loyalty.
"I was at sea," said Drew. "Now," he continued, "we have a livecartridge at the opposite end of this core from the diaphragm. See it?"Loris leaned over the little table.
"Right here!" The detective pointed. "That is a twenty-two cartridgewith a cupronickel bullet. See the cap? See how it is held from comingback by those tiny screws about the rim?"
Loris nodded and gathered up her straying hair.
"Now," continued Drew. "Now, this cartridge was exploded by the actionof the human voice. Here's a tiny spiral of very slender platinum wire.It must be number forty, at least. That's very fine! This spiral is inseries with the winding about the magnets. The same current pulsated bythe human voice which actuates the receiver diaphragm, also passedthrough this spiral. Now," Drew paused. "Now," he added with risingvoice, "here is a tiny charred piece of match-head, I guess. It was setin the coil. It flared when the wire became hot. The heat wassufficient to ignite the cap. See it!"
"I see it!" exclaimed Nichols.
"The action is simple," continued Drew. "A pulsation of the currentwhich was formed by the action of the vibrating, transmitter diaphragm,also pulsated the fine wire before it went to the receiver magnets. Thelouder the voice into the transmitter the more current--measured infractions of amperes--passed through the spiral. It became sufficientlyhot to flare the piece of match-head or whatever Cuthbert placed there.This flare was communicated to the percussion cap, or fulminate ofmercury, at the base of the cartridge. This exploded the powder charge,which in turn projected the cupronickel bullet forward through the tubeor the bore of the receiver and out through the thin, metal diaphragm,and----"
"What's that?" asked the operative.
"Out through the hole in the diaphragm," continued Drew, "and rightinto your ear or my ear, Delaney!"
"Not into mine!" exclaimed the operative. "I'll never telephone as longas I live, Chief!"
"We'll all be careful," said Nichols, turning toward Loris.
Drew gathered together the different parts of the telephone receiver."Evidence against Morphy," he said dryly, as he dropped them into theside pocket of his coat. "They are our Exhibit A if he ever finishesthat twenty years in the cooler."
Loris reached out her hand. "You saved my life," she said. "You savedit, Mr. Drew."
"I blundered and blundered and blundered on this case," admitted thedetective frankly. "Now I'm going to request you to wait a few minutesbefore I call the coroner. Delaney has some questions. I feel sure hewants to ask me one or two."