CHAPTER EIGHT
"TANGLED WIRES"
It was five minutes before nine when Delaney reached the ornateentrance to the skyscraper wherein were the offices of Drew's Agency.
He wandered into the express elevator, yawned a "eighteen, out" signalto the elevator pilot and stepped from the cage with the general air ofa man who had spent a hard night without getting anywhere inparticular.
Stopping in the operatives' room for a few minutes, he picked up scrapsof news concerning the case at Stockbridge's. There was a report,moreover, that an extra was expected by ten o'clock. The air ofdesertion about the suite told Delaney plainer than words that most ofthe operatives were upon the case. The entire corps, with fewexceptions, had been working hard while he slept. The telephone-girland the assistant-manager, Harrigan, wound up each of his questions bya nod or a jerk of the thumb toward the inner office where Drew wassitting like a spider in a web which was being spun about the case athand.
Delaney yawned, braced himself with a drink of ice water drawn from aninverted-bottle, and stepped toward Drew's door. He knocked with tiredknuckles. He pressed forward as he heard a hearty: "Come in!"
The operative eyed his Chief with sovereign amazement. Drew looked asfresh as a daisy. There was a pink tinge upon his olive cheeks. Thesecheeks had been close shaven. Oil glistened from the detective's blackhair. His mustache was trimmed and level with his upper lip. His eyes,as he swung and fastened a clear glance upon Delaney, were almost toobright. They were like the hectic fires of an inner furnace.
Delaney searched about the room. He lifted one foot and then the otherwith a tired motion. He leaned against a filing-case like a heavy drayhorse which had come to a final stop. He yawned behind his big, redhand.
"How d'ye do it, Chief?" he asked with a second yawn. "I'm dead on myfeet. All the sleep I got was about thirty minutes. I haven't woke upyet. I met myself going to work this morning."
Drew laughed quickly and motioned toward a leather chair. "Sit down!"he suggested. "Sit right down, Delaney. Take it easy for a few minutes.You seem tired."
"It beats me how you can do it!" declared the operative, sprawlingacross the chair and crossing his weary legs.
"One or two hours' sleep is never any good. Better keep awake. Youremind me of the last rose of Sharon!"
"I feel like a house-man in an all-night poker game. What's the use!I'm going over to some bank and get a job as a night watchman, if thiskeeps up. I can sleep my head off, there."
Drew swung in his chair and eyed the papers on his desk. He swiveled asDelaney inquired:
"What's the news in the Stockbridge case? I've been asking Marie andHarrigan. They don't seem to know anything except that everybody isout--already." Delaney extended his huge mouth to a cavernous yawn. Hefished up his great, silver watch. "What's the news, Chief? Anyassignments for me?"
"News? There's very little news, Delaney. No good news, yet! I've beenbusy as a Chinaman on a contract, though. I can't let that matter getcold. It's now or never in this case!"
"What does our friend Fosdick say?"
"He's all at sea! I've talked with him twice." Drew glanced at the'phone. "He says the murder was a second Rue Morgue. He can't see anylight at all!"
"He's come around to our deduction?"
"There's no deduction in it!"
"He says it's murder?"
"Cold, curdling, cunning, crafty murder, Delaney. The coroner said itwould have been impossible for a man to shoot himself in the mannerStockbridge was shot. They're right--both of them--and we're right.I'll stake my badge on it! Particularly in view of the two threats.Why, I was there when he was called up and given twelve hours on thisearth."
Delaney glanced out the window. "Snowing again," he said, "I wonder ifthere are any footprints in that back yard or alley. Wouldn't that be aclue, Chief?"
"To what?"
"Well, you told me that the trouble-man said a tall lad climbed thefence near the junction-box and beat it for Fifth Avenue. Maybe thatlad left footprints behind."
"They're snowed over now!"
"But if he made them, couldn't we find them underneath?"
Drew's eyes narrowed. He leaned in his chair with a searching glance atDelaney. "How long did you sleep?" he asked sharply.
"About thirty minutes, Chief. Mary and the kids woke me up and Icouldn't get settled again. I did some thinking."
"You must 'ave! That idea about the footprints is a mighty good one.There was first a thaw, then a freeze, then a snow fall which preservedeverything. If we wait till spring there might be a set of printsunderneath the other sets. Two of our operatives were there. Thetrouble-man was there. He scraped the connections. If we find a fourthset of prints, that's our man!"
"The tall lad?"
"Yes, Delaney. We can build a box about the fence and start a thaw ofour own. I'll think it over!"
"I'll go up and do it, Chief. I can make plaster-casts of all theprints. There's a French system I heard of once. I can find out fromFarot over at Headquarters."
"Keep it under cover for a while," decided Drew, sitting down anddrawing a sheath of papers to the edge of the desk. "Keep it quiet," headded. "I'll think it over."
Delaney rubbed his chin. He watched Drew rapidly thumb over the data."Say, Chief," he yawned. "I see another light."
"What?" shot Drew over his shoulder. "S--o? Wait a moment before yougive it to me--you reminded me of something. Where was the spot ofpowder on my face? The rubber in the Turkish bath said it was righthere." The detective turned and touched his forefinger below the lobeof his left ear. "Right there," he added.
"That's where it was, Chief. Just where you got your finger. It was onthe cord. Seems to me that it was circular in shape. Like a half-moon."
Drew raised his black brows in reflective thought. He opened a smalldrawer with a sudden dart of his arm. He poised a mirror so that thelight from the window brought out his left ear and neck. He dropped themirror to the desk. "Delaney," he said, "that's exactly the spot whereStockbridge was shot!"
The operative felt a cold chill dart up and down his tired spine. Hecame to life with an oath, and a slap of his huge palm upon his knee.
"Chief, you're right!" he exclaimed, leaning forward. "You're right!That spot of black was just where the old man was hit. Now, what d'yemake of that?"
Drew drummed his fingers on the edge of the polished desk. He tappedhis toes on the floor. He coughed and picked up the mirror for a secondand longer glance at his face and neck. He tossed the mirror to thedesk and swiveled slowly.
"What do I think of it?" he repeated, with flashing eyes. "I thinkthere are features to this case I don't like!"
"Could it have been an accident, Chief? You might of got a bit of sootfrom the gun and then scratched your neck. Maybe that Harry Nichols putone over on us. The gun might have been fired, reloaded, and we nevernoticed it. Looks bad for Nichols and the girl."
Drew closed his eyelids tightly. His brow furrowed in deep thought."No," he said finally. "I don't think the soot or powder came from thepearl-handled revolver. I don't think so! It would seem to me, Delaney,that intuition is stronger than evidence. That girl and that boy rangtrue. That valet is above suspicion. The servants are to be trusted.Stockbridge trusted them and he was noted for his shrewdness in pickingmen. The only mistake he ever made was Morphy. That individual was outto do the old man. He was a biter, bitten! I think we'll eliminate, forthe time, Loris, Harry, the servants and German influences in thematter at hand. What was your idea?" Drew rubbed his neck beneath hisear, as he turned to his papers.
"I've forgotten it, Chief. That spot drove it all out. No, wait--say!I've been thinking--this morning laying there and listening to the kidsgetting ready for school--that the powder we smelled in the librarywasn't ordinary powder. I know a firecracker, or a regular Chinesesmell when I get near one. That wasn't the kind I got. It was likesomething else. It was powder--all right--but----"
Drew lifted a sheet of paper. "I covered that," he sai
d. "Analysis madeby Higgens, this morning, shows traces of smokeless-powder inStockbridge's hair and about the bullet hole. There's a difference.Now, I'm going further than that. I'm going to have those scrapings Igot from my neck looked at. If they are the same as the powder that wasused to slay Stockbridge, we are getting on."
"There's lots of smokeless, Chief."
"That's the trouble--that's what we are right up against. Let's leavethe footprints and the powder for a few minutes. Both are important.They'll wait. See here!"
Drew raised a sheath of papers from his desk, turned with the chair,and started thumbing over the data he had accumulated.
"See here," he repeated absently. "First branch of the tree of Truth inthis case is a stubborn one. It requires considerable work on our partto get to the end of it. I've sent out six operatives to scout thetelephone calls and get me some light on them. I've kept some notes onwhat they have 'phoned in to me. The telephone company, the wire-chiefat Gramercy Hill, and an official I know, have been enlisted in gettingto the bottom of these calls. They have made progress. But, Delaney, ofall the devilish inventions of man, a telephone is the most subtle.It's a wonder to me we have found anything. It's the crook's one besttool. With it he can play safe, and we can't catch him!"
"What have you found, Chief?"
Drew held up a paper. "The first call, Delaney," he said, "was the oneto the cemetery company's superintendent, notifying him to excavate agrave in the Stockbridges' family plot. Subtle suggestion, that, in thelight of what followed."
"It was," said Delaney.
"This call has received all of the attention it deserved. It's thefirst of the series, and was perhaps made before the crook had time tocover himself completely. It has been traced to a slot booth in thePennsylvania Railroad Station in the Woman's Waiting Room."
"Woman's?"
"Yes, Delaney. That is no criterion that a woman did the calling-up.The girl there in charge of the pay-booths states that more men thanwomen use the 'phones in that part of the station."
"Just our luck!"
"The toll collected on this call must have been thirty-five cents,including the war-tax. The superintendent says that the voice over thewire was thin and tired. He says he thought it was Dr. Conroy. He nevergave the matter second consideration. Conroy, however, has a voice likea bull. We checked that up."
"Does the superintendent know Conroy?"
"No! Except by name!"
"Then, Chief, I don't see any use trying that lead. It begins and endsin air."
"It most certainly does! We'll cross it out. The next call for ourinvestigation----"
"Which was?" asked Delaney, waking up.
"Which was the one notifying Stockbridge that he had about reached hisspan of life on this earth. I was there in that library when the callcame in. Again, from the millionaire's description, this time, we havethe thin, whispering voice on the wire. The man was probably the same.He mentioned the cemetery letter which would establish that fact."
"I'm following you, Chief. Go on!"
Drew picked out a second sheet of paper from his pile. "We went afterthis call at the time, or soon after the time it was sent in," he said,tapping the sheet with his fingers. "I called the office here and hadHarrigan get in touch with George Westlake, third vice-president of thetelephone company. Westlake got busy."
Delaney eyed his unpolished shoes with a sage wink.
"Westlake turned things over," continued the detective. "He made a mostthorough investigation. We have his word that there is no record ofthis call! The wire-chief at Gramercy Hill Exchange declares that itnever went through the switchboard. That the connection had been madeon the outside."
"From the air?"
"Looks that way. They tried everything and questioned everybody. No onetalked with Stockbridge through the switchboard at Gramercy Hill, at ornear that hour. Therefore, we must conclude, that, insomuch as I knowsomebody _did_ talk with him at that hour, the connection was made,either in the junction-box in the alley or behind the switchboard atGramercy Hill Exchange."
"How about underground, Chief?"
"Impossible! That is--almost impossible. The cables are in conduit andsheathed with lead. It would be a poor place to tap in on a line. I'mgoing to presume that the man who tapped in knew his business. Thejunction-box in the alley is under suspicion. I think it was donethere, in this manner." Drew paused and picked up a third sheet ofhurriedly-written notes.
"A junction-box," he said, "is merely a small switchboard where theconduit ends and the house connections begin. It would have been easyfor an expert to disconnect the two leads which led into Stockbridge'slibrary, ring up with a low tension magneto, and then cut in with atesting set and a battery current and do the talking. That is what thetrouble-man told us might have been done. He found no signs oftampering. He saw a tall man escaping down the alley. It would seem,Delaney, that this tall man is the one we're after. Perhaps, as yousaid, he left footprints. But footprints, like fingerprints, are notmuch use until you get the man who made them."
"What d'ye deduct in this second call--Chief?"
"That we've run squarely up against a blind wall. We'll drop it for atime and go to the third call."
"When was that?"
"Stockbridge was murdered at four minutes and eighteen seconds pasttwelve, by his own watch, Delaney. It was a very good watch! Nowallowing for a movement of the hands on account of the fall, how are weto account for a telephone call sent into Gramercy Hill 9763--thelibrary 'phone--at exactly five minutes past twelve from aslot-telephone booth at the east end of the Grand Central RailroadStation on Forty-second Street?"
"How did you get that, Chief?"
Drew chuckled and wheeled in his chair. "I got it," he said, "by simplearithmetic plus the vice-president's pull. Here's how it was found,Delaney. Easy as two and two. You remember the howler?"
"I'll never forget it, Chief! Not as long as I live!"
"The howler established considerable in this case. The chief operatorremembers putting it on. She remembers the time. She looked back, afterbeing jogged by George Westlake, and found that some one had called upStockbridge a few minutes after twelve. It was probably this call tothe old man that caused him to be near enough to the telephone to knockit over when he was shot. The operator did not hear the shot, but sheremembers a thin, piping voice asking for Gramercy Hill 9763."
"The same guy, every time!" declared the operative, mopping his browwith his sleeve. "I'd like to have that fellow for five minutes,Chief!"
"We'll get him! We've got the time established twice. Stockbridge'swatch fixes the murder at twelve-four-eighteen. The telephone call atfive minutes past twelve, and the howler put on soon afterward, checksup. The old man was alive during the telephone call from the GrandCentral, and dead when the howler was put on for the first time. Do yousee that?"
Delaney frowned. "I see it and I don't," he said. "I'm all balled up,Chief. What with the magpie and the howler and a man shot in a lockedroom and the spot of soot on your neck--I'm all twisted into a knot. Ithink I'll go out and get a drink!"
"No, Delaney, don't," said Drew. "You'll need your head in this case.We're squarely up against class of the highest order. Since SheeneyMike and the gas-tube over the transom in Chinatown, I don't know of amore baffling set of clews. All these calls--which seem so important inthe case--lead to a whispering voice of low pitch and timber. Perhapsthe police records will show such a man who is at large--very much atlarge."
Delaney furrowed his brows and screwed his face into a painful knot."I'm trying to go back, Chief, to the Morphy case and them crookedwitnesses he had. They all had loud voices--like wolves!"
"Yes--I remember them. But then, Delaney, a man can change his voice.That whole pack will bear watching."
"You've eliminated some things that were worrying, Chief. But there'ssome I don't see yet. It's impossible for a man to get shot like thatold millionaire was. We went over that room and that house. We friskedgood and plenty. There was nothing
suspicious. The walls were thick.The floor was hardwood. The ceiling was some kind of patent plaster,that's like stone. I got two looks at the door, and you tried thewindows. Now what's the answer, chief? I'll say you are never going toclear this case up. I don't think you can. It's going to be one of themunsolved mysteries. If you do figure something out it ain't going to beproved to my satisfaction. The thing couldn't be done the way it wasdone!"
"That's definite," smiled Drew, tapping the desk with the tips of hiswell-polished finger nails. "You're talking in a circle. I'll solve thecase, or I won't sleep!"
"It's impossible!"
Drew sorted his papers and bent over them. He turned the swivel chairby a pressure of his knee. His eyes narrowed as he studied Delaney'slugubrious face which was sadly in need of a shave.
"Impossible," he repeated softly. "There's no such word, Delaney. It'sa fool's excuse. Now I don't want you to be a fool. Don't make themistake of allowing a seeming impossibility to dull your efforts.There's always a way around everything which looks high and impassable.They used to go round the Horn. Now they cut through the Isthmus. Theyused to think men were supernatural. Now they know that nothing workswithout a law. I admit that I don't know how Stockbridge came to hisend. I don't want to dwell upon it, either. But this we do know, bythese papers, that he was well-hated, threatened and marked for deathby an individual or clique of individuals. That is all we know, and allwe ever need to know, in order to proceed on the basis that a materialagency struck out his life with a material substance--such as leadpropelled by smokeless powder."
"Whew!" exclaimed Delaney, rising.
"As for the library wherein he was slain," continued Drew. "As for it,we must revert to simple geometry. Matter occupies space. A materialact was committed by a material body which got past all our precautionsand struck the magnate down. What is there in this world, which is atone and the same time, material and yet capable of penetrating througha door or wall without a trace? Give me that answer, and we'll getresults. What is it?"
"Damned if I know! I'm all balled up! You talk like a collegeprofessor. You mean something that is and something that isn't. Goodmorning!"
Delaney reached for the door knob with a gesture of disdain. Drewwheeled and stared at him. "Wait a minute," he said softly.
The operative turned and dropped his hands to his side.
"You remember the magpie?" asked Drew.
Delaney nodded.
"Well, sit down and wait. It'll be here within five minutes. The valet'phoned he was bringing it in a taxi. That was just before you came in."
"Taxi!" snorted the big operative, stretching himself on the leatherchair. "Them valets have got it soft. Last night was the first rideI've had in one for months, and----"
Delaney's voice trailed to an end. He turned in the chair and sawHarrigan's red face and auburn hair come slowly through the aperturemade by opening the door.
"Well?" snapped Drew.
"There's a funny lookin' guy out here, chief," said theassistant-manager. "He wants to see you in person. He's gotknee-britches and a bunch of brass-buttons on his monkey-jacket. Sayshe's a valet."
"Has he got anything with him?" asked Drew.
"He has, Chief! He's got a gilded cage with the damnedest looking birdin it I ever saw. It ain't a parrot and it ain't a crow. It's ablue-jay or something like that!"
"Show him in!" Drew said. "Show him in. You can wait, Delaney!"