CHAPTER NINE
"MEN AND MOTIVES"
The two detectives leaned back in their respective chairs and eyed eachother. Both swung and stared out of the window at the swirling snowwhich salted across the window in an unending curtain of white. Bothreturned to the locked stare so common to men who have worked togetherin danger and know each other's merits.
Delaney's eyes dropped first. He studied the rug beneath Drew'spolished shoes. He coughed behind his hand, and turned with a shrug ofhis shoulders. He fastened upon the closed door a glance of expectancywhich brought a smile to the chief's lips.
"Things are picking up," said Drew, with a short laugh. "Yourfriend--the bird--has arrived."
"My friend?" blurted the big operative. "It's no friend of mine! I'dwring its neck, gladly."
"It may be the key to the whole thing. Smarter men than the ones we arefighting have fallen through less. You remember Eddy, The Brute, wholeft his umbrella after him in the Homesdale Murder Mystery. Funny,wasn't it? Took three months to plan the murder and left his rain-stickbehind. His initials were on it."
"They can't get away----" started Delaney.
"Here's your bird!" announced Drew, as a knock sounded on the door."Move over and let that valet stand there. I want the light in his eyeswhen we're talking to him. Always get the light in the other fellow'seye. Sisst!"
The door opened to a crack--then wide. The valet came in with animportant strut. He turned and deposited a cage at Delaney's big feet.The operative moved back with a grunt of disgust. He eyed the cage andcontents with a homicidal expression. His eyes raised and fastened uponthe valet. He hooked his broad thumbs in the arm-holes of his vest andtook a deep breath.
"I hope you're satisfied," he said to Drew, who was smiling. "I hopethis black sparrow don't start anything. I'll finish it, sure."
"What's your name?" asked the chief, turning and consulting a paper.
"Otto Braun," said the valet. "Otto Braun, sir."
"Born in Cologne ... year, sixty-three ... worked as valet and majordomo for British families ... came to America with Mr. Stockbridge, andhave been with him since?"
"That's correct, sir," the valet said, with a start of amazement.
"Are you married?"
"Twice--sir."
"Wife living?"
"Both, sir. I'm paying a small alimony to both."
Delaney grunted. His foot went out toward the magpie which had finishedhopping about the perches of the cage, and was listening with headcocked sideways.
"You--you have charge of this bird?" asked Drew, turning fully aroundand facing the valet with heavy-lidded intentness.
"I'm its keeper, sir!"
Delaney coughed explosively. He leaned down to cover his confusion. Hejabbed a thumb at the bird.
"It's savage," he rumbled. "It pecked at me!"
"Easy," warned Drew, with a quick frown. "Easy, Delaney. I want to getto the facts of this case. We're wasting time."
"Go ahead, Chief."
"I've had you come down here," said Drew, turning to the valet, "inorder to find out about that magpie. You had charge of it when Mr.Stockbridge was alive?"
"Yes, sir. I fed it and kept it clean, for the--master." The valetsniffled slightly. Drew watched him with keen eyes.
"Did it repeat much of Mr. Stockbridge's conversation?" he asked.
"Repeat, sir?"
"What I'm trying to get at is, whether or not the bird was in the habitof repeating words that seemed to strike its fancy. Did it act like aparrot?"
"It's very much like a parrot, sir. Sometimes it was sulky and wouldn'tsay anything for days. Other times, sir, we had trouble keeping itquiet."
Drew turned in his chair and fingered a paper. "I looked up everythingI can find in my library here, in regard to magpies," he said. "Isthere any difference between an ordinary magpie and a Spanish one?" headded, turning.
"I don't think so, sir. They can all be taught to talk--the same as aparrot, sir."
"Then if this bird should repeat a word, or two words, over and overagain it would be plausible to assume that some one had used the wordor two words. I want to make myself clear," Drew added with engagingcandor. "What I'm getting at is important in view of the fact that thismagpie used two words after we broke down the door to the library andfound Mr. Stockbridge murdered."
Delaney leaned forward.
"The words this bird used were 'Ah Sing,' as near as we can arrive atthem. Did you ever hear it repeat that couplet?"
"I can't say that I have, sir."
The detective lifted his brows and stared at the cage. "Repeat that,"he said to Delaney. "Repeat what we heard in the library."
"Ah, Sing! Ah, Sing! Ah, Sing!" boomed the operative.
The magpie ruffled its feathers and darted about the cage like asparrow in a barrel. "Keep it up," said Drew.
"Ah, Sin! Ah, Sing! Ah, Singing!" roared Delaney.
"That'll do! You've frightened it. Let it alone for a while. We'll keepit here, Otto. I'll send it back in a few days. How's Miss Stockbridgebearing the strain, up at the house?"
"She hasn't left her room, sir. Mr. Nichols called. The Red Crosspeople called. There's been lots of callers, sir, but she hasn'tappeared, sir. It's early, though."
Drew glanced at his watch. "That's all," he said. "You may go."
The door closed softly as the valet bowed, replaced his hat and passedout without glancing back.
"A good servant," said Drew, rising and kneeling down beside the cage."Now, Delaney," he added tersely. "Now, old sleepy head, we have thekey to the case locked here. I don't doubt but that you unconsciouslystruck the right clew when you bawled your little hymn. You said, 'Ah,Singing.' Now couldn't that be Ossining?"
"By God, Chief, it could!"
"Or, more likely, Ah! Sing Sing!"
"Who said that?"
"The bird!"
"But who taught the bird?"
"Nobody taught it! It might have been the last thing said byStockbridge--just before he was shot."
"And the bird repeated it--to us?"
"Certainly! A parrot or a magpie is a living phonograph. They reproducea sound, at times, without any idea of knowing what they are saying.This bird may have been so frightened by the shot which was fired inthe library, that it recalled the words used by Stockbridge before theshot was fired. These words, in my opinion, tell us that themillionaire was 'phoning to some individual, probably thewhispering-voiced man. This individual and Ah, Sing! or Ah, Sing Sing!or Ah, Singing! or Ossining! are closely allied. Now who ofStockbridge's enemies does that fit?"
Drew rose to his feet and dusted his knees. "Is that clear?" he asked.
"Clear as mud, Chief! I don't get it yet!"
"You will," said the detective, dropping down in his chair and reachingfor his papers. "See these," he added, swiveling and darting a quickglance at the bird-cage. "These, Delaney, are a list of the old man'sknown enemies. I have compiled this list from the secretary'sstatements, my own newspaper reading, the facts we gained at Morphy'strial, and from what Stockbridge told me in the library before he wasslain." Drew counted the list with a steady finger. "There's seven," hesaid.
"Is that all! I thought there was more 'an that!"
"No! Seven is the number! He was well hated as you will see. First andforemost we have Mortimer Morphy, who is serving from ten to twentyyears in state prison, with other indictments hanging over hisiron-gray head. He's the captain of them all. He lacks soul, conscienceand heart. 'The Wolf of the Ticker' they used to call him. I had thewarden on the wire this morning. He's ready to aid justice to thelimit. He says that Morphy, or rather Convict 87313, I think they callthem inmates up there, is well and working. He's in charge of the booksin the front office."
"He'd never keep any books for me!" declared Delaney.
Drew nodded. "Me, either," he said. "I have heard too much about hispast to trust his future. Stockbridge always feared him."
"Does he fit what the black crow said?"
/> "He does, most certainly! Sing Sing and Morphy are linked together inevery way. Morphy must have been mentioned on the wire and Stockbridgeshouted, 'What, in Sing Sing?' or words to the same meaning."
"Go on," said Delaney, glancing at the magpie with round eyes.
"Then comes Vogel, who was at state's prison, but whom they transferredto the hospital at Glendale, where he is said to be dying oftuberculosis."
"I remember him. A little runt with a big nose. That might be thewhispering voice, Chief, if he's got T. B."
"Hardly! I also had Glendale on the 'phone, or Harrigan did. They sayVogel is right there and is going to stay there, if fifty guards willkeep him."
"Next, Chief?"
"The next is Vogel's partner, Ross. You remember him? A good-natured,fat fellow with a bald head. He was always smiling. He's making littlerocks out of big ones in a convict camp near Lake George. He was atSing Sing, or Ossining, for a time. Most of the New York prisoners aretaken there first. It's a sort of clearing house for the other prisonsof the state."
"Would he fit in with what this bird said, Chief?"
"He might!"
"Go on, I'm getting interested."
"Then," said Drew, "we have the two brokers who handled Morphy's BlueSky, preferred; Flying Boat, and other swindles. They are at SingSing."
"What's their names, Chief? I've forgotten."
"Greene and Goldberg! One confessed and one turned state's evidence.They got off with from two to four years. A nice bunch of squealers!"
"They'll be out pretty soon, Chief!"
"Yes--but they're harmless. I don't think they had anything to do withthe murder of Stockbridge. The other fellow might."
"Who's that, Chief?"
"Finklestein--the banker. The one who went before the Grand Jury andclaimed exemption. He's somewhere on the outside. I think Flynn iscovering him. I sent him over to Jersey, where Finklestein has a placenear Morristown. We'll hear of him later."
Delaney shifted his big feet and started counting on his fingers. Hewidened his eyes. "There's one more," he said, as Drew leaned back.
"Yes, there's one more. I kept him for the last. He's out of sight,reach and hearing. You know who I mean?"
"That guy who invented wireless boat, or flying boat, or themmovie-picture things in seventeen colors. I know who you mean. He beatit, slick as any porch-climber. What's his name, Chief?"
"Morphy's brother, Cuthbert Morphy! He's an electrical-engineer and theinventor of all their shady promotions. He's the real brains of themob. You never saw him?"
"No--did you?"
"Can't say that I have!" declared Drew with a snap. "I call him one ofmy failures. I've made enough. Remember how Flood and Cassady searchedfor him after the others were arrested? He's cost us thousands ofdollars--without result. I charged it to Stockbridge."
"Which way did he go, Chief?"
"He beat it for Argentine. From there he went across South America toAntofagasta. From there he disappeared like a rocket in No Man's Land.No trace was found. For all we know, he might be right here in littleold New York--the best hiding place in the known world. I hate to thinkof the places a man could plant in this town!"
"Sure! But they always come around the old corner. Remember Dutch Gus,the boxman. Five years, Chief, in every town on the map, and then hewas picked up at Forty-second Street and Broadway. Maybe your friend,Cutbert, will show up some day?"
"Cuthbert!" corrected Drew. "He's no friend of mine, Delaney. Thetrouble is, we haven't got a single photograph of him. That shows hewas figuring on crime all his life. A man who don't get his picturetaken, is generally a man to watch."
"He's slick, Chief. What does he look like?"
Drew pressed a buzzer-button. "Look like?" he said, turning toward thedoor. "Oh, he is a little fellow, quick-tempered and probably handywith a gat. He's dangerous. I think Cuthbert Morphy is a good lead ifwe can find him."
"I never did like that first name!" Delaney blurted as Harrigan openedthe door to a crack.
"What have you found out about Harry Nichols?" asked Drew, as theassistant-manager stepped in softly.
"Got Plattsburg, Chief," said Harrigan briefly. "Harry is O. K. upthere. Captain's commission. Three months intensive training. Going toFrance soon. On fourteen-days' furlough in New York. Was floor managerfor Harris, Post and Browning. Quit good job to go in the Army. Harris,of the brokerage firm, says Harry can come back and hang up his hat anytime. That's about all!"
"Umph!" said Drew. "That's fine, in a way. He couldn't have a betterrecord. Now we'll lay him aside. What did Frick learn at Ossining?"
"Frick 'phoned once. I was going to connect you with him but thatfellow with the bird-cage came in. Frick says the warden is O. K. andwill lend every aid. He saw Morphy in the Auditor's Department. Looksworried, he says. Getting old! The visitor's list shows that he's hadan average of three visits a month. No sign of his brother. There's afellow calls, though, who might be Cuthbert Morphy. Answers generaldescription. They'll pinch him next time he comes. We never thought oflooking for him there!"
"No! We were going to _send_ him there! It's like a crook, though, toplay with fire. What else did Frick say?"
"Nothing more, Chief. He's looking around. He says he'll report as soonas there is anything. He says----"
"Buurr! Burrr! Burrrr!"
Drew turned and snatched up the telephone receiver. He pressed thediaphragm to his ear. "All right," he said tersely. "Connect me. Yes!"
Delaney breathed deeply and watched his chief's face.
"Hello! Hello!" whispered Drew. "Yes," he added guardedly. "Yes,Commissioner.... What? You say that ... that the autopsy onStockbridge's body--head--shows what? Repeat it! I can't quite hearwhat you are saying. Louder, Commissioner! That's better. Yes--allright now, Fosdick. It shows.... It shows that the typo cupronickelbullet found in--in, ... repeat that.... In Stockbridge's brain was notscored or ... or what? ... Marked? ... Wait! I don't get yourmeaning.... It was lodged in the soft tissues of the.... Yes! ... Isee! Go on.... There were no rifling marks on it.... What?"
Drew turned and motioned toward the open door. Harrigan closed itsoftly as the detective resumed his position at the 'phone. "Yes," hesaid tersely. "Yes, Fosdick. That's important. I should say it wasimportant! ... New wrinkle, what? ... Why, I'd think at a quick jumpthat the bullet which killed the old man wasn't fired from a regulationrevolver.... Yes, it couldn't of! ... It must have been fired from asmooth-bore rifle or pistol!... What? ... Yes.... It seems that way tome.... Are you dead sure?"
Drew waited. He tapped the desk with a pencil. He reached with hisright hand and pulled a sheet of paper to him. "Go on," he said slowly."Yes, go on, Commissioner. Oh, I've been busy! Yes. You have! Well....I wouldn't of. No, I don't think that's the right lead at all. They'reall right. All right.... Go to it! ... Good-by, Fosdick."
The detective flipped the receiver on the hook and slowly swung thechair. His eyes darted first at Harrigan and then rested upon Delaney'sbroad face.
"That damn fool!" he exclaimed. "He's pinched the whole bunch ofservants. He's looking for the valet. The butler is under lock and key.All that's left up there is the housekeeper and some housemaids andMiss Loris. He better not touch her! Brass Band Fosdick! He's a mileoff the case!"
"What about that bullet, Chief?" asked Delaney.
"Oh! That's new! It's different and important. The coroner's inquestshows--the autopsy, I mean--that the bullet found in the millionaire'sbrain was a cupronickel affair of twenty-two caliber projected bysmokeless powder from a smooth-bore weapon held not more than threeinches from the old man's head."
"Whew!" whistled Delaney. "That's going some, Chief," he added, rising."But what does it mean? I ain't got that at-tall!"
"Nor I!" snapped Drew. "We're only getting deeper and deeper intofacts. After a while we'll have enough of them to solve the case. Thesmooth bullet is important. It suggests many things--a home-made gun,for instance."
"Might have been an old Civil W
ar gun, Chief."
"I don't believe there was anything like that in Stockbridge's house.You might inquire when you go up. He was very modern with his FlyingBoat stock and his improved munitions for the Allies. He has no oldcollection of arms."
Delaney stared at Harrigan. Drew swung to his desk and tapped theblotter for a moment. "We'll get busy," he said briskly, as he swungback again and faced the two operatives. "I've almost got my man. Thatbird there," Drew pointed toward the magpie, "is our one best bet andlead. I may be wrong, but I'll wager a good cigar there's a convict orex-convict at the back of this case. How else can we explain 'Ossining'or 'Ah, Sing' repeated through the magpie to us. It's not an impossibleclue. It might happen. Let's move with both feet!"
Delaney rose lankily and stood by the door. He braced his shoulders,then shelved them forward as he reached a finger toward the bird-cage."Pretty Poll!" he said.
The magpie darted about the cage like a shaft of blue light. It came torest with its tail feathers thrust through the bars. It peered withbeaded eyes at Drew who had snatched up a bundle of papers and wassorting them.
"Get busy, Delaney, on this assignment!" he said sharply. "Waste notime. Run up to Stockbridge's and get me plaster-paris casts of all thefootprints you can find around that junction box. It's stoppedsnowing," he added, glancing out the window.
"All right, Chief."
"Wait a minute. Stop somewhere on your way up-town and find out theexact temperature changes last night. What I want you to get is arecord of every quarter-hour, so as to show when the early, packed snowin Stockbridge's yard froze solid. The under crust!"
"I got that in my head, Chief! That's my idea, exactly. If a tall ladtapped in on the junction box early in the night his footprints will befrozen close to the ground. The whole surface is level now, but thereought to be ice-posts sticking up when I get done thawing."
"That's right! You'll probably find the trouble-hunter's and one otherset of prints. The other set is our man's!"
"What size feet did the trouble-hunter have?"
"Small--about six!"
"All right, Chief, I'm off."
"Walt a minute." Drew studied a sheet of paper. "After you get thetemperature data, Delaney," he said. "After you get that and theplaster casts of the footprints, go into the house and stay there.Watch Miss Loris. Don't talk to Fosdick's men. Tell her to be careful.Tell her that she is in grave danger. Remember that the same man whothreatened Stockbridge over the wire, also said he was going to gether. Remember that, Delaney!"
"Good-by!"
"Get a shave!" shot Drew out through the closing doorway.
"I'll do that little thing," came echoing back with a hearty chuckle.
"Now, Harrigan," Drew said, shuffling the slips of paper like a deck ofcards. "Now, we're closing in on our man or men. See if you can findFrick at the prison. 'Phone from the booth!"
Harrigan was back within three minutes. He leaned over Drew.
"Frick was with the warden," he whispered tersely. "He was easy to get.He says that Morphy has been trying to telephone----"
"What?"
"Tryin' to telephone, Chief----"
"What has he got to do with the telephone? What right has an inmate ofa prison got to phone? Unless--unless the warden thought the case wasjustified--like in sickness or important business."
"Maybe the warden allowed him, Chief. I didn't ask Frick!"
"Get out there and ask him! Quick!"
Drew waited with every muscle taut. He drummed the table with impatientfingers. He thumbed the sheath of papers he had collected on theStockbridge case. He wheeled in his chair and stared out through thefrosted window with unseeing eyes. The vision came to him of a pompousold man in prison gray, strutting about the front office with silksocks and a Havana cigar. Drew had no sympathy with a certain kind ofconvict. The misguided safeblower or house prowler might be excused fora great many things. The pickpocket was a professional, who took hischances as they ran. The gentleman bank-wrecker, with his overextendedtale of woe and his bid for the world's sympathies, was the one thedetective detested with all his soul. Such men, he believed, werebeyond the pale. They knew better. Morphy, for instance, had not onlygotten away with much of widow's and orphan's money, but he had wreckeda score of homes and dragged down many with him at the final assizes.
"So he uses the phone!" Drew repeated like an indictment. "Well! Well!Well!"
Harrigan stepped in through the door. Drew turned away from the windowand stared at the assistant-manager. "What did you find?" he snapped.
"I found enough, Chief! Frick says that Morphy is the whole thing upthere. They call him the 'Assistant-Warden,' in jest. The WelfareLeague won't have anything to do with him. They got him down for asquealing 'rat.'"
"You can't fool the Gray Brotherhood," said Drew. "Their rooms are tooclose together. What about this telephoning? Who was it to?"
"A telephone booth in the Subway Station at Times Square!"
"Good God!"
"Frick says it was! He tried to listen but Morphy came out and lookedaround twice."
The detective rose from his chair and grasped Harrigan's narrowshoulders with fingers of steel.
"Get out there!" he ordered through line-drawn lips. "Get out there andphone from the soundproof booth. Ask my friend--the vice-president ofthe telephone company--to find out for us whether Morphy or anybodyelse in the prison telephoned at four minutes past twelve this morning.Get that?"
"That was when Stockbridge was shot, wasn't it, Chief?"
"It was!" exclaimed Triggy Drew.