Whispering Wires

  CHAPTER FOUR

  "THE MURDER"

  Triggy Drew had no good answer for Delaney's question concerning therevolver. The matter was important in view of the threat aimed towardStockbridge. Why Loris should obtain a gun from a rendezvous in adrug-store was more than the Detective could fathom. He turned toDelaney.

  "Explain yourself!" he snapped, gripping the operative by the sleeve."Make yourself clear! We have no time to waste in this matter!"

  Delaney gulped and whispered. "It's this way. I follows the girl untilshe turns around the corner where there is an all-night drug-store. Shewas in a telephone-booth when I came up and looked through the window.She was trying to get a number. While she's trying, a taxi rushes upand out jumps a lad in a long benny. He pays the driver with a bill andhurries past me and into the drug-store. I gets a good look at him.He's about twenty-three years old, blonde hair and tall----"

  "Tall?"

  "He was five feet eleven, Chief. I'd say that to be safe. The uniformhe wore under the benny was olive-drab with bars on his shoulder. Hetook the overcoat off--afterwards."

  "How many bars?"

  "Two, Chief."

  "That's good!" exclaimed Drew with sudden vigor. "Good!"

  "The girl," went on Delaney, "was 'phoning for him. She dropped thereceiver when she heard him come in. She had the party shewanted--right there. Good deduction--that is!"

  The Detective snorted. "Go on," he said with a faint frown.

  "Sure it was! Well, I moves over and starts puttin' a penny in theslot-machine outside the drug-store. The machine didn't work very wellon account of the snow. I'm a long time gettin' my piece ofchewin'-gum. I sees them talking in the drug-store. His coat is off'cause it's warm inside. He had an officer's uniform on."

  "One bar or two?"

  "Two bars on his shoulder, Chief."

  "Captain, then. Go on."

  "He's a tall lad with thick lips and wide-blue eyes. He's straight as apike-staff and good lookin'--for a blonde."

  "Looks German?"

  "Not so I could notice! Seemed to be a bit of a swell. Had gloves and ahigh-class wrist watch. I hate them things."

  Drew smiled. "Hurry," he said. "Don't take too long. What happened?What about the smoke-wagon?"

  "I'm comin' to it, Chief. They moves over to the drug-case. They chinssome more. Then he blows her to a soda--a cherry sundae."

  Drew rubbed the glass at his side and started out. He swept the mansionwith swift-running eyes. He turned.

  "They were sweet--them two," went on Delaney with thought. "I deductsthey'd known each other a long while."

  "Quit your deducting. Get to facts!"

  "Well, Chief, he ups and gives the drug-store the once over with sharplooks. Then he handed her a little, flat box which she pops into hermuff--quick as any shop-hister. It was as quick as that!"

  "How do you know it was a revolver?"

  "By what followed, Chief."

  "What followed?"

  "Her hand creeps into the muff. It works around while the clerk ismixin' the sundae. When the clerk's back is turned, out comes the hiltof a nice, little gat with ivory trimmin's. It's one of them lovelywatch-charm affairs--all polished up without a knock-out punch."

  "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 theirsundae. I'm across the street when the lad goose-steps out of thedrug-store--alone. O'Toole was talking with the fixed-post cop and aCentral Office man half-way down the block. They gets my office when Ipulls out my handkerchief. The C. O. dick covers the corner. O'Toolefalls in behind the lad in the fur benny as he passes him, with collarturned 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'llfollow that lad to France--unless you call him off."

  Drew polished the glass and strained his eyes in the direction ofStockbridge's mansion. The Avenue had quieted over the hour aftermidnight. A few belated pedestrians, muffled to the brows, glanced atthe waiting taxi with curiosity. They did not stop, however.

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

  "Twelve-forty-five," he announced. "Wish I'd brought a pint along. Iwould 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. Hadher hands crammed in her muff. That's where the revolver was. Bet itwas loaded."

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

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

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

  Delaney twisted the handle. A breath of stinging air swept into thetaxi's heated space. Snow followed and drifted across the detectives'knees. Both men strained in one position. Their eyes burned as theywaited with grim-set lips.

  A light shone from the lower entrance of the mansion. Its oblongbrought out in bold-relief the details of the iron-grilled gates.Across this fine snow sifted. A man emerged. He closed the door. Heopened the gates and staggered toward the Avenue's curb. He stood,bare-headed in the night. His chin swung north and south with helplessmotion. He fixed his eyes upon the waiting taxi, with a start ofrecognition. He came over the surface of the Avenue with faltering,bewildered steps.

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

  "God only knows!" exclaimed Delaney.

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

  "What is it?" he asked sharply.

  The butler stammered an incoherent answer. His eyes wavered from thetaxi to the mansion--then back again. They gripped to a dead-lock withthe 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 shoulderwith a vise-grip.

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

  "I don't----"

  "None of that! Answer! Answer!"

  "The telephone company, sir. The telephone people rang me ... they rangme hup hon the downstairs 'phone, sir. They said ... she said ... thechief-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, asyou'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'seyes. "Well--what then?"

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

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

  The detective swept the Avenue with a sharp glance as he hurried acrossthe wheel-churned ice and snow. He signaled to Harrigan by drawing ahandkerchief. That operative detached himself from the shadow betweenthe two houses and moved toward the corner. He stood there on guard asDrew hurried through the iron-grilled gates and thrust his knee ag
ainstthe door. It opened. Delaney and the butler crowded in. They mountedthe inner stairs on tiptoes. Drew's hand went behind him in warning. Heturned at the top of the landing. The second-man was standing beforethe library door with folded arms and a watchdog expression on hiscockney 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 'adsomething '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, twistingthe knob. "Have you tried the outer lock? You might have shot the boltin your excitement."

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

  "It is!" snapped Drew, pressing against the panel as he listened closeup 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 unseeingeyes. He bent and listened for a second time. He stiffened suddenly. Hejerked back.

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

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

  "What is it?" asked Drew.

  "Sounds like the crow, Chief."

  "Stockbridge's magpie?"

  "Something like that."

  The Detective laid his ear flat against the key-hole. His face hardenedas he waited. He lifted his head and pointed with a steady finger."Listen!" he commanded. "There--listen. That's no magpie!"

  _A low whine like the howl of a wild thing rose to a reed note ofmoribund terror. It died; then resumed its shrieking. It leaped theoctaves from no note to a blare of a soul in agony. Suddenly it struckdown the tone scale with descending steps of mocking laughter._

  "Look out!" shouted Drew, bending his knees and gliding back to thewall of the hallway. "Look out!" he repeated.

  "What are you goin' to do?" asked Delaney huskily.

  "Do? I'm going to break the door down! Look out!"

  The detective braced himself against the wall. He lunged forward andcrashed against the dark panel near the lock and bolt, with the energyof a college fullback. He backed away and repeated the smashing blow.

  "Hold on, Chief," Delaney said. "That's no use. The door is two inchesthick. I had a good look at it. Wait!"

  Drew rubbed his right shoulder as Delaney turned toward the white-facedbutler.

  "You get an ax!" he ordered. "Beat it, and get a big ax, quick!"

  "The axes are in the furnace room, sir."

  "Get one! Bring it right up, you. Hurry now!"

  The operative turned toward Drew. "The only way, Chief," he explained."I've been in too many of Big Bill Devery's raids not to know how tobreak down a strong door. I'm the man who took Honest John Kelsey'shouse apart for him. It was built like a British tank."

  The puffing butler appeared with a fire ax. He handed it to Delaney,who eyed the edge with concern.

  "Not sharp," he said, "but it'll do, at a pinch. Look out--everybody!"

  Delaney waved the servants away. He moistened his broad palms. He swungthe ax and crashed its weight into the panel nearest the lock. Hefollowed this blow with another. He panted as he rained swingingslashes at the dark wood. It splintered. An opening was made. Thisopening was enlarged by short-arm jabs until Drew laid a hand onDelaney's shoulder and called a halt. "Let me see," he said bendingdown.

  He straightened. He enlarged the chopped place with his fingers. Heripped off the splinters until there was room for a palm to beinserted. Delaney, dropping the ax upon the hall-rug, thrust throughhis arm to the elbow. He bent his knee as he strained. His face screwedinto a knot.

  "Is the key there?" asked Drew.

  "Ye--s. I turned it. All the way, Chief. Here's the bolt. Both werelocked tight. Both locked, on the inside of the library."

  "Remember that!" snapped Drew, squaring his shoulders. "Everybodyremember that. It may be important!"

  Drew pressed Delaney aside. He seized the gold knob and turned itslowly. He waited for a moment. Nothing sounded save the loud breathingof the butler and the other servants who were crowded in the hall.

  The detective jerked open the splintered door. He hesitated andlistened. He pressed aside the portieres with his left hand as hisright fingers coiled over the ugly hilt of a police regulation .44. Headvanced into the library, foot by foot. His fingers still coiled thegun's butt. He stood rigid as he reached the fringe of the splendid rugwhich was under the great table. His sweeping, close-lidded eyes tookin the details of the room. He saw the magpie in its cage. The bird'sfeathers were ruffled. Its head darted in and out the bars with greatexcitement.

  Drew frowned as he noticed a wreath of pale-blue smoke curling underthe dome of the rose-light. He sniffed the air with a shrewd intake. Apowder explosion of some kind had left a trace. The air, so close andwarm, was filled with acrid menace.

  The detective removed his hand from the revolver's butt and waved itbehind him as a signal to Delaney and the servants to stay where theywere. He took one step forward. The white writing paper and envelopefrom the cemetery company were upon the table. The stump of ahalf-smoked cigar draped over this table's edge like a gun on aparapet. It was cold and without ash.

  The smaller of the two tables was overturned. The whisky bottle andglass lay at the edge of the rug nearest the wall. The telephonetransmitter and receiver were upon the hardwood floor, where they hadfallen with the butts of two Havana cigars and the ash trays and matchboxes.

  Stockbridge was crumpled into a twisted knot against the richwainscoting. His head was half under his left shoulder. His iron-grayhair was singed black over the left ear.

  Drew leaned with one hand on the corner of the table and peereddownward. He called the magnate's name. He repeated it. He turnedtoward the doorway. His hand raised. His finger pressed against hislips.

  "Stockbridge is dead," he told Delaney, who glided to his side. "He isdead. He was shot to death in this sealed room. I wonder who did it?"

  "Ah, Sing!" shrieked the magpie. "Ah, Sing! Ah, Sing!"