Whispering Wires

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  "THE SPOT OF BLACK"

  Delaney stepped behind his chief and followed in single file as thedetective swung from the Avenue at Thirty-ninth Street and turnedtoward the east on the up-town side of the thoroughfare.

  The snow had ceased falling from out the leaden sky. A roar came tothem of the awakening city which was stirring in its last sleep. A tugwhistled hoarsely somewhere on the East River. Its blare and signalechoed down the towering canyon. An answering rattle sounded from theElevated. A milk wagon churned by. A deep-seagoing hansom-cab, of thevintage of ten years before, struggled along Madison Avenue as the twodetectives paused on the corner and sought a pathway through the snowto the opposite side.

  "Some night," said the operative, pulling down his derby hat and facingDrew. "A hell of a night to be out. Good thing we walked, though. Myhead is clearing."

  "It needed clearing," said the detective. "Some of your deductions wereimpossible. Whom do you suppose we're going to meet here?"

  "How should I know, Chief?"

  "Guess!"

  "Harry Nichols."

  "Who else?"

  "Search me, Chief."

  "Who's that over across the street in the shelter of the stoop? See! Hesees us! You ought to know who that is!"

  "He looks familiar," admitted Delaney.

  "It's O'Toole!"

  "That's right, Chief. It is! He tailed the lad in the fur benny fromthe drug-store and came here. The lad in the drug-store was HarryNichols. The thing works out all right."

  "Get over to the other side of the street and tell O'Toole that he cango home and get some sleep. Tell him to be at the office not later thaneight o'clock--this morning. Get what information you can from him.This brownstone house with the sign out is our address. I'll wait onthe stoop."

  Delaney was over in three minutes. "All right," he said cheerfully."O'Toole says that Nichols left the drug-store and walked south. Trailled to Fred's Old English Chop House where Nichols drank a split ofmineral water and had a chop with a potato. He 'phoned twice beforeleaving. O'Toole don't know where to. The booth was soundproof and allthe lad did was to drop coins. He left a piece of paper in the booth.O'Toole got it. Here it is, Chief."

  Drew slanted a torn portion of envelope and studied its surface. Hedeciphered a scrawling handwriting into the words, "Loris, Loris,Gramercy Hill, Attorney Denman of Cedar Street, will consult with himin morning.... Drew's Detective Agency ... look out."

  "Umph!" said Drew, pocketing the scrap of paper with a thoughtfulfrown. "That last may be a warning. Again it could be a mere notation.What else did O'Toole find, Delaney?"

  "That's all, except that he put the boy to bed here at about oneo'clock. There's a 'phone in Nichols' apartment. O'Toole sneaked up thestairs and heard it ringing. He had to come down for fear of queeringthings. He said that's all, chief."

  The detective turned and entered the storm-door. He struck a match and,shielding it with his hands, searched the names over the mailboxes. Aneat card, set in well-polished bronze, indicated, "Harry E. Nichols,Apartment Three."

  "He keeps this place all of the time," said Drew, jabbing at thebutton. "He's down on furlough or Government business. Nice place,this," he added as the inner door-lock clicked and he thrust his footforward. "Looks like about two hundred a month. This is exclusivelybachelor!"

  "Them bachelor apartments," said Delaney with candor as he glided intothe hallway. "Them places like this ain't what they seem. There's somebig parties pulled off in them. I remembers----"

  "Sisst!" warned Drew, clutching the operative's arm. "Easy," hewhispered. "Come on. Somebody is waiting upstairs for us. See his headin the light by the banister. Same chap, ain't it?"

  "Can't see, Chief. Might be!"

  "Nice house," commented Drew as his feet sank in a deep-blue hallcarpet. "Good ornaments and fixtures throughout the place. Nice house!Just about what I'd expected. Here we are. I'll do the talking."

  A blond pompadour, under which was a pair of wide gray eyes thatblinked at them, greeted the two detectives as they turned the lastlanding. A thick-lipped mouth, in which was considerable strength anddetermination, opened and revealed a double row of strong, young teeththat would have delighted an Army recruiting sergeant.

  "Well, what do you gentlemen want at this hour of the morning?"

  Drew squared his shoulders and pressed Delaney back a foot or more.

  "Harry Nichols?" he asked brusquely.

  "Yes, I'm Harry Nichols."

  "Miss Stockbridge's friend?"

  The gray eyes widened perceptibly. The lids dropped in heavycalculation. "Who are you?" the young man asked point-blankly. "I don'tbelieve I ever had the pleasure of meeting either of you gentlemen."Nichols glanced into Delaney's leaning face which was just over hischief's shoulder.

  "No, you haven't," said Drew softening his tone. "We've never met, butwe may see considerable of each other. Here's my card!"

  Nichols took the card, tilted it to the light from the open door, thendropped it into the right-hand side pocket of his lounging robe beneathwhich blue pajamas showed.

  "Come in!" he said without committing himself. "Come in, and take offyour hats. I've only two rooms and a bath, here."

  Drew stepped upon heavy rugs and crossed the chamber to a chair. Heturned this, removed his hat, and sat down with his legs thrustoutward. His eyes roamed the place in slow calculation. Dark, oldmasters, which were probably good in their day, stared down at him. Alittle globe, petticoated in soft silk, gave a yellow light to thewalls and floor. It brought out Nichols' features in sharp, actinicshadows. Drew continued his searching glance. A bed, with tossedcoverlet and sheets, loomed from an inner room. A table, upon which wasan officer's cap and gloves, stood between two doors that were closed.One of these doors, Drew concluded, was the bathroom entrance, theother might have been a closet. His eyes fastened finally upon atelephone upon a dark-wood stand. He lifted his chin.

  "Montgomery Stockbridge is dead!" he snapped, darting at Harry Nicholsthe keen scrutiny of a man salvoing a surprise.

  Nichols glanced at the 'phone. "I know that!" he said with risingcolor. "I'm aware of that fact, Mr. Drew."

  "When did you first learn of it?"

  "See here! I have your card. I know who you are. I was almost expectingyou, or another detective. But,"--Nichols' voice raised to a determinedkey--"but, sir, I am not talking to anybody about what you just toldme. How do I know who you represent--the police or the law or the----"

  "You have talked with Miss Stockbridge. She told you in the drug-storethat I was in the house. She has told you that I was called in by herfather. She undoubtedly 'phoned you, after she recovered from herfaint. You have the details of the dastardly murder--if ever there wasone! I represent her. I represent her friends. I have no other interestin this case!"

  Harry Nichols drew out the card and studied it. He glanced at Delaney."Who is this man?" he asked.

  "My right bower. He's with me--and you and Miss Loris. We're togetherin this. The police now have the case. What I want is to protect youand her from the police. What will they do when they learn from theservants--which they will--that Miss Stockbridge had _this_ gun in herhand when she entered the library?"

  Drew extended his palm. In the hollow of it lay the littleivory-handled revolver which he had taken from Loris.

  "What are they going to do when they learn about this?" he asked withshrewd reasoning. "Particularly, Mr. Nichols, when the caliber of thisrevolver is probably the same caliber of the bullet which entered, andis still in, Mr. Stockbridge's brain."

  The gray eyes narrowed. The lips compressed until they were white. Theyseemed drawn with pain. A faint hiss of surprise sounded in the room.Harry Nichols turned and strode to an ornate mantel-piece upon whichwas a single cabinet photo. He lifted it impulsively. He stared at thepicture of Loris Stockbridge as if in it lay inspiration, and resolve.He set the photo down and wheeled upon Drew. His eyes blazed.

  "If you have no connecti
on in this case, save as an adviser," he saidclearly and from his heart, "why are you trying to trap me or her? Areall detectives alike? Would they rather see a man in jail than free?"

  Drew closed his fingers over the little revolver. He glanced upward atDelaney's towering bulk which was near the doorway leading to the outerhall. This door was the only way out of the apartment. The detectivegave no signal to the operative. His fingers uncoiled and revealed athumb pressing upon the silver-plated barrel from which the leadennoses of six bullets showed as he turned it.

  "You are wrong," he said with simple naivete. "You wrong me in thismatter. The affair at Stockbridge's will sooner or later bring you incontact with the Police Department's Detective Bureau. Fosdick, thedistrict attorney, the coroner, may want to interview you. Theservants, the newspapers, idle tongues will connect your name with thatof Loris Stockbridge. This connection, taking in the fact that she hada revolver of the same caliber as was used to slay her father, maycause trouble. I want----"

  "How do you know it's the same revolver--the same caliber?"

  There was a stubborn defense in the young man's tones which somewhatpleased the detective. It promised loyalty.

  "It may not be the same revolver," Drew said softly. "It may be thatthe murder was not committed with a revolver. A rifle, held close to aman's brain, would make the same kind of mark and burns. I do knowthis, however, that the opening in Mr. Stockbridge's head is the samesize as my lead pencil--which I have measured and found to be under aquarter-inch. It would seem then that twenty-two caliber might fit thewound. I know of no other caliber very close to it."

  "An army rifle," suggested Delaney from the doorway.

  "It is larger," said Nichols with a quick frown. "The modifiedLee-Enfields, which we are now using, have a greater bore than theBritish or German rifles. They are about .30 caliber."

  "Whatever the case," Drew said, "we must get to our first question. I'mtrying to find the truth and protect Miss Stockbridge from the policein case she is suspected. Whose revolver is this? Who does it belongto? How came she to have it so soon after meeting you in the cornerdrug-store? Did she request it? Perhaps you will clear these points andallow me to go ahead."

  "Before I answer your questions, Mr. Drew, before I say anything atall, I would rather have a talk with Miss Loris. You see, we are toogood friends to act apart. I'll answer for her. She is innocent! She istoo good, too pure to have anything to do with it. She never shot theold--Mr. Stockbridge."

  "He threw you out of the house on one occasion."

  Harry Nichols clenched his fists. "I'll do the same to you!" heexclaimed. "This is my apartment. What right have you got coming hereand accusing Loris? I don't care who you are!"

  "Good!" said the detective, rising and stepping forward. "You said justwhat I wanted you to say. And you said it like a man who can wear anAmerican uniform. Shake hands!"

  Harry Nichols did not exactly brighten under the professional flattery.He held out his fingers, however. Drew clasped his hand aftertransferring the revolver to his left palm. He twirled it as he steppedbackward. "Clean," he said. "It don't seem to have been used for sometime. But then, who knows? A gun can be wiped and polished,--even inthe barrel,--in a very few minutes."

  Drew glanced at Nichols with a silent question in his eyes. Delaney hadalready sized Nichols up as a very clever young man. He was not farwrong, as he learned when the detective's spoken question was shotthrough determined lips.

  "Nichols," said Drew, "did you lend Miss Stockbridge this revolver? Isit yours? I shall have to turn it over to the police sooner or later.They will trace it by the number."

  "Is it fully loaded?"

  Drew turned the barrel with his broad thumb. He clicked the mechanism.He broke it and held it out.

  "Yes," he said. "Yes, it's fully loaded. This is still a merry whirlfor six!"

  "Are you sure?"

  "Positive, Nichols!"

  The soldier's face cleared like a lake from a storm. He beamed uponDrew. He smiled for a second time. He pointed toward the chair whichthe detective had quitted. "Sit down," he said, "and make yourself athome. This is a temperance dugout, but I've got some real good softstuff--grape juice or club soda. Which will you have?"

  "I'll take a cigar," said Delaney.

  Drew allowed a smile to creep over his lips. He waited as Harry Nicholsdipped into a kitchenette, then came back with three glasses of sodaand a huge black Havana.

  "Smoke up," he said good-naturedly to Delaney. "Light up and take achair. It's daybreak, isn't it?"

  "Yes, time we're going," said Drew, setting his empty glass upon theoffered tray. "We'll go in a minute. Now, as I told you and as you cansee, this revolver is fully loaded. It looks clean. I suppose you lentit to Miss Stockbridge without any empty cartridges. These are theordinary lead kind which can be secured at any hardware store. You'vegot some here, perhaps."

  "None here. They're all up at Plattsburg. We do some target shooting attimes. These little revolvers don't make much noise. You can use themmost anywhere."

  "That's satisfactory," said Drew, watching the glow of Delaney's cigar."That's all right. Now, when she 'phoned for the gun or you suggestedthat she better have one with her, what did she say about the cemeteryletter or the threat over the wire? Did she fear anything else? Wasthat her sole reason for having a revolver with her?"

  "You cannot expect me to answer for Miss Stockbridge, Mr. Drew. She isavailable. You can talk to her. You represent her. I shall not sayanything concerning her. She is sacred. The revolver was notdischarged. It is the same as when I gave it to her in the drug-store.Therefore, I'll trouble you for it. It's mine. I admit that."

  Drew rose from the chair. His left hand went out. His fingers claspedHarry Nichols' shoulder with a fatherly pressure.

  "I'm going now," he said. "I'll leave the gun with you. If the policewant it, give it to them. Perhaps they will never hear of it. I doubtif more than one or two servants saw it in Miss Loris' hand when shecame into the library. They may not tell Fosdick. He'll try torough-shod over them. He may arrest the entire household--includingLoris. That's his way. It's effective, but it's not my way. Now isthere anything that you want to say to me which will clear your mind ofthis affair?"

  Nichols glanced from Drew's clean-cut face. His eyes rested upon thetelephone. "I'm going to call her up presently," he said. "I'll talkwith her. I'll tell her that you were here--that you left the littlerevolver--that you stand ready to swear it was clean and fully loaded.Then, when I hear what she has to say about everything, I shall callyou up. Is that satisfactory, Mr. Drew?"

  The detective turned the revolver in his palm and pressed it forward."Take it," said he, "and keep it under cover. I'm off with Mr. Delaney.Thanks for the club soda."

  "And the cigar," added the big operative as he opened the door.

  Drew hesitated on the landing. He turned and went back. Nichols stoodby the banisters. The soft light from inside clear-cut the officer'sfigure like a statue.

  "You can do me a favor," said the detective in a whisper. "A damn nicelittle favor."

  "What is it?"

  "Have you an extra photo of the girl-in-the-case. One that's layingaround somewhere. I don't mean the one on the mantel."

  "What do you want it for?"

  "For myself. I admire that young lady."

  Harry Nichols disappeared through the doorway. He returned within aminute with a cabinet-size photo upon the front of which was written,"From Loris, January '18," in the vertical chirography much practicedby social buds.

  "Thanks," said Drew unbuttoning his overcoat and thrusting the photowithin his breast. "I shall keep and cherish this, as one of my mostsacred possessions. Congratulations, young man!"

  The detective's words rang sincere. Nichols flushed. He stammered ananswer as Drew hurried down the carpeted steps and joined Delaney atthe storm-door.

  "Chief," said the operative as they reached the sidewalk and turnedtoward Madison Avenue. "Chief, why didn't you pump that l
ad aboutStockbridge. You didn't ask him a thing about the old man."

  "Unethical to a client," reproved Drew linking arm with the operative."Come on! We must hurry! I've an idea--which is a very strange thingfor a New York detective to have--that Harry Nichols, if he stays intown on furlough, will represent Loris in all matters. I don't knowwhere she could find a better counselor. He's a clam! He told usnothing!"

  "Wise boy, Chief! Only fools and women talk to detectives."

  "Umph!" said Drew at this sally. "Umph! Well, come on. It's quitsnowing. It's daybreak over there in the east and I think the cloudswill clear before it gets much later. You----"

  "Say, Chief!" exclaimed Delaney clutching the detective's shoulder andwheeling him around. "Say, stand right there a minute. Right in thatlight. What's that on your chin? Right under the tip of your left ear.Turn around a little more!"

  Drew raised his left hand and rubbed it across his face. He pinched thelobe of his ear between his thumb and index finger. He whistled withfrosty amazement as he eyed his nail and thumb.

  "What to blazes!" he said. "What's that?"

  "Turn around! Right under this arc light. Say, Chief, how did you getthat spot of black on your neck? You've smeared it all over yourcollar."

  "I don't know. What's it look like?"

  "Soot!"

  "Soot?"

  "Sure, Chief. Lampblack or soot!"

  Drew arched his dark brows as he rubbed his finger-tips together. Heheld them up to the stronger light. He turned and glanced back throughthe silent walls of the street down which they had walked. He took onestep toward the east.

  "Hold on!" said Delaney. "Where are you going?"

  "Going back!"

  "Why, Chief!"

  "Smell that stuff! Smell it!" Drew thrust his fingers under Delaney'swrinkled nose. "Smell it, good and strong!" he snapped bitterly. "Whatis it?"

  "By God, Chief, it's powder, I smell! Gunpowder, it is!"

  "Umph! I must have gotten it from that gat!"

  "You couldn't, Chief. That gun was polished up like a whistle. Besides,how would the spot come to be under your left ear?"

  Drew furrowed his brow. He swung in the snow with new decision. "Comeon!" he said. "We'll think this over! I didn't see any soot on thatgat. I don't know where I got it either. Could it have been there forsome time?"

  "Sure, Chief. I just happened to notice it. Light's bright." Delaneynodded toward the arc.

  "Did you get a good look at my face in Stockbridge's?"

  "Can't say that I did, Chief. I was too busy with that howler thing andthat magpie and that murder, to see anything. You might of got it therewithout me noticing it. It wasn't there in the taxicab. I'll swear tothat."

  Drew passed his fingers across his nostrils like a man samplingperfume. He repeated the motion. He scraped some of the powder from hisnails with a pocket knife and dropped the sample into the crease of anenvelope which he carefully folded and crammed into his pocket.

  "I'll have that analyzed," he said, as they turned toward Fifth Avenue."Another trifle in a chain of circumstance. Think it over, Delaney. Itresembles and smells like powder which has been burnt. You hurry alonghome. Be at the office no later than nine. I'll keep on down FifthAvenue to the Flatiron Building. I want to walk and clear my head. I'llget some coffee, pie and rolls, at an all-night restaurant. I'll taketime for a shave, shine and shampoo. Perhaps I'll jump into a Turkishbath to finish up and get ready for work."

  "You're not going to bed at all?"

  "Not until I find out who murdered Stockbridge!"

  "Or how he was murdered?" said Delaney, with a puzzled frown as heturned to go.

  "If I get the murderer, I'll find out how he did it!" snapped Drew,with a parting glance.