"What's coming off?" asked Delaney with an Irish grin. "Another stock scandal like the Flying Boat one?"
"An echo of it--perhaps," said Drew. "It's dog eat dog, I guess. Stockbridge is no saint. Some man with a whispering--consumptive voice has 'phoned him the news that he was going to die before daylight. I don't think he is. Not if I can help it."
"Who did he rob this time--the old devil!"
"He's retired. It's a case, perhaps, of thieves falling out in high places. Remember how Stockbridge beat Morphy to the District Attorney and told all he knew, and went before the Grand Jury? Morphy may be behind this threat-by-wire."
"I know that. He's always dangerous, though."
"Another old devil," said Delaney thrashing his arms. "I can see him now, Chief, in his big automobile. A husky man with a leather coat and cap. And always a woman by his side, Chief. A different woman, every time!"
"He fell a long way, Delaney. Come on. We'll forget Morphy for a while. Stockbridge is alone. He is in danger."
Drew clutched the operative's arm and motioned across the street. They plunged through the snow with heads down. They entered the iron-grilled gate. Drew touched a button set in the stone of the doorway. He repeated the signal.
The door opened to a crack. A chain rattled. A face blotted out the inner light of the mansion.
"All right," said Drew. "All right, butler. This is one of my operatives. Let us in."
The butler led the way through the hall of old masters, after taking the detectives' coats and hats. He parted the curtains and announced the operatives. Drew pressed Delaney into the library.
Stockbridge sat in the same position between the tables. The rose-light from the ornate lamp brought out deep lines which transversed his yellow face. Fear gave way to a mumbling satisfaction as he stared at the two resolute detectives who had come to guard him. He rested his eyes upon Delaney. His brows raised in inquiry.
"This is Delaney," said Drew. "He's the man who brought back Morphy from Hartford. He's true blue. Delaney, this is your case as well as mine. Your old prisoner may be involved."
"Morphy ain't in it, Chief. He's locked up tighter than the Sub-Treasury's strong-box. It's some one else."