Whispering Wires Part 37

Drew frowned as he glanced at the cuffs. He scratched his dark hair and combed his fingers back toward his ears. He turned and glanced at Loris and Nichols in the opening between the two splendid rooms.

"I don't like to take a chance with this fellow," he admitted. "Do you want me to, Miss Stockbridge? It's your life he was after, and he may be shamming now. You never can trust an opium addict. They have no soul."

"I've as much as a copper's!"

"Shut up, you!" boomed Delaney, threateningly. "Shut up! There's a lady in this room!"

The prisoner clicked his cuffs together. He stared at the cheval gla.s.s and the telephone. "A lady?" he repeated through the corner of his lips. "A limb of the Stockbridge tree," he said bitterly. "I hold nothing against her. I told you that before. But we promised the old man we'll take care of her after we killed him, and she came near going--let me tell you that. I could have killed her with twenty words."

"He's rambling," said Delaney, reaching for the prisoner. "The dope has gone to his head. I don't believe there's any----"

"Easy, Delaney," warned Drew thoroughly on the alert. "Don't make the mistake of underestimating this fellow. He acts like a man who has repented--who wants to right some of the wrong he has done. I don't think we are taking chances in letting this fellow loose. He is unarmed. I tended to that. If he wants to 'phone--let's let him."

"Your case, Chief!"

Drew reached in his pocket and brought around a police regulation revolver. "I'll have this right here!" he snapped as he slowly raised it. "You, Delaney, unlock one cuff and pa.s.s it to me. I'll wrap the chain around my left wrist. If this fellow tries anything I'll tend to his case--forever. These .44's are made for stopping purposes, eh, Mr.

Nichols?"

"They certainly are, Mr. Drew. I think we can handle that little man without trouble. What does he want to telephone for?"

"What for, Bert?" asked Drew, swinging and confronting the prisoner.

"Do you want to say good-by to somebody?"

"Good-by is right," whispered the trouble-man, extending his hands toward Delaney, who fished out a small key. "Yes, it's good-by to somebody. Unlock them!"

"Hold on!" exclaimed Drew. "I don't like that tone. You'll have to act better than that, Bert. What do you want to get loose for? What number do you want? I'll call up."

"No, I got to do it. I want one hand free--that's all."

Loris stepped to Drew's side. "Can there be anything about the room,"

she asked, "that he wants to use? Perhaps he'll pick something up and use it too quickly for you to stop him."

"I don't think so," said Drew grimly. "This gun, Miss Stockbridge, happens to have a hair trigger. We'll chance it--with your permission."

"I'm not afraid for myself--but don't you think the poor fellow should be prevented from harming himself. He acts just like a man who wanted to do something terrible. He seems to have given up hope."

"A woman's intuition," mused Drew. "Perhaps a close one," he said aloud. "You get back into the other room, Miss Stockbridge. Let Mr.

Nichols stand in front of you for protection. I'm going to grant this fellow's request. Delaney, unlock the left cuff!"

The key rattled in the tiny key-hole as Drew poised his revolver and drew a sight between the prisoner's fluttering eyelids. "Stand right there," whispered the detective tersely. "Right there," he added, reaching with his left hand and taking the cuff and chain from the operative. "Now, Bert, you're half free. What do you want with the telephone?"

The prisoner pinched his wrist and worked his hand like a hinge. A white mark, which slowly changed to red, showed where Delaney had clamped the handcuff down to its last notch. The trouble-man eyed this mark. His lips hardened. He strained on the chain as he lifted his fingers to his brow with a tired gesture.

"Hurry!" said Drew. "Hurry, Bert, or we'll cuff you up again. Do you want to telephone?"

"Y--e--s!" The voice was tremulous and dry. "Yes! I'll use it. I'll show you how that pirate--Stockbridge--was killed. The yellow squealer!"

Loris raised her chin proudly. She leaned against Nichols in the doorway. "I won't stand for that!" declared the soldier. "You are being insulted in your own house!"

"Wait, Harry! Something is going to happen! I know it is!"

"You're right, lady," whispered the prisoner. "It's going to happen to--well, I don't care. I'm done. The jig is up!"

Cuthbert Morphy shrugged his shoulders and turned toward Drew. He stared at the menacing revolver with a cryptic smile. "Get your man downstairs," he said, in hollow tones. "Get him to go in the library and call up this number. Tell Central to connect the two 'phones in this house. Shout into the library transmitter when the connection is made."

Drew frowned. "What's all that for?" he asked.

"Do as I say."

"I don't know about that. I give orders here. What do you want that done for? I thought you wanted a number on the 'phone. I thought you would get somebody on the wire who would explain everything."

"Everything will be explained, Inspector. Everything! I told you the jig was up with me. I mean it, too. There's nothing left but the truth."

Drew wound the handcuff chain tighter about his left wrist. He braced his feet and turned to Delaney. "Go downstairs," he said, "and call up this number. Do what this fellow says. The number is Gramercy Hill 9764."

Loris and Nichols lifted their brows as they turned toward each other.

"I'm afraid," said the girl. "Something is not right, Harry."

"It's the only way we'll ever find out what this man means. If they take him away without letting him talk over the 'phone we'll never know. Leave things to Mr. Drew. He's armed! I'm armed! There's no danger!"

"Get downstairs to the library!" Drew ordered. "Do what this man wants.

Shout into the transmitter. Go now!"

Delaney lunged through the tapestries and unlocked the door to the hall. He paused there in thought. He turned and glanced back.

"Hurry!" exclaimed Drew. "Hurry now!"

The big operative cursed audibly as he descended the two flights of carpeted steps. He nodded to the Central Office man at the library door. He pa.s.sed inside, rounded the table and stood by the 'phone. He picked up the receiver. His eyes wandered along the floor as he waited.

A dark spot showed on the hardwood. It was where the millionaire's blood had gushed forth from the bullet hole in the base of his brain.

"Gramercy Hill 9-7-6-4!" said Delaney with a bull's voice.

"B-r-r-r-r-! B-r-r-r-r-! B-r-r-r-r-r!" sounded from the ringing-box of the silver plated telephone in the sitting-room of Loris Stockbridge's suite.

The prisoner pulled at the chain as he leaned toward the telephone.

"It's ringing," he said in a thin whisper. "Let me--let me listen in."

Drew studied the entire situation before he granted permission. Loris and Nichols were framed between the silken portieres. The captain held his army regulation revolver at his hip. Loris leaned forward with her dark eyes smoldering and intent. The blood had left her cheeks. They were white and tersely set. She seemed older to Drew. He smiled rea.s.suringly, dropped his gun to his hip, pressed it against the prisoner and shoved him toward the 'phone as a "B-r-r-r-r-" sounded above the lifting roar of Delaney's voice in the depths of the great mansion.

The room became charged and surcharged with electricity. A crackling sounded as Drew's feet glided inch by inch over the silk rug. The storm outside whined and synchronized with the rise and fall of the great voice shouting "h.e.l.lo! h.e.l.lo! h.e.l.lo! h.e.l.lo, you!"

The trouble-man turned. His hand reached upward and lifted the hard-rubber receiver from the hook. His lids fluttered toward Loris.

His eyes softened with memories. "I'm glad I didn't do it!" he hissed across the room. "Good-by, lady--good-by!"

"Be careful!" snapped Drew, pressing the revolver firmly against the prisoner's right side. "Be careful! This is a hair trigger!"

The trouble-man smiled a twisted, wan smile as he turned his head toward the transmitter and said huskily: