ig, red
hand.

"How d'ye do it, Chief?" he asked with a second yawn. "I'm dead on my
feet. All the sleep I got was about thirty minutes. I haven't woke up
yet. I met myself going to work this morning."

Drew laughed quickly and motioned toward a leather chair. "Sit down!"
he suggested. "Sit right down, Delaney. Take it easy for a few minutes.
You seem tired."

"It beats me how you can do it!" declared the operative, sprawling
across the chair and crossing his weary legs.

"One or two hours' sleep is never any good. Better keep awake. You
remind me of the last rose of Sharon!"

"I feel like a house-man in an all-night poker game. What's the use!
I'm going over to some bank and get a job as a night watchman, if this
keeps up. I can sleep my head off, there."

Drew swung in his chair and eyed the papers on his desk. He swiveled as
Delaney inquired:

"What's the news in the Stockbridge case? I've been asking Marie and
Harrigan. They don't seem to know anything except that everybody is
out--already." Delaney extended his huge mouth to a cavernous yawn. He
fished up his great, silver watch. "What's the news, Chief? Any
assignments for me?"

"News? There's very little news, Delaney. No good news, yet! I've been
busy as a Chinaman on a contract, though. I can't let that matter get
cold. It's now or never in this case!"

"What does our friend Fosdick say?"

"He's all at sea! I've talked with him twice." Drew glanced at the
'phone. "He says the murder was a second Rue Morgue. He can't see any
light at all!"

"He's come around to our deduction?"

"There's no deduction in it!"

"He says it's murder?"

"Cold, curdling, cunning, crafty murder, Delaney. The coroner said it
would have been impossible for a man to shoot himself in the manner
Stockbridge was shot. They're right--both of them--and we're right.
I'll stake my badge on it! Particularly in view of the two threats.
Why, I was there when he was called up and given twelve hours on this
earth."

Delaney glanced out the window. "Snowing again," he said, "I wonder if
there are any footprints in that back yard or alley. Wouldn't that be a
clue, Chief?"

"To what?"

"Well, you told me that the trouble-man said a tall lad climbed the
fence near the junction-box and beat it for Fifth Avenue. Maybe that
lad left footprints behind."

"They're snowed over now!"

"But if he made them, couldn't we find them underneath?"

Drew's eyes narrowed. He leaned in his c