!"

Delaney glanced at Loris. "She's got it," he said. "I gave it back to
her."

Loris shuddered and pressed her hands to her breast. "I tore it up,"
she whispered. "I was so excited and angry I tore it up. It's in the
waste-basket."

"Fetch the basket!" said Drew to Delaney. "Go get it. We'll make this
room our headquarters," he added, swinging about on one heel. "We'll
stay right here and watch things, Miss Loris."

The girl nodded prettily. Her courage came back with flushed cheeks.
She glanced up at Drew's strong jaw and face. The detective squared his
shoulder with a final shrug. "We'll stay here!" he said masterly.
"Though all the demons in hell are closing in on you, we'll stick.
We'll get them this time! I've almost got my man. If he moves his pawns
to-night, we'll round up the whole bunch and send them to the chair!"

"Are there more than one?"

"Yes! One is directing--another or others are doing his will. Your
father was slain in some mysterious manner which we have not, as yet,
determined. The man, or men, who caused him to meet with death, left
their marks behind them--fingerprints--footprints, voices over wires,
and other evidences of material deviltry. They blundered a score of
times! They should have killed that magpie. They did not wear gloves
when they should have worn gloves. They forgot, or overlooked, that
telephone calls can be traced. We've traced them. We've almost
succeeded. The trouble is, that time is short. What was in that
letter?"

Loris turned toward the inner room. Delaney, followed by Harry Nichols
in full uniform, appeared. The operative held out a handful of scrapped
paper.

"Ain't much to learn here, Chief. It's pretty well torn up. I remember
what it said, though."

"Repeat it!"

"It was from the Hardwood Casket Company of Jersey City. It was dated
this morning. It said that the coffin Miss Stockbridge ordered for the
lady who was about to die in her family, would be delivered to-morrow
afternoon by express at her town house, as ordered."

"The curs!" exclaimed Drew.

"Sure they are, Chief. The letter was signed by the manager. I think it
was the manager. I couldn't read his writing!"

"Let me see the scraps."

Delaney sorted them into a small stack and passed them to Drew. The
detective lifted each fragment, held it to the light, and placed it
into his right overcoat-pocket. "I get it," he said. "It looks genuine.
Did you telephone them?"

"Nope! I was a-waiting