Drew furrowed his brows in perplexity. There was no evidence shown that
the trouble-man had ever talked with anybody, via wire, from the
mansion. He recalled the first appearance of the lineman in the
library. That time both calls, to Central, might have been feigned by
holding down the hook and speaking into a disconnected transmitter. The
man was clever. He knew all there was to be known concerning telephony.

"I'm a child," the detective concluded, swinging about the room in
perplexity. "One thing," he added aloud to Loris and Nichols. "One
thing! We are absolutely alone in this part of the house. I have locked
the maid in her room. No one can get through the door to the hall.
There's a spring lock on it. Delaney closed it when he went out."

"And there's a score of detectives scattered about," said the captain
reassuringly, as he leaned toward Loris. "Why should we fear anything
at all?"

"I wouldn't, Harry," said Loris, "if it wasn't for what happened to
poor father. Mr. Drew took the same precautions and had everything
locked and watched. It doesn't seem as if we were in New York at all.
It seems like some mediaeval time and place."

Drew reached for a fragile-looking chair, turned it, sat down and
thrust his custom-made shoes out across the rug in the direction of
Loris and Nichols, whose faces shone white and drawn in the soft light
of the alcove where they were seated.

Swirling thought surged through the detective's brain. He went over the
case with dulled understanding. Briefly, he had eliminated the former
suspects and compressed the matter into a small compass. His conclusion
brought him to his feet with slow swaying from side to side. Some one
in state prison was probably directing matters. Some one in New York
was carrying out the arch-fiend's orders. This free agent had the nerve
of the damned and the cunning of Cagliostro. He had succeeded in
planting a confederate in the mansion, or entering himself, and slaying
Stockbridge. The entire case, concluded Drew, rested in capturing the
free agent before he could do further murder. Loris was marked and had
been from the first.

"What servants remain?" he asked, dropping his hand on his right hip
pocket and feeling the bulge of an automatic there. "Which of the
servants, Miss Stockbridge, have Fosdick and his men left for you?"

"The French maid," said Loris softly.

"I saw her! She looks all right. She says she has been with you five or
six year