and 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.

"D