"Hello, O'Toole!" he blurted, recognizing the operative. "What are _you_ doing here?"
O'Toole jerked a mittened finger in the direction of the mansion. "Our lad's in there," he said, thrashing his arms and flipping his finger for a second time. "Harry Nichols!" he explained.
"S--o! The whole case seems to be gathering again. Every clue leads this way now. What did you learn to-day?"
O'Toole yawned. "I got on the job early," he said with frosty breath. "I waited. The lad came down. He got in a taxi and I'm right after him. First he went to the Quartermaster's Offices at the Battery. Then he went to Governor's Island. From there I trailed him to the Red Cross Headquarters. He 'phoned Gramercy Hill 9764, at least three times."
"Yep, Chief! He's gone on her. He tended to some funeral matters connected with Stockbridge, bought some flowers--three dozen lilies of the valley--then came on up here. I've been waiting a long time."
"Delaney and some Central Office men--that's all! Shall I stay here?"
"Not here! Jump back in the alley and watch the junction-box. I think Delaney has been there. You'll find the snow melted in spots. Plant somewhere, and keep your eyes open. Grab anybody you see tampering with the wires to the house. I'm looking for trouble to-night. They threatened Loris with a letter this afternoon."
Drew did not stop to explain. He hurried on ahead of O'Toole, turned at the iron-grilled gate, passed through and pressed the button.
A Central Office man with a gold-badge showing, jerked the door open and glanced out. He blinked sagely as he recognized the detective.
The door swung wider. Drew lunged through and turned. "What's new?" he asked, pointing a thumb over his shoulder. "Are those servants still under arrest?"
"Some of them, Inspector," grunted the Central Office man. "I can't talk much. Fosdick gave me hell for talking to a newspaper man. He left word, though, that you could come in."
"Thanks!" Drew said dryly. "Thanks! That's kind of him. You are holding down this door?"
"Sure, Inspector! The butler and the second-man are down at Headquarters. I don't like the job, but orders is orders."
Drew loosened his overcoat, removed his kid-gloves, stamped his snow-covered shoes on the rug, and hurried past the library, where stood a burly Central Office man on guard. He mounted the steps with the running motion of a boy of fifteen. He glanced upward to where velvet-soft light glowed at the entrance to Loris Stockbridge's suite of rooms. Delaney stood framed in the opening. His huge bulk blotted out the inner rooms. His face, seen in the high shadows, was long and grim.