"Go on," said Delaney, glancing at the magpie with round eyes.
"Then comes Vogel, who was at state's prison, but whom they transferred to the hospital at Glendale, where he is said to be dying of tuberculosis."
"I remember him. A little runt with a big nose. That might be the whispering voice, Chief, if he's got T. B."
"Hardly! I also had Glendale on the 'phone, or Harrigan did. They say Vogel is right there and is going to stay there, if fifty guards will keep him."
"The next is Vogel's partner, Ross. You remember him? A good-natured, fat fellow with a bald head. He was always smiling. He's making little rocks out of big ones in a convict camp near Lake George. He was at Sing Sing, or Ossining, for a time. Most of the New York prisoners are taken there first. It's a sort of clearing house for the other prisons of the state."
"Would he fit in with what this bird said, Chief?"
"Then," said Drew, "we have the two brokers who handled Morphy's Blue Sky, preferred; Flying Boat, and other swindles. They are at Sing Sing."
"What's their names, Chief? I've forgotten."
"Greene and Goldberg! One confessed and one turned state's evidence. They got off with from two to four years. A nice bunch of squealers!"
"Yes--but they're harmless. I don't think they had anything to do with the murder of Stockbridge. The other fellow might."
"Finklestein--the banker. The one who went before the Grand Jury and claimed exemption. He's somewhere on the outside. I think Flynn is covering him. I sent him over to Jersey, where Finklestein has a place near Morristown. We'll hear of him later."
Delaney shifted his big feet and started counting on his fingers. He widened his eyes. "There's one more," he said, as Drew leaned back.
"Yes, there's one more. I kept him for the last. He's out of sight, reach and hearing. You know who I mean?"
"That guy who invented wireless boat, or flying boat, or them movie-picture things in seventeen colors. I know who you mean. He beat it, slick as any porch-climber. What's his name, Chief?"
"Morphy's brother, Cuthbert Morphy! He's an electrical-engineer and the inventor of all their shady promotions. He's the real brains of the mob. You never saw him?"
"Can't say that I have!" declared Drew with a snap. "I call him one of my failures. I've made enough. Remember how Flood and Cassady searched for him after the others were arrested? He's cost us thousands of dollars--without result. I charged it to Stockbridge."