"What did you find?" he snapped to the operative.
"Not a thing, Chief." Delaney mopped his brow with his sleeve. "Nothing at all!" he added. "Everything regular. Modern--very modern house! Thick, new, fireproof, soundproof, million-dollar building. No trapdoors or panels. No loose boards. No hole in the ceiling. No nothing to hang a ghost on. The gunman who shot Stockbridge went right up in blue smoke, Chief. I quit!"
Drew glided around the table and kneeled by the magnate's body. His swift, light-fingered touch went through the trousers and vest. The pockets he turned inside out. The watch attracted his attention. Its dial had been cracked by the fall. A splinter of glass pressed against the minute hand. He rose with a low cry. He pressed the repeater and listened to the time chimes. He counted the strokes. He had a test in a million. Had the watch been tampered with by the murderer, the chimes would have proved a lie. It was possible to set the hands to any position. It would be difficult to change both the hands and the repeater.
"Delaney!" he said with his dark eyes glowing, "we've got the exact time of the murder. As I told the butler--it is very important. Both, chimes and hands, show that Stockbridge was shot at four minutes and eighteen seconds past midnight--this morning! This is a fine watch. It cost several thousand dollars. Robbery was not the motive. An ordinary crook, and they're all ordinary--with few exceptions--would have taken this timepiece."
"That's all right," said Delaney with a quick frown. "That's fine, Chief, but--but how did that exceptional--crook get into this room? How did he get out? That's what I want to know!"
Drew combed his fingers through his black hair. He described a complete circle about the library, with his eyes taking in everything, before he faced Delaney.
"I don't know!" he said frankly. "I don't want to think of it, either. We'll turn the case over to other men for the time. Let them do some thinking. I believe we have secured everything we want."
The detective dropped his glance to the telephone receiver upon the floor at Stockbridge's elbow. He stooped, grasped the silk-insulated cord, and fished it up.
"I'll try to get Central," he said. "This has been off a long while. She may have sent the trouble-man again."