The big operative gulped down the thrust. “What did you find out?” he asked in a husky whisper.
“Get your coat on. Get over to that drug-store and plant near that booth—Gramercy Hill 9749. Frick, at the prison, is going to call that booth up as soon as Morphy or anybody else there tries to get New York. If Frick gives you a number, call up the superintendent at Gramercy Hill and tell him who you are. He’s on duty all night. He’ll give you the address of the number, and stall the call. That’ll give you time to rush to the address and grab your man.”
“I’ll grab him, Chief!” rumbled Delaney, reaching for his storm coat which was supposed to be fur-lined. “Leave that to me!” he added. “Jus’ leave it tu me!”
Drew eyed the operative’s huge hands. “I’ll do that,” he said with a short laugh. “Now hurry! No, wait.”
“What is it, Chief?” asked Delaney in the doorway.
“If the address is downtown, or in Brooklyn, what would you do then?”
“I’d get the office, Chief, and have Harrigan rush over a man. This super at Gramercy Hill ought to be able to stall that call long enough for us to connect—with both hands and both feet.”
“Go to it!” said Drew, pressing Delaney out through the door. “Good luck,” he added as he twisted the key and shot the bolt. “Now we are getting there,” he said softly. “Unfortunately for that devil up-the-river, he has to phone from one place. That’s the thing which will beat him. I hate to think what would happen if he was outside giving orders. He could get away with it, nicely.”
Drew never felt surer of himself in a case. He tested the lock and bolt for a second time. He draped the tapestries and strode into the sitting room with his shoulders held back—a sanguine light in his olive eyes.
“Well, Miss Stockbridge,” he said, pausing in the center of the room and smiling. “I think we are on the verge of big things. The attempt cannot be made to-night without we have plenty of warning.”