“Fetch the lineman’s kit, the Central Office man brought,” said Drew to the operative. “Put it right here by this fellow’s side. I—we are getting close to the truth in this case.”
Delaney hurried back with the satchel. It was the same one that Drew had seen in the library on the evening Stockbridge was murdered. It had excited no suspicion then.
“A magneto,” said the detective. “First comes a ringing magneto which has seen much service. Put that over there, Delaney. Spread a paper or something. Ah,” Drew added, “here’s a set of small dry batteries arranged in series. Three or four of them. I don’t know just what they’re for, but Bert does.”
The prisoner’s pale eyes blinked and were closed again as the lids compressed in wrinkled determination. He moved slightly when Drew pressed a knee against his chest. He coughed with dry catching deep down in his throat. The detective felt of his pulse. It was faint but steady—like a tired sleeper’s.
“He’s coming out of it,” Drew said. “He’ll talk after awhile. Let’s see, what is this?”
Delaney leaned over the satchel. “Another link,” said Drew, drawing out a telephone receiver without wires attached to it. “And here,” he added, “is the testing set with the sharp clamps. That’s for listening in or talking with other people’s connections. I don’t doubt that this fellow knows his business. Here’s a micro-volt meter that registers fractions of volts. Here’s an ammeter of the pocket size. I’ve seen this kind on automobiles for testing dry-cells. Now, what is this?”
“Looks like a full set of jimmies!” blurted Delaney. “That’s a sectional jimmy!”
“He’s got everything,” said the detective, turning and glancing at Loris. “Here, Miss Stockbridge,” he said, holding up an empty cartridge shell. “Here is the most important link in the chain against him. It’s a twenty-two shell which has been fired. See—wait—what’s this, Delaney? The cap on the end hasn’t been struck. The cartridge was discharged—the cap is intact. How could that be?”
Loris and Harry Nichols leaned over the detective. He turned the tiny shell around in his fingers. He sniffed it. He held it out so they could see the end. “Discharged,” he exclaimed, “without touching the detonating cap on the end! That’s odd! Very suggestive!”
“Let me see it,” said Nichols. “I’ll tell. We have exams on these things. This seems to have been fired,” he continued with thought. “It’s been fired without concussion. I’d say it was heat that did it. A match touched to the base here would fire the cap, which would, in turn, set off the powder. There’s a different color to the brass at the cap end. It looks to me like a shell which has been clamped down by three—no, four screws. There’s marks on the rim. See them, Loris—Miss Stockbridge? Right there. Right at my nail.”