“My valet is part German, but he ran away to avoid their army. He hates the Junker party. Says ‘It is responsible for the War.’”
“How long have you had him?”
“Nine years.”
“That should let him out. Well,” Drew added with a sweeping glance about the library, “well, these big windows—how about them?”
The detective advanced to the front of the room as he asked the question. “Two,” he mused. “Two bay-windows of the superior order. Curtains very heavy and rich. There’s a good catch on this one,” he added springing upon the radiator-box. “And a good catch on this one. Both catches are closed. Seem to have been closed for some time. Here’s dust. High-class housekeeper, but I’ve got her here.”
Drew smiled as he ran his fingers over the upper sash. He peered out into the Avenue with its flowing tide of vehicles. He turned and said to Stockbridge:
“Suppose you order your butler or doorman to shut the outside blinds. It’s getting dark and cold. I want to be sure that no one can get through this way.”
“Good,” said Stockbridge reaching for the button with his toe. “Good! We’ll take every precaution. Twelve hours will show the thing one way or the other. Twelve hours should do it.”
The butler entered bearing a silver tray. He set this on a mahogany tea-wagon and rolled it to the Magnate’s chair. Drew frowned at the sight of a black bottle and one glass. A signal of understanding had been sent to the perfect servant.
Stockbridge moistened his thin lips thirstily. He whispered the instructions concerning the blinds. The butler withdrew like a shadow merging into a shadow. Drew shrugged his shoulders and went the round of the library with the keen, trained scrutiny of a man-hunter and a modern operative. He paused before a case of morocco-bound books. “These cases?” he asked. “How about them? What’s behind?”