“Easy,” said Drew. “Leave him to me. He’s thinking the thing over. I don’t mind telling him that the magpie beat him. That and the carelessness of Morphy in calling up when he must have known that Frick was in the front office of the prison. It’s always the way, Bert. He travels the fastest, up or down, who travels alone. It’s the lone star that gives us the trouble. There’s nobody to peach on him!”
The prisoner bit his upper lip. A slight sign of blood showed. He tasted this with the tip of his tongue. His eyes narrowed in calculation. He turned and faced Drew with slit-lidded intentness.
“I haven’t done a thing,” he whispered. “You ain’t got a thing on me.”
“Oh, no!” blurted Drew with heat. “I ain’t got a thing. I’ve been asleep since the time you murdered this girl’s father. I’ve had ten men on your trail since the beginning. I don’t hold the first murder so much against you as I do the projected one—which missed fire by a scant margin. You slayed a man with your devilish ingenuity, but you’re not going to put it over on his daughter. I’ve seen to that! I notice nobody has called up and said this was the Master talking. There’s a good reason.”
The prisoner fluttered his pale lashes and glanced at the telephone. He closed his eyes with a smile shadowing his lips.
“There’s a good reason,” repeated Drew. “You are not in some booth at Forty-first Street to make the connection. Morphy is in the strongest cooler. He’s booked for twenty years. After that he’ll get more. He can’t help you!”
“Oh, you coppers,” said the trouble-man. “Just give me five minutes and I’d show you. I don’t hold anything against the girl. I never saw her before.”
“You lie!”
“Why don’t you take these cuffs off-a-me? I can’t hit back.”
“I’d sooner take the chance outside,” said Drew, glancing at Loris. “I’d do it there!”