“Y—e—s!” The voice was tremulous and dry. “Yes! I’ll use it. I’ll show you how that pirate—Stockbridge—was killed. The yellow squealer!”
Loris raised her chin proudly. She leaned against Nichols in the doorway. “I won’t stand for that!” declared the soldier. “You are being insulted in your own house!”
“Wait, Harry! Something is going to happen! I know it is!”
“You’re right, lady,” whispered the prisoner. “It’s going to happen to—well, I don’t care. I’m done. The jig is up!”
Cuthbert Morphy shrugged his shoulders and turned toward Drew. He stared at the menacing revolver with a cryptic smile. “Get your man downstairs,” he said, in hollow tones. “Get him to go in the library and call up this number. Tell Central to connect the two ’phones in this house. Shout into the library transmitter when the connection is made.”
Drew frowned. “What’s all that for?” he asked.
“Do as I say.”
“I don’t know about that. I give orders here. What do you want that done for? I thought you wanted a number on the ’phone. I thought you would get somebody on the wire who would explain everything.”
“Everything will be explained, Inspector. Everything! I told you the jig was up with me. I mean it, too. There’s nothing left but the truth.”
Drew wound the handcuff chain tighter about his left wrist. He braced his feet and turned to Delaney. “Go downstairs,” he said, “and call up this number. Do what this fellow says. The number is Gramercy Hill 9764.”