Heavy footfalls on the rugs outside the suite announced Delaney. He came through the portières rubbing his hands in the manner of a man who was well-satisfied with his errand.
“I got them!” he boomed, glancing from Drew to Nichols and then letting his eyes shine on Loris. “I got Fosdick, first. I told him what I thought of him, too. I don’t like him. Never did! He said he’d be right up and see about things. He can see!” The big operative swung toward his chief.
“How about the coroner?” asked Drew.
“He’s coming as fast as his hurry-up wagon will let him. I told him there was another—well, you know what I told him, Chief?”
The detective lifted his lowered brows. “Yes! Yes!” he said hastily, after a keen glance at Loris. “Yes. You did right. Now, get into the other room and gather up all of the tools and plaster-casts and every scrap of our own evidence. Put them in the trouble-man’s satchel. Set the satchel outside the door to the hall. Then wait for me. I’ll be but a minute.”
Delaney paused. “There’s one thing,” he said in a half stammer––“One thing, Chief, that’s been troubling me while I was ’phoning to the coroner and to Fosdick.”
“What is it?”
“If I can have that magpie? I’m going to give it to my wife—Mary—if I can. There’s no bird in the house.”
Drew turned toward Loris who had drawn Nichols to a window.
“Can he have it, Miss Stockbridge?” he asked.