The Munition Magnate nodded. He kept his eyes on Drew, who still faced him. “Do you think it is necessary?” he asked. “I’ll answer for my servants.”
“We must suspect everybody,” Drew said. “Go on, Delaney. Find the butler and let him show you around. I’ve searched in here.”
Delaney started toward the portières as Stockbridge reached down and pressed the floor-button with his finger.
“Just a moment,” said Drew with afterthought. “You better knock on Miss Stockbridge’s door and ask permission to go through her suite. There’s just a chance that you might see something.”
“Might see something!” shrilled the magpie.
Delaney turned with a startled half-oath. “Wot’s that?” he asked, aggressively clenching his huge fists.
“Might be something!” chortled the magpie.
“Go on,” Drew laughed. “That’s only a magpie.”
“Looks like a crow, Chief. It sure startled me. I thought we had the villain right here.”
Drew waited. Delaney—with a last glance toward the bird-cage—followed the butler to the upper floors of the mansion. Drew opened the letter and studied it. He examined the postmark. He heard, as he was replacing the paper in the envelope, the click of the glass against the bottle at Stockbridge’s side. There followed a dry chuckle of inner satisfaction. A match was struck. Cigar smoke wreathed under the rose-light and floated toward a high radiator which was over the book-cases. Drew went over to these and glanced upward. The gilt-grilled ventilator, through which the smoke passed, was narrow and set within the wallplaster. It showed no sign of marks at its edge. It was the only opening, save the door and the two great windows at the front, which led from or into the library.