“THE MURDER”
Triggy Drew had no good answer for Delaney’s question concerning the revolver. The matter was important in view of the threat aimed toward Stockbridge. Why Loris should obtain a gun from a rendezvous in a drug-store was more than the Detective could fathom. He turned to Delaney.
“Explain yourself!” he snapped, gripping the operative by the sleeve. “Make yourself clear! We have no time to waste in this matter!”
Delaney gulped and whispered. “It’s this way. I follows the girl until she turns around the corner where there is an all-night drug-store. She was in a telephone-booth when I came up and looked through the window. She was trying to get a number. While she’s trying, a taxi rushes up and out jumps a lad in a long benny. He pays the driver with a bill and hurries past me and into the drug-store. I gets a good look at him. He’s about twenty-three years old, blonde hair and tall––”
“He was five feet eleven, Chief. I’d say that to be safe. The uniform he wore under the benny was olive-drab with bars on his shoulder. He took the overcoat off—afterwards.”
“How many bars?”
“Two, Chief.”
“That’s good!” exclaimed Drew with sudden vigor. “Good!”
“The girl,” went on Delaney, “was ’phoning for him. She dropped the receiver when she heard him come in. She had the party she wanted—right there. Good deduction—that is!”