“Make a note of everything!” ordered Drew with a sharp glance at the waiting servants. “Make a full record of what we have found—including your exact interpretation of the magpie’s words. What were they?”
“Ah, Sing!”
“I think the same. Let’s look the bird over. Perhaps it will repeat.”
The two detectives strode to the bird-cage. “I’m going to send for Fosdick and the coroner,” said Drew hastily. “We’ve got to hurry. What do you make of this bird? Could it have had anything to do with the murder?”
The magpie protested against this accusation. Its feathers ruffled. Its claws clamped over the perch. Its tail extended upward and seemed to dart with indignation.
“Ah, Sid!” exclaimed Drew close up to the gilded bars. “Ah, Sid. Ah, Sid!” he repeated as the bird sprang to the bottom of the cage and set this jumping up and down at the end of the spring.
“No go,” said Delaney. “This black parrot don’t like our looks.”
Drew fingered the cage. He tested the spring. He stooped and glanced underneath. He tapped the belfry. It was of inlaid wood. It rang solid. “No use,” he said. “This is all, all right. Let’s get to the other matters before the clews get cold. Look everywhere for a possible trapdoor or a secret panel. Test the walls. Move the book-cases. Turn the pictures. Lift up the rugs. Then put everything back like you found it. Fosdick will be on the job with both feet and the Homicide Squad, before we know it. We haven’t much time.” Drew glanced at his watch as Delaney started by moving out one of the book-cases.
The detective ignored the body which lay upon the floor near the little table. He was holding his investigation down to outside facts, and bringing them to bear upon the crux of the matter. In this way, he believed, he would secure better results. He did not want to be blinded by an impossibility at the beginning. His first glance at Stockbridge sufficed to assure him that the lethal instrument which had felled the magnate was not in evidence. The bright light from a score of globes would reveal any such object as a revolver or rifle. No one of the servants had seen anything. They still were peering into the room like men and women who had lost all they owned. Stockbridge, despite his temper and sins, had been a good master to those who served him without questioning.
Drew glared at his watch for a second time, in preoccupation. He strode to the library door and beckoned a hooked finger toward the butler who towered over the other servants.