“News? There’s very little news, Delaney. No good news, yet! I’ve been busy as a Chinaman on a contract, though. I can’t let that matter get cold. It’s now or never in this case!”
“What does our friend Fosdick say?”
“He’s all at sea! I’ve talked with him twice.” Drew glanced at the ’phone. “He says the murder was a second Rue Morgue. He can’t see any light at all!”
“He’s come around to our deduction?”
“There’s no deduction in it!”
“Cold, curdling, cunning, crafty murder, Delaney. The coroner said it would have been impossible for a man to shoot himself in the manner Stockbridge was shot. They’re right—both of them—and we’re right. I’ll stake my badge on it! Particularly in view of the two threats. Why, I was there when he was called up and given twelve hours on this earth.”
Delaney glanced out the window. “Snowing again,” he said, “I wonder if there are any footprints in that back yard or alley. Wouldn’t that be a clue, Chief?”
“To what?”
“Well, you told me that the trouble-man said a tall lad climbed the fence near the junction-box and beat it for Fifth Avenue. Maybe that lad left footprints behind.”