Delaney furrowed his brows and screwed his face into a painful knot. “I’m trying to go back, Chief, to the Morphy case and them crooked witnesses he had. They all had loud voices—like wolves!”
“Yes—I remember them. But then, Delaney, a man can change his voice. That whole pack will bear watching.”
“You’ve eliminated some things that were worrying, Chief. But there’s some I don’t see yet. It’s impossible for a man to get shot like that old millionaire was. We went over that room and that house. We frisked good and plenty. There was nothing suspicious. The walls were thick. The floor was hardwood. The ceiling was some kind of patent plaster, that’s like stone. I got two looks at the door, and you tried the windows. Now what’s the answer, chief? I’ll say you are never going to clear this case up. I don’t think you can. It’s going to be one of them unsolved mysteries. If you do figure something out it ain’t going to be proved to my satisfaction. The thing couldn’t be done the way it was done!”
“That’s definite,” smiled Drew, tapping the desk with the tips of his well-polished finger nails. “You’re talking in a circle. I’ll solve the case, or I won’t sleep!”
“It’s impossible!”
Drew sorted his papers and bent over them. He turned the swivel chair by a pressure of his knee. His eyes narrowed as he studied Delaney’s lugubrious face which was sadly in need of a shave.
“Impossible,” he repeated softly. “There’s no such word, Delaney. It’s a fool’s excuse. Now I don’t want you to be a fool. Don’t make the mistake of allowing a seeming impossibility to dull your efforts. There’s always a way around everything which looks high and impassable. They used to go round the Horn. Now they cut through the Isthmus. They used to think men were supernatural. Now they know that nothing works without a law. I admit that I don’t know how Stockbridge came to his end. I don’t want to dwell upon it, either. But this we do know, by these papers, that he was well-hated, threatened and marked for death by an individual or clique of individuals. That is all we know, and all we ever need to know, in order to proceed on the basis that a material agency struck out his life with a material substance—such as lead propelled by smokeless powder.”
“Whew!” exclaimed Delaney, rising.
“As for the library wherein he was slain,” continued Drew. “As for it, we must revert to simple geometry. Matter occupies space. A material act was committed by a material body which got past all our precautions and struck the magnate down. What is there in this world, which is at one and the same time, material and yet capable of penetrating through a door or wall without a trace? Give me that answer, and we’ll get results. What is it?”
“Damned if I know! I’m all balled up! You talk like a college professor. You mean something that is and something that isn’t. Good morning!”