“Yes! He assured me of it. Was terribly put out!”
“It seems to me,” said Drew, “that the entire matter is a practical joke of the low order. I see nothing else to it—so far. It isn’t even clever.”
“I’m not so sure,” Stockbridge said huskily. “It may be very clever. It may mean that death is coming—to me or to Loris. There’s men in this city who are capable of anything!”
The break in the Magnate’s voice brought Drew to the edge of his chair.
“Whom do you suspect?” he asked professionally. “Motive goes before crime—you know. Sometimes a warning is sent—more often there is none. Clever men do not telegraph a blow.”
“I suspect the whole city!” declared Stockbridge.
Drew smiled sincerely. It was plainly evident that the Magnate was suffering from the thrust about Loris and the graveyard. The detective had never seen him so unsettled.
“How about Germans?” he asked. “You’ve made a lot of ammunition—haven’t you?”
“Ye—s. I’ve still holdings in Standard Shell, Preferred, and Amalgamated Powder. Also, there is my interest in Flying Boat.”
“Could the Germans be after you for any reason at all?”