“You will,” said the detective, dropping down in his chair and reaching for his papers. “See these,” he added, swiveling and darting a quick glance at the bird-cage. “These, Delaney, are a list of the old man’s known enemies. I have compiled this list from the secretary’s statements, my own newspaper reading, the facts we gained at Morphy’s trial, and from what Stockbridge told me in the library before he was slain.” Drew counted the list with a steady finger. “There’s seven,” he said.
“Is that all! I thought there was more ’an that!”
“No! Seven is the number! He was well hated as you will see. First and foremost we have Mortimer Morphy, who is serving from ten to twenty years in state prison, with other indictments hanging over his iron-gray head. He’s the captain of them all. He lacks soul, conscience and heart. ‘The Wolf of the Ticker’ they used to call him. I had the warden on the wire this morning. He’s ready to aid justice to the limit. He says that Morphy, or rather Convict 87313, I think they call them inmates up there, is well and working. He’s in charge of the books in the front office.”
“He’d never keep any books for me!” declared Delaney.
Drew nodded. “Me, either,” he said. “I have heard too much about his past to trust his future. Stockbridge always feared him.”
“Does he fit what the black crow said?”
“He does, most certainly! Sing Sing and Morphy are linked together in every way. Morphy must have been mentioned on the wire and Stockbridge shouted, ‘What, in Sing Sing?’ or words to the same meaning.”
“Go on,” said Delaney, glancing at the magpie with round eyes.
“Then comes Vogel, who was at state’s prison, but whom they transferred to the hospital at Glendale, where he is said to be dying of tuberculosis.”
“I remember him. A little runt with a big nose. That might be the whispering voice, Chief, if he’s got T. B.”