"This door," Drew said. "The door to the hall. Can it be locked securely?" "Yes! It can be locked and bolted from the inside. I often lock myself in--in----" Stockbridge stiffened in his chair. He glanced toward the portières. He leaned forward and attempted to shield the view of the quarter-emptied Bourbon-bottle and the used glass, as a girl in lavender and Irish-lace swept into the room. Drew recognized Loris Stockbridge from newspaper photos. He held his breath as she glided by him, unseeingly. He touched his mustache and waited. Her face, framed in close-drawn hair the color of midnight sky, softened perceptibly as she swished round the great table in the center of the library and laid an unjeweled hand upon her father's shoulder. She turned with a start as she realized that Stockbridge was not alone. Drew bowed with swift courtesy. "Mr. Drew," said the Magnate. "Mr. Drew, my daughter, Loris." Again the detective bowed. He met her level glance with a smile in his brown eyes. She answered it and leaned over her father's shoulder. Drew wheeled and fell to studying the titles on the books. He moved to the magpie's cage. He extended one finger. The bird fluttered and sprang from perch to perch. Drew thrust his hands into his pockets. He heard Loris speaking in terse, throaty tones to her father. He could not well avoid catching the tenor of their conversation. It concerned the letter from the cemetery and the threat of death within twelve hours, which the Magnate repeated to her with a softness in his aged voice. A gushing torrent of unbridled emotion poured down upon his gray head. The girl paced the floor between the chair and the table. She fell to her knees with swift grace. "Be careful, father," she sobbed. "You must be so careful. Remember you're all that I have, now. That letter and that telephone call means that somebody is planning to destroy you. Oh, father, be careful. What would happen if you were taken away from me?" "You'd marry that cad--Nichols!" blurted Stockbridge. "I'm the one thing that stands in his way. You'd marry him--wouldn't you?" The girl rose proudly. Drew, from the shadow outside the rose-light, studied the slender figure crowned with a close-drawn turban of blue-black hair. His eyes ranged down to her slipper heels. They lifted again. He stroked his chin as he waited for her answer. It came truthfully enough and with high spirit. "Yes, I'll marry him some day. I want your permission, but with it or without it, father, I am going to marry him. He's a captain in the Army. Doesn't that prove he is not all the things you said he was?" "Good girl," said Drew in whispered admiration. "It proves nothing!" exclaimed Stockbridge stiffening in his chair and half rising. "He's a cad and an ass under all his uniform. He's too poor to be considered for one moment. I want my daughter to marry----" "Whom she pleases," said Loris. "Harry may be poor, but he's not too proud to fight!"