Drew reached in his pocket and brought around a police regulation revolver. "I'll have this right here!" he snapped as he slowly raised it. "You, Delaney, unlock one cuff and pass it to me. I'll wrap the chain around my left wrist. If this fellow tries anything I'll tend to his case--forever. These .44's are made for stopping purposes, eh, Mr. Nichols?" "They certainly are, Mr. Drew. I think we can handle that little man without trouble. What does he want to telephone for?" "What for, Bert?" asked Drew, swinging and confronting the prisoner. "Do you want to say good-by to somebody?" "Good-by is right," whispered the trouble-man, extending his hands toward Delaney, who fished out a small key. "Yes, it's good-by to somebody. Unlock them!" "Hold on!" exclaimed Drew. "I don't like that tone. You'll have to act better than that, Bert. What do you want to get loose for? What number do you want? I'll call up." "No, I got to do it. I want one hand free--that's all." Loris stepped to Drew's side. "Can there be anything about the room," she asked, "that he wants to use? Perhaps he'll pick something up and use it too quickly for you to stop him." "I don't think so," said Drew grimly. "This gun, Miss Stockbridge, happens to have a hair trigger. We'll chance it--with your permission." "I'm not afraid for myself--but don't you think the poor fellow should be prevented from harming himself. He acts just like a man who wanted to do something terrible. He seems to have given up hope." "A woman's intuition," mused Drew. "Perhaps a close one," he said aloud. "You get back into the other room, Miss Stockbridge. Let Mr. Nichols stand in front of you for protection. I'm going to grant this fellow's request. Delaney, unlock the left cuff!" The key rattled in the tiny key-hole as Drew poised his revolver and drew a sight between the prisoner's fluttering eyelids. "Stand right there," whispered the detective tersely. "Right there," he added, reaching with his left hand and taking the cuff and chain from the operative. "Now, Bert, you're half free. What do you want with the telephone?" The prisoner pinched his wrist and worked his hand like a hinge. A white mark, which slowly changed to red, showed where Delaney had clamped the handcuff down to its last notch. The trouble-man eyed this mark. His lips hardened. He strained on the chain as he lifted his fingers to his brow with a tired gesture. "Hurry!" said Drew. "Hurry, Bert, or we'll cuff you up again. Do you want to telephone?" "Y--e--s!" The voice was tremulous and dry. "Yes! I'll use it. I'll show you how that pirate--Stockbridge--was killed. The yellow squealer!" Loris raised her chin proudly. She leaned against Nichols in the doorway. "I won't stand for that!" declared the soldier. "You are being insulted in your own house!" "Wait, Harry! Something is going to happen! I know it is!"