"You're right, lady," whispered the prisoner. "It's going to happen to--well, I don't care. I'm done. The jig is up!" Cuthbert Morphy shrugged his shoulders and turned toward Drew. He stared at the menacing revolver with a cryptic smile. "Get your man downstairs," he said, in hollow tones. "Get him to go in the library and call up this number. Tell Central to connect the two 'phones in this house. Shout into the library transmitter when the connection is made." Drew frowned. "What's all that for?" he asked. "Do as I say." "I don't know about that. I give orders here. What do you want that done for? I thought you wanted a number on the 'phone. I thought you would get somebody on the wire who would explain everything." "Everything will be explained, Inspector. Everything! I told you the jig was up with me. I mean it, too. There's nothing left but the truth." Drew wound the handcuff chain tighter about his left wrist. He braced his feet and turned to Delaney. "Go downstairs," he said, "and call up this number. Do what this fellow says. The number is Gramercy Hill 9764." Loris and Nichols lifted their brows as they turned toward each other. "I'm afraid," said the girl. "Something is not right, Harry." "It's the only way we'll ever find out what this man means. If they take him away without letting him talk over the 'phone we'll never know. Leave things to Mr. Drew. He's armed! I'm armed! There's no danger!" "Get downstairs to the library!" Drew ordered. "Do what this man wants. Shout into the transmitter. Go now!" Delaney lunged through the tapestries and unlocked the door to the hall. He paused there in thought. He turned and glanced back. "Hurry!" exclaimed Drew. "Hurry now!" The big operative cursed audibly as he descended the two flights of carpeted steps. He nodded to the Central Office man at the library door. He passed inside, rounded the table and stood by the 'phone. He picked up the receiver. His eyes wandered along the floor as he waited. A dark spot showed on the hardwood. It was where the millionaire's blood had gushed forth from the bullet hole in the base of his brain. "Gramercy Hill 9-7-6-4!" said Delaney with a bull's voice. "B-r-r-r-r-! B-r-r-r-r-! B-r-r-r-r-r!" sounded from the ringing-box of the silver plated telephone in the sitting-room of Loris Stockbridge's suite. The prisoner pulled at the chain as he leaned toward the telephone. "It's ringing," he said in a thin whisper. "Let me--let me listen in."