Loris raised her hand and grasped the portières. She shuddered slightly. She allowed her eyes to wander over the room as if for a last fleeting glance. They locked with the detective's own. She smiled with a plaintive droop to her mouth. "I'll order the tea," she said invitingly. "Will you come in?" Drew bowed and followed her through the portières. Delaney already stood by the door which led to the maid's room. Harry Nichols had picked up a small book and was impatiently examining its pages. The soldier turned and eyed the detective. "We'll sit down?" he asked, laying the book on a cushion. "I'm a bit curious to know how you worked out a number of things. I think that Miss Stockbridge is, too." "I'd like to be a detective!" exclaimed Loris, gliding across the room and tapping with her knuckles on the door. "Wouldn't you, Mr. Delaney?" she added naïvely. Delaney chuckled. "I would, Miss," he said with candor. "I'm not a regular. I'm only a volunteer. Mr. Drew has me along to do the heavy work. He says what I can't lift I can drag." Loris smiled as the maid answered by opening the door to a crack. "Tea for four," she said. "Pekoe and tea biscuits--unless----" She turned and widened her eyes prettily. "Would you have anything else?" she asked Drew. "Strong tea!" exclaimed the detective. "I'll take 'hops,' as we call it. Make it very strong and then we'll settle some of these questions. My head is none too clear. I've been under a strain. I'm frank to admit that!" The tea arrived within ten minutes. Drew had prevented Delaney from 'phoning for the coroner or to Fosdick. "Some matters to clear up," he whispered suggestively. "We'll leave this place with the case entirely completed." Nichols arranged two chairs about a tiny teak-wood table. He had set this table within the bay of an alcove. The space was small, with Delaney's big feet very much in the way. Drew poised his cup and glanced from Loris to Nichols. Their heads were very close together. The blue-black luster of the girl's hair was a perfect contrast to the officer's blond pompadour which was slightly disarranged. The light from above haloed with the soft fire of frosted glass and cut prisms. The detective upended the cup, drank deeply, then passed it over to Delaney. "Another, please," he said, watching the operative struggling with a saucer which was far too fragile for his thick fingers. "One more cup," he added. "No sugar." Loris leaned from the cushion at the small of her back and glanced toward the portières with thought-laden eyes. "Poor misguided fellow," she said softly. "I feel uneasy, Mr. Drew. Somehow or other I feel that we were partly responsible for his death. I wish it hadn't happened."