The detective dropped his glance to the telephone receiver upon the floor at Stockbridge's elbow. He stooped, grasped the silk-insulated cord, and fished it up. "I'll try to get Central," he said. "This has been off a long while. She may have sent the trouble-man again." Drew worked the hook of the 'phone up and down. He was answered after a short wait. The girl's surprised voice at hearing life at the end of a dead set of wires was drowned in the detective's request to get him, "Spring 3100--quickly!" "Hello! Hello!" said Drew as he got the connection. "Hello! Is this Spring 3100? It is? Who's talking? ... Jones? This you, Jones? ... Say, Jones, plug me in on the Fifth Deputy Commissioner's private house wire!... Sir? ... I don't care! ... This is Drew talking.... Drew! ... D--r--e--w! ... That's right ... Drew, of Drew's Agency!" The Detective turned. He eyed Delaney who was searching the floor about the millionaire's upturned shoes. He tapped the receiver against the transmitter's silver-plated edge. His eyes lifted. His lips hardened as the diaphragm of the receiver vibrated harshly. "Hello!" he answered tersely. "Hello! This you, Commissioner? Is this Fosdick? ... This is Drew talking. Yes! ... Drew.... Yes! I say, Fosdick, there's been a murder committed at Stockbridge's.... You know--the munitions magnate! ... The millionaire! ... Morphy's old partner." Drew waited a moment. He dropped his eyes upon the body below him. "Yes!" he continued into the transmitter. "Yes, Fosdick. I hear better, now. Yes--Stockbridge is dead! ... He's stone dead! He was shot down in cold blood! ... Yes! ... Shot in the brain.... Yes! Send your best operatives.... Yes! ... Send a fingerprint man and photographer. You'll need 'em! ... Yes! ... Yes! ... Shot with a small-bore revolver, I guess! ... Wound behind ear looks like it! What? ... No! ... Room was bolted.... He was inside.... Butler on guard.... Windows closed and locked! ... No! ... No! ... No! ... It wasn't suicide. He was threatened twice, this time!... By letter and telephone call.... What? ... What? ... No! ... He didn't shoot himself! ... There's no gun. It's on the left side--close up! ... Hair is singed ... flesh is powder spotted.... Burned? ... Yes.... You'll be right up?... Yes! ... I'll be waiting! ... Come! ... come----" Drew lowered the receiver and clicked it upon the hook of the telephone which stood on the hardwood floor. He slowly turned toward the open doorway of the library. The servants had drawn back and out of sight. Delaney leaned forward with both hands on his bent knees. A girl's voice had sounded in the mansion. It came closer. The portières parted with a silken sweep. Drew braced himself against the larger table. His hand went back to his hip. It dropped to his side. He stared across the flood of light with line-drawn eyelids.