"Certainly not! She's just a girl!" The Magnate's eyes softened slightly. He glanced around for a cigar. Drew laid the letter on the table. "It seems to me," he said, "that you have not explained everything. When did you get this letter, Mr. Stockbridge? What time did it arrive?" "It came in the late mail last night. I showed it to Loris at supper. Then I called up the cemetery people this morning. Got the superintendent. He said that 'Dr. Conroy'--our family physician--'had phoned him and ordered the grave dug.' Said, 'A death was about to occur in the Stockbridge family.' Conroy never sent any such message!" "Umph!" broke in Drew. "Yes! He assured me of it. Was terribly put out!" "It seems to me," said Drew, "that the entire matter is a practical joke of the low order. I see nothing else to it--so far. It isn't even clever." "I'm not so sure," Stockbridge said huskily. "It may be _very_ clever. It may mean that death is coming--to me or to Loris. There's men in this city who are capable of anything!" The break in the Magnate's voice brought Drew to the edge of his chair. "Whom do you suspect?" he asked professionally. "Motive goes before crime--you know. Sometimes a warning is sent--more often there is none. Clever men do not telegraph a blow." "I suspect the whole city!" declared Stockbridge. Drew smiled sincerely. It was plainly evident that the Magnate was suffering from the thrust about Loris and the graveyard. The detective had never seen him so unsettled. "How about Germans?" he asked. "You've made a lot of ammunition--haven't you?" "Ye--s. I've still holdings in Standard Shell, Preferred, and Amalgamated Powder. Also, there is my interest in Flying Boat." "Could the Germans be after you for any reason at all?" The Magnate weighed the question from a score of angles. He reached and secured a second cigar. "I don't think so," he said with a dark frown. "I don't think they would bother with me. I'm more or less retired. I've drawn out of a lot of things. Younger men are turning out the ammunition now." "Then which of your friends might be responsible for this letter?" "Well put!" exclaimed Stockbridge. _"Friends_ may be right. Friends now, or former friends who have rounded on me." "Name some!" "There's Morphy!" "We settled him. We should never hear from him again." "I'm not so sure! You don't know him like I know him. He's a vindictive devil! He got ten to twenty years in state prison. You remember the case. He lost his appeal to the Governor, only last week. I blocked it through Tammany affiliations. You know what that fiend in stripes is capable of doing. He would sell his soul to get me!" Drew grew serious. "Yes, I know," he said.