"Taxi!" snorted the big operative, stretching himself on the leather chair. "Them valets have got it soft. Last night was the first ride I've had in one for months, and----" Delaney's voice trailed to an end. He turned in the chair and saw Harrigan's red face and auburn hair come slowly through the aperture made by opening the door. "Well?" snapped Drew. "There's a funny lookin' guy out here, chief," said the assistant-manager. "He wants to see you in person. He's got knee-britches and a bunch of brass-buttons on his monkey-jacket. Says he's a valet." "Has he got anything with him?" asked Drew. "He has, Chief! He's got a gilded cage with the damnedest looking bird in it I ever saw. It ain't a parrot and it ain't a crow. It's a blue-jay or something like that!" "Show him in!" Drew said. "Show him in. You can wait, Delaney!" CHAPTER NINE "MEN AND MOTIVES" The two detectives leaned back in their respective chairs and eyed each other. Both swung and stared out of the window at the swirling snow which salted across the window in an unending curtain of white. Both returned to the locked stare so common to men who have worked together in danger and know each other's merits. Delaney's eyes dropped first. He studied the rug beneath Drew's polished shoes. He coughed behind his hand, and turned with a shrug of his shoulders. He fastened upon the closed door a glance of expectancy which brought a smile to the chief's lips. "Things are picking up," said Drew, with a short laugh. "Your friend--the bird--has arrived." "My friend?" blurted the big operative. "It's no friend of mine! I'd wring its neck, gladly." "It may be the key to the whole thing. Smarter men than the ones we are fighting have fallen through less. You remember Eddy, The Brute, who left his umbrella after him in the Homesdale Murder Mystery. Funny, wasn't it? Took three months to plan the murder and left his rain-stick behind. His initials were on it." "They can't get away----" started Delaney. "Here's your bird!" announced Drew, as a knock sounded on the door. "Move over and let that valet stand there. I want the light in his eyes when we're talking to him. Always get the light in the other fellow's eye. Sisst!" The door opened to a crack--then wide. The valet came in with an important strut. He turned and deposited a cage at Delaney's big feet. The operative moved back with a grunt of disgust. He eyed the cage and contents with a homicidal expression. His eyes raised and fastened upon the valet. He hooked his broad thumbs in the arm-holes of his vest and took a deep breath. "I hope you're satisfied," he said to Drew, who was smiling. "I hope this black sparrow don't start anything. I'll finish it, sure." "What's your name?" asked the chief, turning and consulting a paper. "Otto Braun," said the valet. "Otto Braun, sir."