He dropped the pencil to the desk with a flip of his fingers. He replaced the telephone receiver on the hook. He twirled the chair and leaned forward with his hands on his knees. "Nice bird, you," he said, addressing the magpie. "We're alone, you and I. Why don't you tell me what you know--what you heard in that library, when the millionaire talked over the phone and then received the cupronickel bullet in the base of his brain? He said, 'Ah, Sing!' eh? He said it, or we are jumping at conclusions. Have Delaney and I erred--as once or twice before?" The bird strutted about the cage. It pecked at a hard, white fish-bone, thrust between two bars. It dipped its bill into the water-holder, then held high its head as it gulped. It switched its tail and hopped onto the first perch. There it sat, with coiled claws, as Drew leaned closer. "Ah, Sing!" he repeated confidentially. "Ah, Singing! Ossining! Sing Sing! Let me hear you do your prettiest, birdie. Don!" The magpie lowered its head and peered outwardly. It lifted a wing with ruffled dignity. Drew narrowed his eyes. "You were there," he whispered. "You were in that sealed room--that double-locked and triple-watched library. How did the murderer shoot down the old man? How could he do it, Don? I think I know _why_ it was done. I'm fairly sure who is directing matters. What I want to know is, what devilish ingenuity of the criminal tribe projected that bullet into the old man's brain? Answer that, Don!" The bird was as stately as a raven. It seemed to Drew that he heard an echoed "Nevermore." He sat upright and took his hands from his knees. "Answer that, Don?" he repeated. "Gone batty, Chief?" asked Harrigan, thrusting his shoulders through the open door. Drew glanced up. He passed his hand over his forehead in a sweeping motion as if brushing cobwebs from his brain. "Guess I am," he admitted, with a sparkling glance at the paper held in the assistant's hand. "Well!" he snapped, recovering himself. "Well, what luck? I see that you got something!" "Yep! I got him, all right. He's hanging around the front office of the prison seeing what he can find out. He says," Harrigan consulted the paper. "He says, Morphy has been worried all morning. That he acts like a man in a daze. Always----" "I don't want that, now! Didn't I send you out to call up the vice-president of the telephone company? The same man who helped us early this morning. Westlake!" "I was getting to him, Chief! He was busy when I called, so I thought I'd get Frick again. That's all Frick had to say, except a----" "Well?" "Except he'll stay there until he receives instructions from you to the contrary. Says he'll report if anything turns up." "Go on with Westlake!" The detective's voice hardened. "Well, I got him, finally. Had to wait till he cleaned out the callers in his office. He's in charge of maintenance and equipment. He says that their records show----"