"I wouldn't, Harry," said Loris, "if it wasn't for what happened to poor father. Mr. Drew took the same precautions and had everything locked and watched. It doesn't seem as if we were in New York at all. It seems like some mediæval time and place." Drew reached for a fragile-looking chair, turned it, sat down and thrust his custom-made shoes out across the rug in the direction of Loris and Nichols, whose faces shone white and drawn in the soft light of the alcove where they were seated. Swirling thought surged through the detective's brain. He went over the case with dulled understanding. Briefly, he had eliminated the former suspects and compressed the matter into a small compass. His conclusion brought him to his feet with slow swaying from side to side. Some one in state prison was probably directing matters. Some one in New York was carrying out the arch-fiend's orders. This free agent had the nerve of the damned and the cunning of Cagliostro. He had succeeded in planting a confederate in the mansion, or entering himself, and slaying Stockbridge. The entire case, concluded Drew, rested in capturing the free agent before he could do further murder. Loris was marked and had been from the first. "What servants remain?" he asked, dropping his hand on his right hip pocket and feeling the bulge of an automatic there. "Which of the servants, Miss Stockbridge, have Fosdick and his men left for you?" "The French maid," said Loris softly. "I saw her! She looks all right. She says she has been with you five or six years." "Six--almost. It's been over six years, Mr. Drew!" "That ought to let her out of the case. Now, the next one?" "The housekeeper, Mrs. Seeley. She has been with us ten or twelve years--ever since I can remember. Mother thought the world of Mrs. Seeley." "Who else?" "Father's valet. They didn't arrest him." "He was down to my office. He looks all right. I'll cross him off the list of suspects. Now, are there any more servants in the house?" "There's a French chef and a pantry man, I think. Also there's a poor old darkey who tends to the furnace. I don't believe he leaves the basement. I never see him, only on holidays." "The butler, then, and the doorman and the second man and the rest of the servants have been taken down to Center Street for interrogation and as suspects. That leaves us with very few to handle, Miss Stockbridge. I'm going to start by securing the door which leads into the hallway. Then we'll wait here."