w about this splendid house
of yours. It isn't anything we can grasp and say, 'Come here! You're
under arrest.' It's the uncanny mystery of the entire case that holds
us three on the ragged-edge. I confess I have not been myself since
last night. The powers of darkness and Lucifer, himself, have nothing
on the people we are fighting."

"How about running Morphy in the guard house, or whatever they have up
there?" asked Nichols. "Why not lay the case before the warden and have
him put out of harm's way? That's what they'd do in the Army!"

"We can't prove a single thing on him!" declared Drew. "He used the
'phone--once or twice. Perhaps he has permission from the
superintendent of state prisons to do so. He has business interests
which require his telephoning, we'll say."

"Then we're just going to wait right here?" asked Loris, stamping her
slipper. "Wait right here and let them do their worst?"

"The city detectives would do the same thing I'm doing," said Drew on
the defensive. "They'd trap their men. Do you want to see the man or
men who slayed your father, escape? He will, or they will, unless we
give them enough rope to hang themselves."

"Or wire!" said Nichols cheerfully. "No, Loris, Mr. Drew is right. He's
done everything. All we have got to do, is wait. Let's sit down for a
little while. Delaney said he might have word soon."

Drew waited until Loris had pressed herself into a small compass at the
back of the divan, with Harry Nichols leaning over her in a shielding
position which was thoughtful and at the same time affectionate. He
strode toward the writing room and parted the heavy, silk portieres. He
studied every detail. He dropped the portieres and crossed the sitting
room to the doorway leading into Loris' chamber. This, too, he searched
with his eyes. Backing to the center of the room he dropped his chin in
thought. A sound outside the mansion caused him to turn and hurry to a
window. He brushed the curtain aside and tried to peer out. He rubbed
the frosted glass vigorously. His nose pressed to a white button as he
searched the side street. A taxi had come to a grinding halt directly
below the window. Its wheels spun upon the slippery surface. A man
leaned out of an open doorway and urged the driver on with a brandished
fist of ham-like proportions. The driver backed into the snow, dropped
into first speed and stepped on his throttle. The taxi leaped forward,
gripped the surface, and plowed toward