oot. His fingers still coiled the
gun's butt. He stood rigid as he reached the fringe of the splendid rug
which was under the great table. His sweeping, close-lidded eyes took
in the details of the room. He saw the magpie in its cage. The bird's
feathers were ruffled. Its head darted in and out the bars with great
excitement.

Drew frowned as he noticed a wreath of pale-blue smoke curling under
the dome of the rose-light. He sniffed the air with a shrewd intake. A
powder explosion of some kind had left a trace. The air, so close and
warm, was filled with acrid menace.

The detective removed his hand from the revolver's butt and waved it
behind him as a signal to Delaney and the servants to stay where they
were. He took one step forward. The white writing paper and envelope
from the cemetery company were upon the table. The stump of a
half-smoked cigar draped over this table's edge like a gun on a
parapet. It was cold and without ash.

The smaller of the two tables was overturned. The whisky bottle and
glass lay at the edge of the rug nearest the wall. The telephone
transmitter and receiver were upon the hardwood floor, where they had
fallen with the butts of two Havana cigars and the ash trays and match
boxes.

Stockbridge was crumpled into a twisted knot against the rich
wainscoting. His head was half under his left shoulder. His iron-gray
hair was singed black over the left ear.

Drew leaned with one hand on the corner of the table and peered
downward. He called the magnate's name. He repeated it. He turned
toward the doorway. His hand raised. His finger pressed against his
lips.

"Stockbridge is dead," he told Delaney, who glided to his side. "He is
dead. He was shot to death in this sealed room. I wonder who did it?"

"Ah, Sing!" shrieked the magpie. "Ah, Sing! Ah, Sing!"

CHAPTER FIVE

"THE FIRST CLEWS"

The magpie's words, repeated over and over as Drew and Delaney stood in
the room of death, struck both men as a possible clew. It was more than
likely that the murderer or the murdered man had shouted something, the
moment the shot was fired. This exclamation might have been, "Ah,
Sing!" The bird had repeated something it had memorized, or retained in
its shallow brain.

"Ah, Sing!" suggested Drew, keenly on the alert. "Ah, Sing, eh? Never
forget that! We may need it--later."

"Sounds like a Chinaman," said the operative. "Stockbridge was shot by
a Chink!"

"Get busy! Go over the room and