The watch attracted his attention. Its
dial had been cracked by the fall. A splinter of glass pressed against
the minute hand. He rose with a low cry. He pressed the repeater and
listened to the time chimes. He counted the strokes. He had a test in a
million. Had the watch been tampered with by the murderer, the chimes
would have proved a lie. It was possible to set the hands to any
position. It would be difficult to change both the hands and the
repeater.

"Delaney!" he said with his dark eyes glowing, "we've got the exact
time of the murder. As I told the butler--it is very important. Both,
chimes and hands, show that Stockbridge was shot at four minutes and
eighteen seconds past midnight--this morning! This is a fine watch. It
cost several thousand dollars. Robbery was not the motive. An ordinary
crook, and they're all ordinary--with few exceptions--would have taken
this timepiece."

"That's all right," said Delaney with a quick frown. "That's fine,
Chief, but--but how did that exceptional--crook get into this room? How
did he get out? That's what I want to know!"

Drew combed his fingers through his black hair. He described a complete
circle about the library, with his eyes taking in everything, before he
faced Delaney.

"I don't know!" he said frankly. "I don't want to think of it, either.
We'll turn the case over to other men for the time. Let them do some
thinking. I believe we have secured everything we want."

The detective dropped his glance to the telephone receiver upon the
floor at Stockbridge's elbow. He stooped, grasped the silk-insulated
cord, and fished it up.

"I'll try to get Central," he said. "This has been off a long while.
She may have sent the trouble-man again."

Drew worked the hook of the 'phone up and down. He was answered after a
short wait. The girl's surprised voice at hearing life at the end of a
dead set of wires was drowned in the detective's request to get him,
"Spring 3100--quickly!"

"Hello! Hello!" said Drew as he got the connection. "Hello! Is this
Spring 3100? It is? Who's talking? ... Jones? This you, Jones? ... Say,
Jones, plug me in on the Fifth Deputy Commissioner's private house
wire!... Sir? ... I don't care! ... This is Drew talking.... Drew! ...
D--r--e--w! ... That's right ... Drew, of Drew's Agency!"

The Detective turned. He eyed Delaney who was searching the floor about
the millionaire's upturned shoes. He tapped the receiver against the
transmitter's silv