“Do you understand, Knox?” said Harley as the cab bore us toward
Hamilton Place. “Do you grasp the details of this cunning scheme?”
“On the contrary,” I replied, “I am hopelessly at sea.”
Nevertheless, I had forgotten that I was hungry in the excitement which
now claimed me. For although the thread upon which these seemingly
disconnected things hung was invisible to me, I recognized that
Bampton, the city clerk, the bearded stranger who had made so singular
a proposition to him, the white-hatted major, the dead stockbroker,
and the mysterious woman whose presence in the case the clear sight of
Harley had promptly detected, all were linked together by some subtle
chain. I was convinced, too, that my friend held at least one end of
that chain in his grip.
“In order to prepare your mind for the interview which I hope to obtain
this evening,” continued Harley, “let me enlighten you upon one or two
points which may seem obscure. In the first place you recognize that
anyone leaning out of the window on the second floor would almost
automatically rest his weight upon the iron bar which was placed there
for that very purpose, since the ledge is unusually low?”
“Quite,” I replied, “and it also follows that if the bar gave way anyone
thus leaning on it would be pitched into the street.”
“Your reasoning is correct.”
“But, my dear fellow,” said I, “how could such an accident have been
foreseen?”
“You speak of an accident. This was no accident! One end of the bar
had been filed completely through, although the file marks had been
carefully concealed with rust and dirt; and the other end had been
wrenched out from its socket and then replaced in such a way that anyone
leaning upon the bar could not fail to be precipitated into the street!”
“Good heavens! Then you mean------”
“I mean, Knox, that the man who occupied the supper room on the night
before the tragedy--the dark man, tanned and bearded, with slightly
oblique eyes---spent his time in filing through that bar--in short, in
preparing a death trap!”