De Lana?"
"Never heard of him in my life until the accident occurred.
Seems to me the poor devil leaned out to see the fun and
overbalanced. Felt responsible, only natural, and made
inquiries. He died at six o'clock this evenin', sir."
"H'm," said Harley reflectively. "I still fail to see where I
come in. From what window did he fall?"
"Window above a sort of teashop, called Cafe Dame--damn silly
name. Place on a corner. Don't know name of side street."
"H'm. You don't think he was pushed out, for instance?"
"Certainly not!" shouted the Major; "he just fell out, but the
point is, he's dead!"
"My dear sir," said Harley patiently, "I don't dispute that
point; but what on earth do you want of me?"
"I don't know what I want!" roared the Major, beginning to walk
up and down the room, "but I know I ain't satisfied, not easy in
my mind, sir. I wake up of a night hearin' the poor devil's yell
as he crashed on the pavement. That's all wrong. I've heard
hundreds of death-yells, but"--he took up his malacca cane and
beat it loudly on the table--"I haven't woke up of a night
dreamin' I heard 'em again."
"In a word, you suspect foul play?"
"I don't suspect anything!" cried the other excitedly, "but
someone mentioned your name to me at the club--said you could see
through concrete, and all that--and here I am.
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