"You are looking at this tragic fragment, Knox," said Harley,
taking up the bar. "Of course"--he shrugged his shoulders--"it
explains the whole unfortunate occurrence. You see there was a
flaw in the metal at this end, here"--he indicated the spot--"and
the other end had evidently worn loose in its socket."
"But I don't understand."
"It will all be made clear at the inquest, no doubt. A most
unfortunate thing for you, Mr. Meyer."
"Most unfortunate," declared the proprietor of the restaurant,
extending his thick hands pathetically. "Most ruinous to my
business."
"We will go upstairs now," said Harley. "You will kindly lead
the way, Mr. Meyer, and the whole thing will be quite clear to
you, Knox."
As the proprietor walked out of the office and upstairs to the
second floor Harley whispered in my ear:
"Where did she go?"
"No.------ Hamilton Place," I replied in an undertone.
"Good God!" muttered my friend, and clutched my arm so tightly
that I winced. "Good God! The master touch, Knox! This crime
was the work of a genius--of a genius with slightly, very
slightly, oblique eyes."
Opening a door on the second landing, Mr. Meyer admitted us to a
small supper-room. Its furniture consisted of a round dining
table, several chairs, a couch, and very little else.
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