It was some time before I could rally myself sufficiently to set about finding something which I could take back with me to the Baron as the real bomb. How to manage this puzzled me not a little.
I searched the shop windows for some kind of hollow metal ball; my intention being to fill it with shot and other things so as to be of about the same weight as the thing I had thrown into the river. I hunted in vain for this until a man in an ironmonger's shop suggested a ball-cock.
I had invented a little story about wanting it for some private theatricals. He was an ingenious fellow and became quite interested in helping me. He hunted up one of the size I wished, filed off the long handle, drilled a hole and stuffed in some cotton waste and enough shot to give it the required weight, and succeeded in making up a very passable counterfeit of an actual bomb.
At a gunsmith's I bought some blank revolver cartridges for the Baron's revolver, in case he should object to hand that over to me; and thus prepared I turned homewards very much easier in mind.
Close to the house I met Herr Feldermann, and he stopped me. "I have just come from your house, Herr Bastable--about the Ziegler murder, you know."
"Have you found the men, then?" I asked as unconcernedly as I could.
"Not yet; but of course we shall find them. We have such a close description."
"I shall certainly know them again."
"There is a somewhat curious thing about it," he said slowly, and then with a sudden penetrating glance: "Have you ever seen the Baron von Ringheim?"
There was nothing for it but a lie, so I lied. "No. You don't mean that he has anything to do with this?"