ERICSON. The closet door was burned off, to be sure, but the ceiling came down, and that's why we couldn't find out, but now we'll use the beak on it! [He falls to with his pick] Ho-hey, ho-ho!—Ho-hey, leggo!—Ho-hey, for that one!—Do you see anything?
DETECTIVE. Not yet.
ERICSON. [Working away as before] Now I can see something!—The lamp has exploded, but the stand is left!—Who knows this forfeit for his own?—Didn't I see the dyer somewhere around here?
DETECTIVE. There he is sitting now. [He picks the lamp from the debris and holds it up] Do you recognise your lamp, Mr. Walström?
RUDOLPH. That isn't mine—it belonged to our tutor.
DETECTIVE. The student? Where is he now?
RUDOLPH. He's down-town, but I suppose he'll soon be here, as his books are lying over there.
DETECTIVE. How did his lamp get into the cook's closet? Did he have anything to do with her?
RUDOLPH. Probably!
DETECTIVE. The only thing needed now is that he identify the lamp as his own, and he will be arrested. What do you think of it, Mr. Walström?