“The one by the big globe, and he opened it. But for a moment—”
“Did he put his hand out?” Fibsy cried.
“Yes, I suppose to see if it rained. Yes, he put his hand out for a moment, then he closed the window.”
“And locked it?” asked Fibsy.
“It locks itself, with a snap catch. Then—ah, here is the strange thing! Then he went back, sat at his desk, and in a moment he fell over and the blood spurted out.”
“Didn’t he stab himself?” Fibsy asked.
“I don’t know. He didn’t seem to do anything but scratch his ear, and over he fell! Such a sight! I was afraid, and I ran away—fast.”
“All very well,” said Stone, “but what became of the weapon?”
“I know,” Fibsy almost screamed, in his excitement. “Oh, F. Stone—I know!”
“Well, tell us, Terence—but steady, now, my boy. Don’t get too excited.”