"By George, Swift! the old gentleman's death may have been owing to accident, after all!"
I looked keenly at him.
"Suppose he was here on the landing," the young fellow went on enthusiastically; "suppose somebody knocked that book-case affair suddenly forward—might 've stumbled against it in the dark, you know—why, that heavy candlestick would have put a quietus on any man, falling on his head that way."
But I could not encourage this idea.
"I thought of that as soon as I saw the overturned whatnot," said I; "but several circumstances disprove it.
"In the first place, if the candlestick slid off the top, the dust would show it. Now the shell did slide, for you can plainly see where it scraped the dust in doing so.
"Again, considering your supposition, the candle-stick would have struck about half-way up the flight; if Mr. Page had been at that point on the stairs—in the line of its fall—his head would have been too high to have encountered it. And then, Maillot, look here." I pointed to the object of interest itself.
"If you were carrying it while the candle was lighted," I said, "your thumb would be uppermost, and your little finger nearest the base—would n't they?"
"Naturally."
"Very well. Suppose, now, I reverse my grasp—my thumb toward the base, the little finger toward the top—I now have it in a pretty effective position for use as a bludgeon, eh?"