Diana looked down. The end of the rope dangled less than six feet from the window-sill. He must have dropped twenty feet to the stone flags below.
“That’s funny,” said Superbus, game to the last. “When I looked in——”
“Let us keep to facts,” begged Diana, her youthful brows wrinkled. “What is the use of a rope if it only falls him a few feet from the sill—and why didn’t he pull the bed to the window?”
She pulled the bed herself—it moved easily. The weight of a man would have drawn it across the floor.
Thoughtfully she took stock of the apartment. In one corner stood a long, mirror-fronted wardrobe. Drawing her Browning, she pulled open the door.
“Come out, please,” she said coldly.
Gordon stepped forth with some dignity.
Standing in the doorway, Mr. Superbus witnessed the astonishing spectacle and shook his head reproachfully.
“Uncle Isaac, Uncle Isaac!” he said reprovingly. “I never thought you’d play a trick like that on an old friend!”
“Will you kindly tell me why you destroyed my bed linen?” asked Diana, and her cool claim to the ownership of anything in the house aroused Gordon to fury.