“He opened the door, and instantly noted its peculiarity. It was a perfect trap. That was nicely prearranged. I cooperated with the special letter. Sutton died.”
BISCAYNE’S eyes were gleaming with malicious pleasure. For some reason, he was not concerned with time. Cardona was remembering all he heard. He wanted to hear more.
“We worked long in advance, Fredericks and I,” continued Biscayne. “Fredericks did well in the case of James Throckmorton.
“He went to a bird-society meeting at Throckmorton’s home. One of his patients was a member of the Falcon Society. Throckmorton showed them the private upstairs study, and its gas lamp.
“He told them that he was not going to work there again, until the proofs of his book returned.
“Fredericks, the last to leave, did a neat, quick job with the hose. Throckmorton died.
“So we come to the last. The simplest of all. I left the box that contained the bomb in Harshaw’s study. The typewritten note was with it.
“I told Harshaw — when I phoned him later — to see that the express company received it. He did so.
“Arthur Wilhelm should certainly have died. He was the only one who should have died. He was the only one who failed to die.”
There was a calm sureness in Biscayne’s tone. It puzzled Cardona. He waited for the explanation.