With one accord Ferguson and Kent advanced close to the chair, and an oath broke from the detective. On the cushion of the chair, still bearing the impress of a human body, lay a pair of shining new handcuffs.
Dazedly Ferguson stooped over and examined them. They were still securely locked. Wheeling around Kent dashed through the door to his right and Ferguson, collecting his wits, searched the rest of the apartment with minute care. Five minutes later he came face to face with Kent in the living room. “Not a trace of any kind,” declared Kent. “It's the same as the other night; the man's gone. It's—it's positively uncanny.”
Ferguson's face was red from mortification and his exertions combined.
“The fellow must have slipped from the room by that other door and out through the living room as we came down the hall,” he said. “Did you shut the door of the apartment, Mr. Kent, before coming down here to look at the prisoner?”
“Yes.” Kent led the way back to the dining room. “Did you recognize the man, Ferguson?”
“No.” The detective swore softly as he stared about the room. “The lights went out just as I tackled him.”
“It was beastly luck that the fuse burned out at that second,” groaned Kent. “Fortune was with him in that; but how did the man get free of the handcuffs?” pointing to them still lying in the chair. “We can't attribute that to luck, unless”—staring keenly at Ferguson—“unless you did not snap them on the man's wrists, after all.”
“I did; I swear it,” declared Ferguson. “I'm no novice at that business. Here, don't touch them, Mr. Kent,” as his companion bent toward the chair. “There may be finger marks on the steel; if so”—he drew out his handkerchief, and taking care not to handle the burnished metal, he folded the handcuffs carefully in it and put them in his coat pocket. “There's no use lingering here, Mr. Kent; this apartment is vacant now except for us. I must get to Headquarters.”
“Hadn't you better telephone for an operative and station him here?” suggested Kent.
“I did so while you were searching the back rooms,” replied Ferguson. “There,” as the gong sounded. “That's Nelson, now.”