“In other words he couldn’t tell me about his sufferings that night without telling me about the young man. They fit together because of the fact that he was sleeping so soundly with the sedative he had taken, he didn’t hear the young man calling him. And then the next day he heard about Roland McClintick which of course would serve to give him three things to talk of all happening in a few hours’ time. Consequently, every time he sees Mr. McClintick’s picture it makes him think of the day Roland was killed and his own scare and sufferings the night before.”
“That’s reducing it to its common denominator,” I admitted, “but still I fail to see the clue.”
“You see, if it wasn’t that he loved small talk he wouldn’t have ever thought of remembering in such detail that the night of his sufferings and the other incident was just the night before Roland McClintick was supposed to have lost his life. And that is where our clue comes in.
“His simple country habit of connecting incidents with his own private life enabled him to tell me word for word the ’phone conversation of that young fellow, who mentioned Montreal and asked for the number one hundred. His talk to his father was lucid enough for us to know that the young chap was going away because of something dire about to happen. And he was pleading with his father not to do it. Who else could it be but Roland McClintick that ’phoned from Joe’s garage that night? And yet, the next morning when he was really in Montreal, his father reported him dead.”
“And six months later,” I said, “so Peters told us, he calls from Montreal. Minnie Schultz wasn’t having any idle dream, I guess!”
“Minnie’s my find!” said Brent, mockingly indignant.
“Last, but not least,” Tom concluded, “Joe mentioned to me quite casually that, when he raised the young fellow’s foot up to bandage it, he noticed something unusual about it.”
“What?” I asked, although sensing the answer.
“A long thick scar!” Tom said quietly.