His reflections were cut short by the detective, who announced in his deliberate voice:
“The fact is, you see, I have a horror of high chairs.” And as he uttered these extraordinary words, Tom Bob got up and, kneeling down on the floor, turned the chair he had been sitting on the minute before upside down, then drew from his pocket a hunting-knife.
“Don’t be afraid, Monsieur Fandor, I’m not going to open the blade; it is the saw I want to use.”
So saying, he extracted from the handle a little saw of the kind often found in such knives.
“Go on, sir, go on!” Fandor protested. “Can I help you?”
“Oh! no, it’s done in a moment,” and as if he were performing the most natural action in the world, Tom Bob, still on his knees, began to saw off the legs of the chair in front of him.
“I have a horror of high chairs,” he said for the second time; “that’s why I saw off the legs, as you see, and convert it into a low one; it’ll cost me a trifle to pay for the damage, but what of that?... Ah! that’s done!”
The detective had in fact abbreviated the chair legs by eight or nine inches. He set the chair on its feet again, and after making sure it stood firm, sat down; then springing up again, still without uttering a word, he went over to the bed standing on one side of the room, and picked up a pillow and bolster, which he threw down near the wall.
“You are a young man, Monsieur Fandor,” he remarked, “you are not just come off a journey; you are not tired like me; besides, I don’t want to demolish all the hotel furniture ... in a word, will you be so kind as to seat yourself on these improvised cushions?... yes? cross-legged, if you like.”
This time Fandor showed such a comic face of astonishment that even the phlegmatic American could not help smiling.