But a loud knocking was heard at the door. A waiter was asking:
“What is the matter—an accident?”
“No,” Tom Bob assured him, without opening, “an incident. I was shaving and my water-heater burst ... only tell them to bring up my luggage in an hour and a half’s time, not before.”
The detective’s voice was so calm the man seemed satisfied, while amid the never ending turmoil of the great hotel the violent explosion in the room had apparently passed almost unnoticed.
When the waiter was gone, Tom Bob got up from his chair, remarking:
“So now, Monsieur Fandor, you understand why I made such a point of our both being seated as close to the ground as possible.”
But Fandor shook his head. “I don’t understand anything at all,” he protested.
“Well, go and look at the pencil line you drew just now, on a level with my head.”
Fandor ran to the wall and could not restrain an exclamation:
“By the Lord! the line is exactly in the zone riddled by the explosion of the bomb!”