“Because we shall go over it and the jar for finger-prints. Not that they will be much use for tracing the sender of this present, but they will be valuable corroboration if we catch him by other means; for whoever sent this certainly had a guilty conscience.”
With this he delicately lifted out the jar—a small, dark-brown stoneware vessel such as is used as a container for the choicer kinds of condiments—and inverted it over a sheet of paper, upon which its contents, some two or three tablespoonfuls of black powder, descended and formed a small heap.
“Not a very formidable charge,” Thorndyke remarked, looking at it with a smile.
“Formidable!” repeated Polton. “Why, it wouldn’t have hurt a fly! Common black powder such as old women use to blow out the copper flues. He must be an innocent, this fellow—if it is a he,” he added reflectively.
Polton’s proviso suddenly recalled to my mind the man whom I had seen lurking at the corner of Fig Tree Court. It was hardly possible to avoid connecting him with the mysterious parcel, as Thorndyke agreed when I had described the incident.
“Yes,” exclaimed Polton, “of course. He was waiting to hear the explosion. It is a pity you didn’t mention it sooner, Sir. But he may be waiting there still. Hadn’t I better run across and see?”
“And suppose he is there still,” said Thorndyke. “What would you propose to do?”
“I should just pop up to the lodge and tell the porter to bring a policeman down. Why we should have him red-handed.”
Thorndyke regarded his henchman with an indulgent smile. “Your handicraft, Polton,” said he, “is better than your law. You can’t arrest a man without a warrant unless he is doing something unlawful. This man was simply standing at the corner of Fig Tree Court.”
“But,” protested Polton, “isn’t it unlawful to send infernal machines by parcel post?”