“But how?” It was the diplomat who interrupted.
“I think with a long blow-gun.”
“By George!” said Bertram softly. “So the spirit-wand of bamboo was a blow-gun! What led you to that, Average?”
“The spirit rappings, which the talky woman in the Bellair Street apartment used to hear. That and the remnants of putty I found near the window. You see the doors opening through the whole length of the apartment gave a long range, where Mr.—er—Smith could practice. He had a sort of target on the window, and every time he blew a putty ball Mrs. Doubletongue heard the spirit. Am I right, sir?”
The host bowed.
“The fumes, whatever they were, killed swiftly?”
“They did. Instantly; mercifully. Too mercifully.”
“How could you know it was fumes?” demanded Mr. Thomas Colvin McIntyre.
“By the dead flies, the effect upon the bell-boy, and the fact that no wound was found on the body. Then, too, there was the fulminate of mercury shell.”
“Of what possible use was that?” asked Professor Gehren.