The fabric ripped from the hooks as she jerked.
“You remember,” said Jones, “that your curtain was torn partly across, and not ripped from the hook at all. Now see.”
He caught the netting in both hands and tautened it sharply. It began to part.
“Awkward,” he said, “yet it’s the only way it could have been done. Now, here’s a bedpost, exactly like the one in room 168, occupied by Mr. Greene at the Denton. Kirby, you’re a powerful man. Can you break that knob off with one hand?”
He wedged the post firmly in a chair for the trial. The bedpost resisted.
“Could you do it with both hands?” he asked.
“Probably, if I could get a hold. But there isn’t surface enough for a good hold.”
“No, there isn’t. But now.” Jones coiled a rope around the post and handed the end to Kirby. He pulled sharply. The knob snapped and rolled on the floor.
“Q. E. D.,” said Kirby. “But it doesn’t mean anything to me.”
“Doesn’t it? Let me recall some other evidence. The guest who saw Mr. Greene in the hallway thought he was carrying something in both hands. The milk driver who hailed him on the balcony noticed that he gestured awkwardly with both hands. In what circumstances would a man use both hands for action normally performed with one?”