wrecked; but the chair which seemed to be the center of disturbance,
and from which the Honorable William Linder had risen just in time
to save his life, was blown to pieces, and a portion of the floor
beneath it was much shattered. The force of the explosion had been
from above the floor downward; not up through the flooring. As to
murderously inclined foes, Mr. Linder disclaimed knowledge of any.
The notion that the trombonist had given a signal he derided as an
"Old Sleuth pipe-dream."

As time went on and "clues" came to nothing, the police had no
greater concern than quietly to forget, according to custom, a
problem beyond their limited powers. With the release of the German
musician, who was found to be simple-minded to the verge of
half-wittedness, public interest waned, and the case faded out of
current print.

Average Jones, who was much occupied with a pair of blackmailers
operating through faked photographs, about that time, had almost
forgotten the Linder case, when, one day, a month after the
explosion, Waldemar dropped in at the Astor Court offices. He found
a changed Jones; much thinner and "finer" than when, eight weeks
before, he had embarked on his new career, at the newspaper owner's
instance. The young man's color was less pronounced, and his eyes,
though alert and eager, showed rings under them.

"You have found the work interesting, I take it," remarked the
visitor.

"Ra--ather," drawled Average Jones appreciatively.