292
THE HAND OF PERIL
and condition of that small iron-clad storage-room was reviewed in Kestner's incredulous mind.
"He can't be," he protested. "He couldn't do it!"
"He has done it!"
"But there was no way."
"There was a light-bulb in the roof. He unscrewed that bulb and broke it."
"Cut his throat with it," amplified a watchman in a bottle-green overcoat, as he pushed out through the narrow door. His face had taken on a tinge of the same colouring as his raiment, and he laughed foolishly as he pushed back his faded cap. "Cut his throat with it, clean as a whistle!"
Kestner leaned heavily against the side-wall covered with sheet-iron.
"Then we've lost him!" he slowly acknowledged.
