"Ha!" he exclaimed. "A gas cylinder!"
"What!"
He fingered the green cable.
"This is not cable at all," he cried; "it's _covered tubing_! Do you
see?"
He descended and rejoined me.
"You see?" he continued. "A call from the exchange would ring the bell
in the ante-room here. This devilish contrivance"--he pointed to the
false telephone--"is really hollow. The weight of the receiver
hermetically closes the end of the tube, no doubt. But any one
answering the call and taking up the duplicate instrument would
receive the full benefit of the contents of the cylinder which lies
up there on the roof!"
"My God, Gatton!" I muttered. "The fiends! But why was the contrivance
not removed?"
"They hadn't time," he said grimly. "They had not counted on the
death-grip of the victim!"
I heard a car come racing up to the gate, followed by the sound of
many excited voices.
"At last we know where the gray mist came from," I said, as Gatton and
I walked through the cottage to meet the new arrivals.
"We know more than that," he retorted. "We know how _Sir Marcus_
died!"
"Gatton!" I cried excitedly, as we approached a group waiting in the
porch--"do you mean--"
He looked at me grimly.
"I mean," he said slowly, "that I have not forgotten the _gas-plug_ in
the wall of that recess in the supper-room at the Red House! The only
thing I was doubtful about (the means by which the victim was induced
to admit the gas into the room) is now as clear as daylight.
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